#enough rambling: i will be thinking of mr. john for the next week…

[cpt-indigo]

mr john…. just finished the unexpected heiress & it’s for sure one of my faves!! the plot and mystery + mc’s relationship w her sister had me hooked and all the side characters were interesting :)

[closhelby]

On and off - Thomas Shelby smut

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Warnings: swearing & smut

Word count: 2.1K

AN: please give any feedback on smut and what you want to see next? Tried a different writing style...

-

he seemed to be the ex that you couldn’t get over. You couldn’t escape him as hard as you tried, so why were you surprised when he showed up on your doorstep, soaked from the lashing rain that was falling outside at two am.

“You said we were over,” you muttered as you rubbed your sleepy eyes. You were actually awake, feeling sorry for yourself because of how different you wanted your life to be. Somehow you still wanted your relationship to work, despite how much he continued to push you away. You were too good for him, too proper for him, and most of all, you were too nice for him.

These were just assumptions. No one had rarely seen you get wound up, never seen you break or pushed you to that point, because no one needed to. But it was certainly brewing.

“I just wanted to see you,” he slurred.

You sighed, “Ex’s shouldn’t want to see each other though Tommy.”

He pushed the door open slightly, suggesting he came in, and you let him. Gave in to him again. I mean, how couldn’t you?

“Y/n, I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Tommy, if you’ve came here to say the same thing I’ve already heard, then politely fuck off,” you were starting to get annoyed at the assumption you were too nice, because you weren’t. You just gave off that impression. You gave everyone their first chance, as you believed they should, but depending on that, you would give your side. You were caring, but wouldn’t dare to be crossed.

“I’ll always love you, bu-“

“But, I’m too nice. I couldn’t deal mentally with what you do. How you make your money. Well Tommy, you’ve got me very wrong. But that’s your choice, now please” You spoke quickly, “get out of my fucking house.”

You could see the defeat in his face. He meant well, but he was pushing it and you were coming close to breaking point at being nice anymore. He left quickly after that, muttered a bye then disappeared in the horrific night.

The next morning you were awoken with loud bangs coming from your front door. Sighing as you walked towards it, “Tommy, how many times have i to te- oh hi Ada.”

Ada pushed her and baby Karl straight past you, “get ready. It’s happening today, and I’ve got a point to make.”

“Bloody hell Ada. Some context.”

“Billy Kimber.”

“Funeral attire by the looks of it then.” You snorted, and Ada laughed, “yes, the point we are making.” following her into the bedroom.

“Understood,” you agreed, then making an effort to dress solely in black, just exactly how you would if it was their funeral. You and Ada had in fact been friends for a while, you were in Johns year at school and had gotten close to him therefor you were always at the Shelby household. No one expected that yourself and Mr Thomas Shelby would ever become anything, but circumstances change before the war. He promised the world to you in his letters. Always telling you that you both would be married and have children on his return, but deep down you knew that the war changed that outcome and his outlook on life in general.

You had barely gotten time to think before Ada had you storming up the road, in the distance up the empty street you could see a group of men. You and Ada split off as you reached them, both pushing through the men who you assumed were Billy Kimber’s.

“Ada,” Freddie seethed.

“Y/n, what the fuck are you woman doing,” Tommy shouted.

Ada continued to scream, rambling on about people having family’s at home. How they are all worried, and would be attending their funeral. But of course, Billy likes to mock, and made a fly away comment. You were stood at an angle to Billy’s men, so the gun that was in your hand was out of their sight, slightly tucked under your skirt.

Danny Wizz-bang had already lunged towards Billy on the back of his comment. Billy’s men shooting him dead, dropping to the ground instantly. Guns were now raised on both ends, Ada shouting for them to lower them, while Billy moved forward shooting into Tommy’s direction, managing to shoot him in the left shoulder.

Your eyes shot red, without the slightest hesitation, lifted the gun from your stockings, turning and shooting him straight in the head. You got there before anyone else did. The silence was loud as Tommy’s men couldn’t quite get their head around you, the nicest woman they had met, you had just shot someone dead without hesitation.

Billy’s men instantly raised their weapons in your direction, but didn’t shoot, “Tommy and Billy fought fairly. He didn’t win, end of story. Now fuck off” you ordered, turning and marching through the peaky lot before disappearing into the Shelby household.

Not even a few minutes later, the group followed and pulled in a wounded tommy. You didn’t even bat an eyelid, used to this shit, it was his shoulder. He would survive. But it still wasn’t nice seeing him in pain.

You sat in silence, while Jeremiah Jesus worked on trying to get the bullet out of Tommy’s pierced skin, downing whiskey after whiskey. No one seemed to talk to you, instead looked at you with worry. Their outlook on you had changed within the space of 20 minutes.

Tommy was now up, the bullet was now out of his skin and we were then all pushed into the room where Danny Wizz-bang’s body lay before us. You had rarely seen a dead body, infact everyone seemed to shield you from the violence but not today. You stood to the right of Tommy, it didn’t bother you in the slightest. He kept giving you an eye, full of concern, unsure how you were going to act.

You zoned out when Tommy spoke, you had never really spoke to Danny before. So this wasn’t much of a deal to you personally, you were awakened from your thoughts when Tommy was shoving a bottle infront if you, “Danny Wizz-bang,” you spoke, raising the bottle then downing a bit before passing it on to John for him to do the same. It went round the group that surrounded the table, before it got back to Tommy.

The place was lively, full of people drinking, and talking of heading to the Garrison. You couldn’t be arsed, sick of the sight of Tommy looking over at you constantly.

“Why do you keep looking at me?,” you spat. Having enough of him.

“You just killed an enemy of mine without even blinking an eyelid.”

“You all seem to think I’m so nice, eh. Not the right woman for Tommy, eh. Well I’m done being fucking nice.” The pause was loud, as you walked to the door, “and may I add, that did not bother me in the slightest. You all have just shielded me so much you didn’t know how much I could handle.” Slamming the door behind you, turning up to go back to your house.

“You’ve got to give her a chance Tommy. She’s tougher than you think.” Ada advised her older brother. Tommy nodding in response, knowing he was starting to realise what he really had.

You were in your house not only five minutes before he burst the door open, finding you sipping a whiskey on your couch, “I’m not going to keep doing this tommy. This is the second time in two months.”

He had done this before, and like you, couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t bare to walk past you in the street, perhaps you being with another man. It would tip him over the edge that he was already so very close to.

“We’re not going to keep doing it. I’ll give credit where it’s due.” He started to come closer to you, taking your hands in his, pulling you up to him, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He took your hand placing it at the back of his neck, twisting his hair in between your fingers. You pulled him into you, pressing a kiss onto his lips. He pulled you in closer, hands holding your waist.

“I love you Tommy. When will you fucking realise that.” You whispered to him, your forehead touching his. He smiled, “I love you.”

He pulled your face into his, his fingers intertwined in your h/c hair. Their tongues intertwined with each other’s, as the kiss deepened. You started to unbuckle his trousers, dropping them revealing his already hard length. You pulled back from the kiss and dropped to your knees, not breaking eye contact as you took his erected length into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. He let out a soft moan, carfullly moving your hair out of your face. You started to suck on it, bobbing your head up and down, satisfying him, as he threw his head back in pleasure.

He couldn’t wait any longer, he just longed to fuck you hard. He pulled you off your knees, taking your hand into his as he pulled you into the bedroom, pushing you back on the bed as he lifted up your dress over your head. He traced his fingers over your thigh, placing soft kisses as he went reaching your pussy he pulled down your black lace thongs off, you flicked them off your legs. He placed two fingers in between your slit, running up and down slowly, “wet eh?” Pushing his finger into you, slowly going in and out,

“Tommy.” You breathed. He smiled before pushing a second finger and going a more steady pace, pulling them out and sticking his thick shaft into you, thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. You started to arch your back, gripping at his hands, and he started to increase his pace, beginning to thrust at a rapid pace.

You pulled back, and pushed him back onto the bed, sitting on top of his erect penis, slowly bouncing on the tip, every few bounces pushing it all the way in. He threw his head back, mouth just ever so slightly open, “y/n” he stuttered.

You instantly started to ride him, his body almost non existent, starting to twitch at how close he was becoming. “Make me cum,” he edged you on, “please.”

You give him a smirk, before increasing the pace, he gripped your thighs, rocking you as you took the lead. Bouncing on his cock, was making you very close, bouncing as you both came to the high, falling into his bare chest, both of you breathing heavily attempting to recover from the love that you both had made.

-

Following the weeks of the murder of Billy Kimber, you noticed a drastic change in how people treated you. People would always still mutter a hello, however would step out of your way, and you were close to being feared just about as much as Tommy himself.

You were walking Into the shop, placing your coat down as you went to make a cup of tea before starting the day. You noticed Polly staring at you, “what are you looking at pol?” You laughed slightly, turning to face her, cup of tea in hand.

“Come here,” she motioned towards you, cupping your left boob into her hand. You furrowed your brows, wondering what the fuck she was doing, “your pregnant. It’s a boy.”

You were in total disbelief, you stumbled back into a chair closest to you, “fuck sake.”

“Tommy’s?” She asked, and you gave her a look of disgust, “yes obviously it’s Tommy’s.”

“For fuck sake”, you moaned, just as Tommy himself walked into the shop. Placing a kiss on your cheek as he walked past into his office, you rolled your eyes at pol who raised her eyes brows in response. Sighing following him into the office, “morning.”

You sighed, “got something to tell ya.” He placed the bit of paper that was in his hands down, turning his full attention onto you. “eh, I’m pregnant”

His eyes went wide, “are ye really?” He smiled, quickly getting up and making his way over to you, taking your hands into his.

“Boy.” You could barely string a sentence together, you knew he would be happy but with how rocky everything was recently you were slightly unsure.

“Boy eh? Someone coming for my crown.” He repeated, “this is great news, now go home. No woman of mine will be working here while carrying my child”, he ordered.

He placed a kiss onto your lips, soft, sweet, “I love you so much, you have no idea,” he muttered to you.

“I love you too, and baby boy,”

“And baby boy,” he repeated, a wide smile spread across his face.

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter one

summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers

word count: 3,147

Read on Ao3

There’s this small, tiny part, of Spencer that wants to run away.

He’s always felt like he’s never truly been home, a never-ending and long yearning, a homesickness for a place he didn't even know, eating him alive day by day. It made him want to drop everything and buy a cottage in the woods, to fill it with books and coffee and never see another person again.

It got worse after prison and after his mom asked to go back into a care facility, it hurt the most when Penelope left the FBI and things with Max fizzled out. Then he was really, truly alone again. His apartment felt cold and uninviting, the BAU felt like a chore, using his brain for anything other than taking care of himself was extremely hard.

He needed a break.

So when he walked out of work and straight to his favourite park for an escape, he wasn’t surprised that he didn’t stop walking. Going further and further down the trail, following the dirt path towards a pond, covered by a beautiful willow tree and surrounded by pink, purple, yellow and white flowers. The contrast of the green grass with the colourful flowers, the blue sky and the light green willow tree reflection dancing on the surface of the pond. It was like he walked into Eden, taking a seat by the tree and picking a book from his satchel.

For the rest of the week, it’s his own little sanctuary, escaping desk work and home cases as fast as he could. Even then it wasn't enough and he started going every afternoon, he’d sneak out for an hour and just relax. Reading his book, feeling the breeze on his face, the sound of ducks and frogs competing with the crickets for loudest being in the area. Eventually bringing his bike on the subway to work so he could get there faster.

It was beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as what he walked in on when he arrived Saturday afternoon. Parking his bike by the tree, looking at them carefully as he took his satchel off his shoulders and placed it by the trunk. Craning his neck so he could look at who it was, seeing the purest display of human affection known to man.

A mother and her daughter were having a picnic, dressed up like Miss Honey and Matilda as they had lemonade and snacks, spread out on a blanket as the mother handed her a sandwich wrapped in checkered red wax paper.

Spencer was in awe, sitting on the other side of the pond by a second tree, pretending to read when really he was glancing at them. Their laugher filling the field, bouncing around the trees and filling his chest with warmth.

It reminded him of all the afternoons with his own mother. His head in her lap, the sound of her voice as she shared worlds wisdom with him. He missed childhood, freedom, hope. The will to continue…

When the little girl finally notices that they’re not alone in this little world she’s creating, he sees her tug on her moms shirt, asking her a question before cheering. She picks something out of the basket and comes running towards Spencer.

“Excuse me, sir?” Her sweet little voice asks. “Are you an archeologist or a palaeontologist?”

It makes him laugh slightly, a large smile erupting on his face as he pushes his glasses up and puts the book down. “No sorry, I’m not, what made you think I was?”

“You have a satchel and glasses like Milo from Atlantis, but you have a dinosaur on your tie, you look like you work at a museum,” she rambled all her thoughts out, much like he did as a child.

“I’m actually an FBI agent,” he whispered.

“Wow,” she whispered back in amazement, “are you like a knight? Do you save princesses?”

“I do," he nodded enthusiastically, "do you know any in need?”

“Her,” she pointed. “I’m Lady Amoreena, the Princess over there says I was a gift to the kingdom but that she’ll never need a prince or king to take care of us, but I think a knight would work!”

He laughed lightly, seeing her mom shake her head as she overheard it, covering her face with her hand, she looked embarrassed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Amoreena,” he put his hand out to shake her’s as soft as possible, noticing the cookie in her hand. “My name is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he added softly.

“Would you like a cookie?”

He smiled as she placed it in his hand, “thank you.”

“Do you like Matilda?”

“It’s one of my favourite books,” he smiles.

“Do you want to have some lemonade and read with us?” Her face lit up, turning back to where her mother was watching from the pond.

“It’s okay, thank you for offering,” not wanting to intrude on their moment.

“We need a voice for Matilda’s father, please?” She begged, overly sweet and incredibly convincing.

“Alright, but I’m warning you if I upstage the princess with my awesome voices, it’s not my fault,” he smiled as he stood up, grabbing his things and starting to follow her over to the blanket.

She took his hand and tugged him along the edge of the pond, dragging him right to were her mother was sitting on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized softly as he sat down. “She’s very persistent about making new friends. We don’t see many people on this side of the park.”

“It’s fine, honestly, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, by the way,” he introduced himself. “I work with the FBI, normally I’d advice women and their children to avoid strange men they don’t know when they’re alone in the woods like this.”

She laughed slightly, “Y/N Y/L/N, I’m the head librarian at the DC library, and you don’t seem that strange.”

“Neither did Bundy,” he tried to joke, knowing she got it and trusted him when she bit back a smile, eyes twinkling at him in the sunlight.

“My name is Amoreena, like the Elton John song,” her daughter cut in, noticing how they were staring at each other and trying to get the attention instead.

“It’s a beautiful song, no wonder you love it here,” Spencer smiled at her, “do you come here often?”

She nodded, a blush flowing through her freckled cheeks, “have you ever read Tuck Everlasting? The pond here can make you young forever,” her whisper was the cutest thing. She was so full of life, personality and joy.

“I have, you’re right this feels a lot like the field from the book, what other books do you like?”

“I love books,” she lays back against the blanket ever so dramatically. “Matilda, Anne of Green Gables, Beauty and the Beast, I love every story that ends with true love and happiness, and cats.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her explanation, knowing that feeling all too well. “I have read almost every book ever, more than the entire DC library probably."

“We dress up every week for what ever book we are reading, next week is Peter Pan if you’d like to join us? We’re here every Saturday at 11,” Y/N offered.

“You haven’t even heard me read Matilda from memory and you’re already asking me to come back?” Spencer smirked as their faces lit up.

“No way, prove it!” Amoreena shouted, shoving him lightly to encourage him to start.

“The Reader of Books,” he began, seeing the pages in his mind as he repeated the words. “It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.”

“Okay so you know the beginning,” Y/N teased, opening the book to a random page, “what's on page 32?”

"My name is Jennifer Honey," Miss Honey said. "How do you do, Mrs. Wormwood." Mrs. Wormwood glared at her and said, "What's the trouble then?" Nobody invited Miss Honey to sit down so she chose a chair and sat down anyway. "This", she said, "was your daughter's first day at school." "We know that," Mrs Wormwood said, ratty about missing her programme. "Is that all you came to tell us?" Miss Honey stared hard into the other woman's wet grey eyes, and she allowed the silence to hang in the air until Mrs. Wormwood became uncomfortable. "Do you wish me to explain why I came?" she said.

Amoreena thought it was the coolest thing ever, reading the page and jumping up and down when he was correct, “how did you do that?”

“I can remember every word I’ve ever read, I have a pretty interesting brain,” he explained it as overdramatic as he could, knowing she would find it magical.

“You’re so cool!” She swooned, dropping back against the blanket just as dramatically.

Y/N was all smiles, running her fingers through Amoreena’s hair and giggling slightly at the sight of her silly child. “Spencer, would you like to do the honours today?”

She handed him the book, knowing he didn’t need it. He gently opened it, starting on the first page and starting to read it the way his mother would. Bringing out voices, hand gestures, all the bells and whistles.

They were in the field together until the sun started to set, casting a purple and orange glow over the pond. Amoreena was resting in Y/N’s arms, legs extended over Spencer’s lap as they sat close. It was the most perfect Saturday he has had in a long time. Probably the best day of his life, actually.

“Matilda leapt into Miss Honey's arms and hugged her, and Miss Honey hugged her back, and then the mother and father and brother were inside the car and the car was pulling away with the tyres screaming. The brother gave a wave through the rear window, but the other two didn't even look back. Miss Honey was still hugging the tiny girl in her arms and neither of them said a word as they stood there watching the big black car tearing round the corner at the end of the road and disappearing for ever into the distance. The end.”

He closed the book softly, setting it down on the blanket and looking at them softly, “am I still invited next week?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N smiled, “I’m dressing as Tinker Bell, Amoreena will be Peter Pan, and you can be anyone else of your choosing.”

“I’ll keep it a surprise until next week,” Spencer smiled right back.

Amoreena crawled out of Y/N’s lap and leapt into Spencer’s arms, hugging him tightly in her small arms. “That was the best story ever, thank you!”

Everything in the world felt right then, hugging her back while he smiled at her mother. Y/N had a hand over her heart as she swooned, watching her daughter bond with the man who just happened to wander into their picnic.

“Can I get your number?” Y/N asked softly, “you know, so we can arrange outfits and stories as the week's pass.” She shrugged, licking her lips slightly as she blushed.

“Of course, I’m not on duty for the rest of the month, so if you wanted to go to a museum or anything, I’m free? Since I look so much like I should work there,” he teased Amoreena.

“I’m sure lovey would like that?” Y/N leaned over Amoreena’s shoulder, holding her around her waist and tickling her softly.

Lovey

It was a nickname that made perfect sense in his mind. Amoreena, the keyword being Amore, to love. She was very loveable, incredibly vibrant and full of innocence, a life that was full of possibilities, wonderful like her mother.

“We’re going to the Smithsonian tomorrow to see the Dino’s,” Amoreena’s face lit up. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Surprisingly enough, while I’m not a paleontologist, I know a lot about dinosaurs, and I might have some connections there to see the rare ones,” he exaggerated his voice again, watching her get so excited she started to run around with her arms in the air.

“You don’t have to if you’re busy,” she says softly when Amoreena is far enough away, picking flowers as she ran around.

“I’d love to, actually, thank you,” he whispers towards Y/N. “I haven’t been having the greatest week.”

“Is it okay for me to ask what you do?” She asked, just as softly as Amoreena kept running around the field.

“I’m a profiler, I consult on intense cases.”

“The strange man comment makes more sense now,” she smiled. “we’re looking for a literary historian at the library right now, I’m sure remembering every word in every book would get you hired, you know if you wanted to switch careers for something easier on your soul?”

“I have been thinking of leaving, in all honesty, I’ve actually been having more of a rough 15 years,” he tries to laugh but he just feels frustrated. “It’s been really hard.”

“For everything you see, you’re still a very sweet man, not many people would sit down and occupy his time with an autistic 7-year-old,” she complimented him with a smile, sharing something personal in a way that would fit right into the conversation and not make a big deal. “We really did enjoy your company today.”

He handed her a business card from his pocket, feeling a bit overwhelmed and emotional as he handed it to her, “I've had a wonderful time. I'm also autistic, I know what it's like to want to share the world while no one wants to listen, thank you for letting me join you. Let me know what time you’re going to the museum tomorrow and I will be there.”

Y/N’s face lit up once more, reading the card over before sliding it into her bag. “Do you want a PB&J or a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch tomorrow?”

“PB&J is a great museum lunch,” he bit his lip so he’d stop smiling, it was beginning to feel embarrassing with how much he liked her already. Not used to random kindness from smart and beautiful women.

Amoreena came running back then, handing Spencer a handful of flowers upon her arrival. “For you, Sir Knight,” she bowed as he took them.

“I bid you a good day, my fair ladies,” Spencer plaid along, standing to curtsy back.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then?” Y/N asked from the blanket as Amoreena dove into her arms.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Spencer smiled one last time.

“Bye Spencer!!” Amoreena cheered as he waved, walking back down the path towards the main park entrance.

With his satchel draped over his shoulder, he pushed his sleeves up as he walked towards his bike, overwhelmed by the feeling of joy still swirling in his blood. Peddling his way down the path with a smile on his face, excited to get home and plan for the Smithsonian tomorrow, he was an excellent tour guide.

And he did actually have some connections.

Calling the museum curator, an old friend from years ago who owed him a favour. Asking if there was any way he could show his friend and her kid around the un-displayed dinosaurs and fossils, of course she said yes. People seemed to do anything for Dr. Reid of the FBI.

He thought about her job offer then as he hung up, reaching the train station finally and making his way back to his sad apartment. It would be nice to change things up for a bit, it’s not like he couldn’t go back to the FBI in 20 years like Rossi did.

15 years in the field and a metric fuck ton of trauma later, he was officially fed up. Opening his computer the second he got home, writing his 2 weeks notice to be forwarded to Mateo Cruz.

—

He woke up with excitement, for the first time in years.

Well, at first he was happy, then he thought about it too long. Despair creeping in, it was truly sad to think that he’s been sad for so long, desperately needing the happiness Y/N and Amoreena brought to his life.

Like when he spent time around Henry or Hank, there was something so rewarding about witnessing a child see something for the first time. Explaining the world to them, seeing their eyes widen as they enjoyed the world around them.

It was the best thing someone could do, spending the day living with the happiness of a child.

Y/N had texted him right as he woke up, the chime of a new message actually making him smile instead of panic.

Y/N: hey smartie pants, we’re thinking 11 am today. Can we meet you out front?”

Spencer: sure! You should start preparing to hear me ramble all day long. Also my I suggest bringing proper shoes for lots of walking and a backpack for the things Amoreena will get to bring home!

Y/N: oh you weren’t kidding about those connections huh?

Spencer: nope!

Y/N: well, can’t wait to see what you have in store for us! (And to hear your voice all day ♥︎)

It made his heart swell, he could swear it grew three sizes as it pushed against his ribs. Trying to break free from him and run to her, he hadn’t felt this strongly about another person in a very long time.

It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t greed, it wasn’t desperation. He didn’t just want to sleep with her or use her to fill his time, she wasn’t just another friend to occupy his days and talk to when he had to, she was special. She was interesting, she was kind, she was beautiful, she reminded him of his own mother in a strange way that made him fear Fraud was right.

He found a comfort in her that felt a little like home, like all his running led him to her. She was the end of the finish line, the cold glass of water, the euphoric pride of a job well done. She was everything good wrapped up in a beautiful bow and he was gone.

Feeling like he did when he met Ethan, Derek, or Elle for the first time, even Maeve when they were just talking on the phone, that butterfly feeling that excited him to try something new.

Y/N made him believe in possibilities again.

It felt nice to look ahead, to dream and wish of the future and not see death and destruction. Instead, dreaming of them running through the fields, flowers dancing everywhere as they hear Amoreena’s laughter. It’s how life is supposed to be.

[mydogisveryadorbs]

crush | jj maybank

summary: jj has had a crush on you for longer than he can remember

warnings: cursing, mentions of smut (if you squint), tiny bit of angst, SOFT JJ, fluff, fluff, fluff

masterlist :)

(gif credit to the owner)

2.1k+ words

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

JJ Maybank is was a player.

This is a well-known fact on both sides of the island.

You knew of way too many girls, pogues, kooks, and tourons alike, that had tried their shot at him. All hoping that they could magically change his bad-boy exterior and that he would suddenly transform into the dating type.

It wasn't uncommon that you had girls come into the shop, crying to you about how JJ Maybank didn't text them back and proceeding to buy a bunch of sweets to comfort themselves. 

Your family-owned Kildare Bakery, home of the best cupcakes the Outer Banks had to offer. You had grown up helping your parents out in the bakery and once you turned 16 they finally made you an official paid employee.

You worked behind the register and for the most part, you loved it. It was really interesting to meet new people, especially tourons visiting from out of state. 

However, there were moments where you didn't enjoy your job and this was definitely one of them.

A girl who looked to be about your age had walked into the store a few minutes ago, looking sad, but you didn't say anything. You simply asked if she needed any help and all of a sudden she was breaking out into a fit of sobs, reaching across the counter to pull you into a hug. You awkwardly patted her back, “Umm, you okay?”

“T-there was this boy,” she hiccuped and you immediately knew exactly where this was going. “I met him at a party last night and we h-hooked up and it was like really good, but when I asked him for his number he wouldn't even give it to me.”

You tried to hold back your eye roll but you couldn't help it. “Let me guess, his name was JJ,” you say, his name sounding slightly bitter on your tongue.

The girl finally pulled away from you, wiping her puffy eyes. “You know him,” she asked in confusion.

You nod. “Yes. Don't worry though, you'll find a much better guy and you will forget about JJ in no time,” you say in an attempt to comfort her.

She narrows her eyes. “Wait, you've hooked up with him too,” the girl asks.

You can't help but laugh. “Absolutely not, I just get a lot of his previous hookups in here,” you explain, gesturing to the display case. “I typically recommend the double chocolate cupcake to girls who've had their heart broken by JJ Maybank.”

The girl continues to look at you in confusion, but nods at your suggestion. You grab a chocolate cupcake and quickly box it up wanting to get her and all of her emotions out of here as quickly as you could. 

“That'll be $2.34,” you say, and the girl quickly pulls out a ten. You hand her her change and her cupcake. “Have a nice day.”

Unbeknownst to you, JJ Maybank himself watches the interaction from outside of the bakery.

He can't help the way his heart feels when he sees you comfort the crying girl who he vaguely remembers from the boneyard last night. 

Pope nudges his rib cage with his elbow. “Seriously, JJ,” Pope says, clearly annoyed by the blonde boy. “You brought me all the way down here just so you could stare at the girl you've had a crush on for years.”

JJ rolls his eyes, trying to cover up the blush forming on his cheeks. “I don't have a crush on her,” he says in an attempt to convince his friend. “I just think she's nice to look at.”

This was a complete and utter lie. Despite growing up in Kildare, you weren't very well known on the island, most people didn't pay you a second glance. You didn't really partake in the typical shenanigans of the teens on this island, and you always felt invisible to your peers. 

But JJ saw you.

He had seen you every day in gym class Freshman year, every day in biology sophomore year, and every day he didn't skip in English junior year. And now that summer had rolled around, he couldn't help but come to the bakery just so he could see you more. JJ not only thought you were a living, breathing angel, but he also adored the way you were always so sweet and kind to everyone you met. How could he not have a crush on a girl like you? You were like a cold that he couldn't shake, not that he ever wanted to. But in his mind, a girl like you would never go for a guy like him.

Watching you talk to one of his hookups made him oddly guilty. He knew he shouldn't, but hooking up with random girls was the only way he could think to take his mind off you. Clearly, that didn't work, because here he was, yet again, staring at you through a window.

“Dude, you're so whipped,” Pope said with an eye roll. “Just go talk to her.”

JJ’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”

Pope scoffed. “You're telling me you've never even talked to the girl?” he asks incredulously. “JJ, bro, you're a goner.”

“You say that like it's easy,” the blonde says, dramatically gesturing his arms.

With another eye roll, Pope puts both hands on the other boy's shoulders. “Okay here's what you do,” he says and JJ listens intently. “Walk inside the store, go up to the counter, and you fucking talk to her.”

JJ pulls away. “Dude no way,” he exclaims.

“Okay fine,” Pope says. “If you go in there and talk to her, I'll give you all my delivery tips for a whole week.”

JJ looks at him. “A week,” he asks unconvinced.

“Fine. Two weeks.” They shake on it and JJ prepares himself to go inside.

The idea of even talking to you makes his stomach queasy. God, Pope is right, he is whipped.

After a few minutes, JJ tells his friend that he is ready and Pope pats him on the back before pushing him towards the entrance encouragingly.

You looked up to the door when you heard the bell ring, signaling someone entering. You were shocked to see the same boy you had been talking about moments ago. You make eye contact with his big blue eyes, getting entranced for a second. Pushing away your negative impression of the boy, you offer him a sweet smile.

JJ looks down at your lips, then back up to your eyes and without a word. You wonder why he isn't moving further into the shop, but before you can ask what is wrong, he turns around and walks right out the door.

Once outside, Pope comforts the boy with a laugh, telling him “next time” and they walk away from the shop leaving you utterly confused.

The next day, JJ drags John B, Pope, and Kiara along with him to the bakery, telling them that he needs “extra support”. 

“C’mon man,” John B says with a shrug. “(Y/N) is way too nice to shoot you down,” he adds jokingly.

Kiara elbows him in the stomach. “Don't listen to him, JJ,” she says, shooting John B a glare. “Just be yourself.”

JJ nods, feeling confident as he walks through the bakery doors, but the second he sees your radiant smile all his courage flies out the window and he quickly walks back out the door.

This cycle goes on for three more days. JJ walks in, sees you, and leaves. You are becoming annoyed with the boy's actions, wondering if he is playing some sort of stupid prank on you.

It is Friday night, a few minutes before the bakery closes, and JJ decides that enough is enough. He needs to talk to you and he needs to do it now.

You are wiping down the display cases when you hear the bell ring.

When you turn around, you see JJ. Before he can say anything you glare at him. “Are you kidding me,” you say, sassily. JJ didn't even know you had a sassy bone in your body. “You've come in here every day this week and you look at me and then walk out,” you lecture him, “Seriously, just order something.”

“I-I,” JJ stutters but he can't get a word out in his shocked state.

Closing your eyes you try to regain your composure. “I'm sorry,” you say, your voice softening already feeling guilty about raising your voice at him. “I didn't mean to lash out on you.”

JJ shakes his head, softly smiling at your kindness. “No it's me who should be sorry,” he says remorsefully. “I probably confused you so much. I just- I think you're really beautiful.”

His words shock you. JJ Maybank thinks you are beautiful? You didn't even know he knew you existed before today. This had to be a prank.

You softly pout at him. “That's not very funny, JJ,” you say, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“It's not funny to play me like that.”

JJ frowns at your accusation, heartbreaking slightly. “I'm being honest, (Y/N). You are really pretty.”

You narrow your eyes. “I'm not sleeping with you just because you called me beautiful,” you say.

The blonde boy blushes hard. Clearly, you knew of his reputation, and he hated himself for it. “I don't want to sleep with you. Well I mean, I do, but- shit,” JJ cuts his rambling short, noticing the scowl on your face. “What I meant to say is that I want to take you on a real date, and hold your hand, and kiss you goodnight n’shit.”

To say you're shocked is an understatement. “How do I know this isn't some elaborate joke,” you ask him warily.

“It isn't, I promise,” JJ says honestly, but the look on your face doesn't change. “Last year in English you sat in the second row, three seats from the left and you got A’s on all your papers because you are a good writer. In Mr. Hills biology class you fell asleep almost every day and you would always drool a little bit on your notes. In gym class Freshman year you hit my friend John B in the face with a basketball and you didn't stop apologizing for like three weeks. Trust me (Y/N), I've had a crush on you for a long time.”

By the time JJ finishes his speech, your jaw has dropped. You didn't think anyone at that school even knew your name, let alone JJ Maybank. 

“I-I honestly don't know what to say,” you tell him. “You have a crush on me? You, JJ Maybank, the one guy I told myself I would never fall for?”

You didn't know it, but every word that falls from your mouth is like a knife to JJ’s heart. 

“But I couldn't help myself,” you add, causing JJ to perk up a little bit. “I get girls in here all the time whose hearts you broke, but still, I see you living your best life with your friends and I can't help but want that with you.”

“Go out with me,” JJ says with a mouth splitting grin on his face, “Please. You can wear something nice and I'll bring you flowers pick you up and take you out to a fancy restaurant.”

You can't help but laugh at his outburst. JJ is pretty sure that his heart stops at the sound and he wants nothing more than to make you laugh every day for the rest of his life.

“I'm a simple girl, JJ,” you say sweetly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You don't have to spend a bunch of money on me.”

“You're worth every pen-” you cut the boy off by holding your hand up.

“How about you grab some pizza and I'll grab some dessert and you can pick me up and take me to a picnic on the beach,” you suggest.

JJ looks at you and nods his head like an obedient puppy. 

“Okay, it's settled. Now get out of the bakery so I can close up,” you say with a giggle, playfully shooing him away.

The blonde quickly moves to leave. “I'll pick you up at 6?” he asks sweetly from the doorway.

You nod. “I like pepperoni,” you call out with a chuckle as he backs out of the door, a big smile on his face.

JJ Maybank has a crush on you.

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

masterlist

[romanogers-lyrics]

TFAWS Ep 5: finally some good fucking ✨vindication✨

Scratch that rewind what I said- this is the best episode (maybe in comic book tv history). Closure, growth, and redemption 🙌 just when I was worried they wouldn’t be able to tie things up they fucking give me this 😩🤩👏✊🏽

Holy hell my poor heart died and ascended to the moon to hang out with Steve and Natasha. ✨Goddamn the mastery of storytelling in this episode is why I love the MCU so much ✨

The opening fight between Walker, Bucky, and Sam had me on the edge of my seat. Like in most fights you know the stakes are low because the main heroes always win but this fight... whew it was consequential and more personal than the civil war fight imo. I genuinely was worried about the outcome for Sam and Bucky physically and emotionally. Every beat was character driven! This was cathartic. 🙌 the stunt coordinators knocked it out of the park lovelovelove 💕.

“I am captain America” homie you giving me Gollum vibes. “It’s (the shield) MINE!” Like-

So many creative stunts with the wings!!!

Bucky and Sam working TOGETHER

BUCKY DROPPING THE SHIELD AT SAM’S FEET 😭

The golden light seeping into the frame at the end of the fight 🤌🏼

Sam wiping the blood off the shield. 🥲 I can’t even articulate but it makes me feel-

Sammy’s wings got snapped off and he eventually left them with Torres (passing the mantle?) which symbolizes Sam growing out of his old super hero role. It was cleansing. He’s ready to be more. He’s ready to take action rather than let things happen to him 👏

Baby boy Torres trying to talk to Mr Bucky 🥺. You have both sleeves today Mr Bucky sir 💕

I want no I NEED 😫Torres to fly in with the wings next episode.

How we feeling about Walker?? On the one hand I feel him. Us gov did him dirty but at the same time he made the choices he made. Maybe there is room for redemption? Idk... 🙃 or will he continue to get worse?

I am SO glad that Sam went back to talk to isaiah. He needed to know the full story. He needed closure. I could ramble on and on but the writers made the points so much better than I could but just-

Steve did the exact same thing as Isaiah in the first avenger. He went behind enemy lines to rescue Bucky- without permission! He was a hero for it. And Isaiah was thrown in jail? The double standard is so frustrating

I think Isiah’s point that “no self respecting black man” would use the shield makes sense with his background and story. It makes me sick what was done to him. Things really haven’t changed 😞. At this point I honestly wasn’t sure what Sam was going to do. More later on about this-

Zemo’s theme is so beautiful every time I hear it. 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

What a beautiful scene. Cinematography 💯 Such a great moment between Bucky and Zemo. Zemo fully expects to die and then Bucky does the one thing zemo didn’t expect- the one thing he wasn’t “programmed” to do. Fuuuuuckcjfkekxn

“I crossed my name off in your book” 😭. He obviously grew to respect Bucky and wants him to have peace at last with all the civil war stuff.

Ayo back to calling Bucky white wolf 🐺 love to see it.

The kids playing with the shield and tracing the star has me CRYING. Kids are our hope and they still see something special in the shield. They still believe in it. 😭 such a small moment completely floored me.

Wholesome boat fix up 🥺. I feel like this is the montage where SamBucky fall in love 😂

When Sarah and Sam are talking about the boat- how it is their history- I think again of Isaiah. His history was erased. Sam has to preserve his history ✊🏽

Sarah is a goddamn queen and I Stan 🤌🏼✨

The montage was just a sip of cool water in the desert of trauma that is the MCU.

OKEEEE the conversation between Sam and Bucky where they’re tossing the shield is great on so many levels 😍:

Physically the shield matches the dynamic of the convo. Someone makes a point and throws it. Someone accepts what that person said and catches the shield. Bucky physically offers the shield when he says “I’m sorry” and Sam accepts the shield AND the apology.

The difference between avenging and amending. I was surprised they even used that word bc it calls out the avengers for maybe not doing the emotional work involved in being a hero. Healing is part of the hero job now. #phase4

A small detail but as a person of color I valued it; when Bucky said I’m sorry Sam did not say “it’s okay” or “no worries” because he didn’t have to, I feel like as a POC I’m always making white people feel better and for once I’d like to be confident enough to just accept someone’s apology outright and know I deserve it.

Pivotal when Sam said “it doesn’t matter what Steve thought” at first I was like biiiihhh??! 😠 but he had a point. Both Sam and Bucky have been trying to do hold onto another person who is gone. They gotta heal but more importantly they have to find their own reasons to keep fighting.

The training montage 🤌🏼🙌🤩🥲🥺😭✊🏽. Like FEED ME YEs WE ARE EATiNG. Sammy deserves it all

Sam’s cap theme music is similar to Steve’s but still different. Goddamn so beautiful 💕💕😩

Sam has been pretty passive in this show- almost wanting confirmation he did the right thing. Isaiah didn’t give Sam that comfort but neither did Bucky at first. Sam had to make his own choice 😤✊🏽

It’s a heavy burden to be cap knowing all the shit that has come before but Sam is the only one who can make that decision to be or not to be. And he’s seen the alternative now. In life taking action and taking control of our situation is empowering but always harder than doing nothing. He says it best- what’s the point of all that struggle if you’re not going keep on fighting ✊🏽🥺 I love and respect Sam so much 😭 spoken like captain America! 👏

Show me the suit you COWARDS I WANNA SEe

Goddamnit damnit to hell... I need to SEE IT

Is Sharon setting a trap for Karli???

🚨 end credit: I’m not sure if they are making an iron man comparison. What do you guys think?

Ready for the showdown throwdown next week 👀

All in all it was fucking wild ya’ll and I felt catharsis watching this and so fucking hopeful. I cry 😭

Please feel free to share any thoughts you have about this episode💕

there’s so much in this show that is world building within mcu but also in greater conversations about heroism and power. It is a moral re evaluation of the superhero. Malcom Spellman being head writer you know this shit is not happenstance it is intentional. The took the long road and it totally paid off in this episode 😭

🙇🏻‍♀️ I am emotionally manipulated by this show 🙇🏻‍♀️

Huge shout out to all the cast and crew for making something both respectful to the lore but also challenging it to be better 🙌

My ep 4 review:

Tag list: @soliloquy-of-nemo

[alwaysbeliev]

I Can’t Lose You

Happy Valentine’s Day! This is for the @rdr-secret-cupid adventure this year. Thank you for the prompt, @bloodylove3 and I hope you enjoy!

summary: When Dutch asks you and Arthur to pretend you're married for a job, you're nervous that you won't be able to hide your feelings for the outlaw. You manage to keep it in line, but things go wrong fast.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

word count: 3497

link on AO3

“Alright, here’s where we’ll start.”

It was mid-afternoon. The heat from the sun above was overwhelming, burning whatever it touched. Not even the shade was a relief with its cover. Animals all around were burrowed underground, hiding inside of trees, splashing around in the cool river nearby, and doing their best to stay out of direct light. You idly watched a small mouse scurry through the grass, digging at the dirt every now and then before disappearing into a hole. Quietly, you wished you were that mouse. 

For the hundredth time, Dutch was reviewing his next grand plan. There was a tipoff about a decent score, something that would help the gang move to a new camp, and it would be almost easy to pull off. Almost. But he was careful to plan, detailed to a fault, and now you had to sit through another lecture about making sure you were in the right place at the right time. He stood just inside the flap of his tent as he talked. The others were in a loose circle around him and Hosea.

You felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of your neck. What you wouldn’t give to go jump in the rushing water just a hundred feet away, even fully clothed. Imagining the relief alone made you sweat more. You could feel your skin throb, your cheeks turning red, your shirt sticking to your lower back…

“Hey!”

The sharp sound of Dutch’s voice cut through your daydream, snapping you back to reality. Others were snickering as you jerked your head over and tried to pretend you had been listening.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “there has been a small change of plan.” 

Whoa, Dutch was changing his plan? But the score was just a week away now.

He carried on, “Arthur will be playing the part of your protective, but quiet, husband. You will need to cause a big enough distraction that we can enter without tipping anyone off. Can you handle that?”

“I thought Hosea was providing the distraction?” Your mind was turning, scrambling to remember if that was the original plan or if you were suffering from heat stroke.

“As I had said before, Hosea will be needed outside. It would seem awfully suspicious to outsiders if 5 men all seemed to suddenly rush inside together, don’t you think?”

You supposed he had a point. Outwardly, you agreed with him, but inwardly, your heart was pounding. Arthur? Husband? You barely made it through the rest of the session, managing to excuse yourself as soon as Dutch was done talking. Never before had you felt the palpitations on your chest that you did now at the thought of being with Arthur Morgan. Not just being with him, but pretending to be married. 

To say that you had a crush on Arthur was putting it lightly. From the moment you had met the outlaw, the sight of him caused your heart to race faster than his beautiful horse. You could barely speak around him, let alone carry on any conversation, and you were certain everyone in camp knew about it. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly had approached you just last week to tease you about the way you fumbled over your words when Arthur asked a question. Now you had to pretend to be married?

The group dispersed as Dutch finished his grand lecture, chattering excitedly about the huge score. You felt light-headed and were rooted to the spot. Dutch was right, it should be easy, you had played the actor’s role many times before, but this… This wouldn’t be acting. And surely someone was going to notice that.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A week passed quicker than any week you’d been through before. You and Arthur had prepared a scene, practicing to get it right, and you were feeling slightly more confident. The cowboy still gave you flutters in your heart, but rehearsed lines were much easier than improvised ones, and you were positive he hadn’t seen the longing in your eyes. It was easy.

But what wasn’t easy was how inseparable the two of you were becoming. Every morning, Arthur approached you near the campfire, offering a small treat, typically a piece of chocolate or a small fruit. The first time, your cheeks had flushed hotter than the summer sun. It hadn’t improved much. You would review your plan for the score, pause for a lunch time meal, and continue in the afternoon. Arthur often seemed to have other ideas, wanting a change of scenery, and you would find yourselves a few miles from camp on some rocky outlook or on a river’s shore, just shooting the breeze while the sun seared high above. Arthur even managed to convince you to leave your horse once, riding behind him with arms wrapped around his chest, content just to be near him. 

Finally, the day arrived. The gang all arose early, gathering their tools uneasily. Nerves always ran high the day of, regardless of how much planning had gone into the score, and your stomach churned. Karen had lent a hat, Mary-Beth a beautiful dress in your most favorite color, and you felt so fluffy and over the top. When Arthur saw you, his face seemed to go slack, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My, my, Mrs. Morgan,” he drawled, taking a few lazy steps to close the gap to you. “Aren’t you lookin’ mighty fine this mornin’.”

Pouting and embarrassed, you waved him off, brushing a tight curl over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask the color rising to your cheeks.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, now, I’m only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He laughed before looking somewhat sheepish himself. “Besides, you really do.”

You paused, taking in his sincere compliment.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t have time to respond as Dutch stepped out of his tent, looking the picture of graceful leadership, commanding everyone’s attention. As you turned your body towards him, you saw Arthur’s gaze lingering on your figure, the dress complementing you perfectly. You focused on tugging on your white lace gloves, trying to turn your ears where it mattered.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Alright, Mr. Callahan, now, here we are!”

Your voice pitched up, you pointed out the grandest building in town: the bank. Arthur guided his horse to the hitching post before hopping down, turning to help you down, your big skirt catching slightly and flouncing as your feet landed. Grinning at him, you tugged at his arm excitedly.

“Come on, darling, we gotta go get us a loan! That house ain’t gonna buy itself, you know!”

It was clear you were amusing the man at your side. Your anxiety was causing a jump in your performance, pushing you a slightly uncomfortable bit above believable, but you were pretty and young and the men were watching you. That was all that mattered.

With a grand gesture, you shoved the door to the bank open, stepping into the marbled interior with your boots clicking. The teller glanced up from whatever paperwork he was looking at. For a brief second, he studied the two of you, his eyes lingering on you in particular, before a fixed smile appeared on his face. 

“How can I help you?” he drawled. As practiced, Arthur opened his mouth to speak but you butted in before he could.

“Why, hello, Mr…?” You swept forward, extending a hand for him to shake. He glanced at Arthur in disbelief before gingerly shaking your hand.

“Mr. Monaghan.”

“Oh, Mr. Monaghan, how lovely!” You grinned widely, shaking vigorously. “Yes, me and my new husband here are looking to buy a house! Isn’t that just grand? We just got married, you know, just last week! Oh, we had the most beautiful honeymoon, didn’t we, darling? Traveled to see the ocean, oh it was gorgeous! Simply gorgeous! Have you ever been, Mr. Monaghan?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. Not the way you planned it.

“The birds were so lovely, there were so many of them! Oh, and the food! Simply divine! Have you had seafood before? Crab, lobster, shrimp, oh it was perfect!”

As you rambled, the doors swung in again, allowing entrance to John and Javier. You didn’t spare a look for them, your energy pointed at the teller, and as planned, he didn’t seem to notice them. Your shrill voice and wild theatrics had his whole attention. You carried on as the men got into position.

“They paired the shrimp with-- What was it, my love? This wine, it was a red, wasn’t it? Or was it a white? Mr. Callahan is just hopeless about these things, you know, I’m glad I’m here to help him. Oh we had the most wonderful time together! I thought it might rain one day, there were these horrible gray clouds, but he told me not to worry, even though I wanted to, and sure enough, the sun was out by dinner time!”

The doors creaked again, allowing the last two men in, Dutch and Bill. All 5 men exchanged a look and, in one swift motion, they pulled their bandanas over their faces and drew their weapons. It was satisfying to hear the clicks of a few hammers. Your grin turned wicked and the teller suddenly realized what had happened. 

“We’ll take that loan to go, if you don’t mind.” You couldn’t help yourself. Arthur quickly stepped forward, shielding you with his body so your face was hidden, and you hurriedly moved towards the back of the men, allowing them to do what they needed. It was relatively painless and quiet, the teller moving hastily and without hesitation, filling bags with money and even allowing them access to the room with the safes. You served as lookout, casually standing at the window to keep an eye peeled for the law. Only when you heard Dutch’s signature goodbye did you turn away from it. Arthur made eye contact with you and playfully raised his eyebrows as he strode towards the door and you, ready to make for the horizon.

Without warning, the doors flew open, banging against the wall from the force behind it. Several lawmen were standing, guns drawn, ready to take out the outlaws. Instantly, shots were being fired. You didn’t know who fired first, but you dove out of the way, gripping your hat tightly so it wouldn’t be left behind. For some reason, your only coherent thought was Karen would have my hide.

Men were shouting, the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Flat on the floor, you couldn’t see anything, only heard Dutch shouting orders, police filling the streets outside, the solid sound of bullets connecting with flesh. There was nowhere to take cover. Somebody stepped on your leg and you gasped from the pain. A hand gripped your ankle and dragged you towards a wall. Panicked, you tried to scramble away until you registered Arthur’s voice trying to reassure you. 

“You boys play nice!” a deep voice bellowed from the porch. “We don’t want no hangings, now, y’here?”

“We will play nice when you play nice, Sheriff!” Dutch barked back. 

“This is a fucking massacre!” John spoke to the room at large. The men that had entered before were all on the floor, blood pooling around them, their guns laying forgotten on the wood. More were shouted outside. They were organizing to block all exits from town. There was no way you were gonna make it out now, you started to fear, and you could see the shared looks of the men with you echoing the same sentiment.

A surprised cry arose from outside as another gunshot cracked through the air. 

“There’s Mac!”

With renewed energy, everyone jumped up and sprang for the door. Feeling marginally brave, you snatched a gun from the floor, hoping you wouldn’t have to use it. Bill led the way out. Javier, John, and Dutch quickly followed, and Arthur made up the rear with you in tow, sticking to him like glue. 

The sun outside was blinding. You barely caught a glimpse of the street before you were rushed down the steps and around the side of the building. Back pressed against the wall, the pounding in your head started blocking out your hearing, and you only felt the vibrations in the air and under your feet. Even with all of Dutch’s careful planning, you were still trapped in this mess…

Arthur shouted your name. He stood, almost pressed to you, eyes burning. You snapped to attention, gun at the ready.

“We gotta make a break for it! Be ready on my count!”

It was all you could do to nod. You saw his horse in your peripheral, antsy and pawing, but waiting. You tried desperately to calm your breathing and gathered your skirts up out of your way. At the mark, you all ran, each in slightly different directions to mount their horses, spurring before fully mounted. Arthur was first and you scrambled after him, latching onto his arm and using the momentum of his horse to swing your leg over, skirts be damned. With a sharp cry, he urged his horse forward and away from town.

For a brief moment, you were free. Pounding hooves sounded behind you but were fading fast. The shouts of men continued to rip through the air, but you realized that they, too, were slowly growing faint.  And then a stabbing pain exploded in your thigh. A scream escaped before you could stop yourself. Trained well, Arthur didn’t stop his horse, but he tried to see what had happened, calling back to you with increasing desperation. You had been shot. The panic, the shortness of breath, and now the pain was too much. In a surprisingly short matter of seconds, black filled your vision and you were gone.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The rustle of the trees. The soft sound of running water. Crackling of a campfire. Low voices outside your tent. Your hair brushing your face. Dull and throbbing pain in your leg. Heaviness in your chest. And, finally, the realization you were laying on a cot and not your usual bedroll. 

Slowly, your eyes blinked open. This definitely wasn’t your tent. These weren’t your blankets. Only the soft glow from the fire and a few lanterns shone on the one canvas wall. It was enough light to see that this was Arthur’s tent, the small table with his journal and flower, his photographs on the wagon side. His smell on the blankets. You breathed in deeply.

A snort by your feet caused you to startle. Sitting up slowly, you saw Arthur slumped in a chair, his hat drawn over his face, arms crossed as he breathed evenly, the occasional snore breaking the silence. An strong and sharp pain made you hiss and, in turn, woke the outlaw from his slumber. 

“You’re awake,” he mumbled, barely awake himself as he sat up. 

“Regrettably…”

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Honestly? Not great,” you said, chuckling a little. “But I’ve had worse. Why am I here?”

“Thought you might like a real bed. Well, realer than your bedroll. We can put you out for the wolves, if ya like.” His teasing tone was back, but it was more strained than normal. He looked absolutely exhausted. 

“No, this is fine. It’s… nice.”

Silence fell again. You stared at a thread on the sheet while Arthur stared at you. Usually there was a party the night after a big score, everyone drinking and being merry. There was a strange lack of boisterous laughter, though, and you had the weird feeling it was your doing. 

“How did we make out?”

“Oh, we escaped,” he said, leaning back in the chair again. “But we’re trapped here awhile, there’ll be law crawlin’ everywhere for a few weeks.”

“How much?”

Not even your fixation on the money got him to crack a smile.

“Dunno.” Shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve been in here, makin’ sure you don’t die.”

Arthur’s behavior was bizarre. You hadn’t seen him behave this way when another gang member was injured, not even when John had nearly been lost last year, and it was starting to worry you. Was there something else you didn’t know about? Was your injury more serious than he was letting on? For a moment, you studied his face, the ache and shadows clear in the weak light, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw the barest sign of a light track down his cheek.

“Arthur…” 

It was such a soft whisper, you weren’t sure he had heard you at first. He lifted his eyes to meet yours. You tried desperately to read him for a second before finally caving.

“Arthur, what happened? Did someone not make it?”

At long last, he managed a short huff of air that might be mistaken for laughter. Shaking his head, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he ran his hands across his face, removing his hat and setting it on his wardrobe. When he looked at you again, he actually had a small smile, and relief had replaced what you had mistaken for grief.

“No, no, nothin’ like that.”

“So what’s the matter?”

He tilted his chin up, exhaling long and low towards the sky, seemingly contemplating something. It was quiet for an achingly long time. Another deep sigh and he brought his chin back down, meeting your gaze steadily.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he murmured. “I heard the shot, your scream… I thought you were gone for sure.”

Okay… you thought, still bewildered. We’ve almost lost people before. What makes me special?

“And I didn’t get the chance to tell you…” You had seen him struggle with words in the past, but this was different. It was almost as if his voice was physically fighting him on saying anything. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, truth be told. You mean-- That is, you’re very important-- That’s, well…”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you realized what he was trying to say. You didn’t dare utter a word, hoping, begging him to just spit it out. You weren’t positive this was happening, as now you were almost certain you had actually died and this was the beginning of your personal heaven.

“I can’t lose you, darlin’.”

The tears spilled over and dripped down your cheeks. You couldn’t even feel the pain in your thigh as it felt like a major weight had been lifted off of you. Arthur was startled, concern growing once more on his face at your tears, but when you started to grin and laughter bubbled up, he relaxed and looked as embarrassed as a school boy, dropping his eyes and smiling himself.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me to hear,” you finally said, shaking your head at the silliness of it all. “I can’t lose you, either, Arthur. You mean the world to me.”

Slowly, the cowboy rose from his seat and approached the edge of the cot. You gingerly shifted yourself over to allow him to sit beside you, and he took the opportunity. You soaked in the other’s presence for just a moment. With the softest gaze you had seen from him, Arthur returned his attention to you. He lifted a hand to cup your face, his rough thumb stroking your cheek as he drank in your features, looking truly content for the first time. Gracefully and ever the gentleman, he tilted your face up to meet his as he carefully kissed you. It was light at first. He was testing the waters, not pushing too fast. But when you met him eagerly, he leaned in, hard. 

You didn’t dare breathe for the duration of the kiss, your heart a frightening combination of pounding and not beating at all. The taste of whiskey lingered fresh on his lips and left your mouth tingling. When Arthur pulled away, you shifted forward slightly, not wanting it to end. But, courteous as always, he pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead and then sat back again. Your eyes flickered all over his face. You were still unsure if you could catch your breath.

“Wanted to do that for a long time,” he muttered. All you could do was nod. Wow…

“Can you stay with me?” you blurted out. “Tonight?”

“O’ course,” he agreed. He tugged his boots off as you scooted as far over as you could, lifting the sheet for him to crawl into. Warmth radiated from his skin and it was like stepping into a comfortable bath as he wrapped his arms around you. You sighed into his chest, drinking in his smell with your face buried in him, hands gripping his shirt. The dull sting in your leg was in the background of your mind. It didn’t matter to you, though; you were safe here. And this wasn’t going to end any time soon.

[eideticmemory]

TWO GHOSTS II | MATTHEW G. GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right? Part 2! Read Part 1.

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.1k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

After Hours - The Velvet Underground

Mr. Loverman - Ricky Montgomery

Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now - The Smiths

“Ramona . . .” you whine.

“I know . . . a mess.”

“I, uh,” you set your phone down, keeping Ramona’s voice on speaker. “I have to get out of this hotel, I have to get home.”

“[y/n], no.”

“No?”

“No.”

You begin changing out of your pajamas, your hands trembling as you slip on a pair of jeans. “Are you telling me I can’t go home right now? Seriously?”

“Seriously. Unless you wanna get swarmed by paparazzi, and risk leaving the hotel at the same time as him, you need to stay put.”

“This . . . this . . . is a mess. This is a huge mess, I — Ramona, I’m leaving.” You ramble, grabbing your things from the bedside dresser.

“[y/n] [y/l/n].” Ramona says, sternly. “You are my boss, but I have direct orders from your publicist to make sure you stay put. So, sit down, chill out, I’ll be there in five. And, honestly . . . you should have some wine.”

“Wha — wine? It’s seven in the morning.”

“Y’know what? You deserve it. Be there soon.”

She was already on the way when she hung up, and when she knocks on the door, you’re sat criss-cross on the bed, sipping a glass of wine. She’s right, you deserve it. You hold the fragile cup in your hand as you open the door, and she waltzes her way in.

“You calm now?” she asks.

“Medicated,” you shrug, holding the glass of wine up in the air.

“Perfect . . . so, were you ever going to tell anyone that you used to date Matthew Gray Gubler?”

You scoff, wander through the hotel room, “I didn’t date Matthew Gubler,” you take a seat on the bed.

“Okay, were you going to mention that you used to fuck Matthew Gray Gubler?” She crosses her arms.

“I . . .” you stutter, go silent in response.

“Oh, God,” she groans.

“It was a long, long time ago! It’s no one’s business, and there’s hardly any proof that it’s anything but a rumor.”

“No proof? —“ She shakes her head, pulling her iPad from her bag. As she clicks a few buttons, she adds, “Did you not see what people were saying? . . . The pictures?”

“Pictures?” You gasp, setting you glass down. “What pictures?”

Ramona sighs, and hands the iPad over to you, avoiding eye contact. You slowly take the device from her hands, and let out a shaky breath.

“The first two were posted a, um, John Hearse on twitter . . .” she explains.

“I mean, if you and Gube just . . . I’m gonna say it - fucked - one good time, the two of you could get over this whole rivalry already.”

Ramona’s words start to fade, to rescind to dust and ash, as you absorb the image in front of you. It’s old . . . and slightly blurry, but you recognize every face. John, Steve, Matthew . . . and you, sat in his lap, head on his shoulder with a huge, bright smile on your face. Matthew had his hand on your waist, practically gripping your shirt in his hand, keeping you close. The next picture, he was making you laugh, all three of you, as you looked, lovingly, into his eyes.

They were posted in response to a final picture, of you and Matthew reuniting. You looking, literally, like an idiot, in the daze of seeing him and recieving a hug. Some professional photographer had captured the whole thing.

John’s pictures are captioned: Whoaaa glad to see these two back together!

“They used to be, heh,” you chuckle dryly to yourself as you read the tweet outloud. “Inseparable, wow. Remind me to call John up later and yell at him until he cries.”

“Wh — what happened between you two?”

“Me and John? Nothing much, we were good friends,” you shrug.

“No — [y/n], c’mon . . .” Ramona groans.

“It would take,” you sigh. “So much time, and so much energy for me to tell that story right now. I don’t have it in me, Ramona, I just . . . I just want to go home.”

“The place is surrounded by paparazzi, they’re harassing every celebrity that leaves the building, and I’m pretty sure your high on their watchlist right now.”

“Yeah, I’ve mastered the art of ignoring them, I’ll be fine, just call me a ride, please,” you grumble, setting the iPad down and rising to your feet.

She sighs, giving in, giving up, “There’s one waiting for you out front.”

“Thank you,” you nod.

Your belongings are removed from the room first, carried down by an accommodating bellhop. Ramona followed you down to the lobby, trailing you, like she always did. But keeping a closer eye on you than usual. You stopped in front of the revolving door, lips pursed in a look of annoyance as you came face to face with the hoard of paparazzi.

They noticed you through the glass before you had the chance to take a breath, and if you stood still for too long, you feared it would show as weakness, a reason to be suspicious. So, you held your head up tall, took in a deep breath, and stepped into the spotlight.

You’ve mastered the look of constantly-tired-business-woman-chic. Today, you’re running off a cup of coffee, and as always, throw on jeans and a graphic t-shirt. Comfortable shoes, because those heels destroyed your feet last night.

It’s a short walk to the car, but a million and one pictures are taken of you. You smile, respectfully, do a little wave. Don’t want to look too bitter. You drown out the questions, drown out the comments, because you swear if you hear his name, you’ll roll your eyes.

Ramona gets into the car after you, and closes the door. You let out a long sigh, and sulk in your seat. “This sucks,” you mumble, the car staring the ten minute drive to your home.

“Okay, [y/n] Gubler,” she replies.

“Hey!” You sit up. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she whines. “I knew something was off last night. I could’ve helped you avoid him, I could’ve gotten his car towed, I could’ve sent him the wrong address. You just have to communicate.”

“That is . . . unprofessional, and Matthew Gubler is, apparently, very professional. And he . . .” you trail off.

“He . . ? What?”

“He, donated a very healthy amount of money to the program, which, has nothing to do with me, by the way. None of it has anything to do with me, he’s just . . . professional.” You roll your eyes.

“What the hell happened between you two?” Ramona asks, noticing your shift in tone.

“Ooh, damn!” You ignore her, looking out the window. “We should’ve stopped and grabbed donuts.”

“Fine,” she surrenders.

You were surprised to find no paparazzi surrounding your penthouse building. Ramona had packed away all your belongings, and sent someone inside to place them in your apartment.

“Stay off social media,” she tells you before you leave. “Okay? No posting.”

“Silent stalking, only. Got it.”

You hold your phone in your hand as you walk into the building, ride the elevator up to the fifth floor. It’s quiet, and it’s what you need right now. To be home alone, with your thoughts.

You crash onto the couch, face first, and groan as you roll over. Last night should’ve been joyous, and fun, and it was. But, it was supposed to be the end. It was supposed to bring peace, knowing that everything you worked for, payed off and went out with a bang.

But, because of him, and John, and these stupid pictures, it’s far from the end. A whole new storm has started, and it’s making you nauseous.

Yet, you can’t keep yourself offline. You spend hours scrolling through tweet upon tweet, instagram post after instagram post, and each and every comment is as gut wrenching as the last. The internet’s made up it’s mind, and you and Matthew Gubler are the perfect couple. You fit together, you look right together, you have history together.

A history that was better left buried.

Because, when it comes up, when you think about, and you think about that one decision that could’ve changed everything . . . you crack. You spiral. You can’t shake it for days. Weeks. You think about him, and what you could’ve been.

It’s a hurricane, and it sweeps you up everytime, even when you know it’s coming.

There’s a knock at the door, and your heart drops. It’s naive, and childish to think that maybe, just maybe, it’s him. Coming to apologize for being a dick. But the idea of it has you racing to the door, and flinging it open before you can think about it.

“Hey, Aunt [y/n]!”

“Hey,” Claire smiles. “We brought donuts.”

This is better.

The seven year old held onto your hand as you guided her and her mother in your apartment. “Oh, my goodness,” you beamed to Dorthy, earning a bright smile from her. “Is Roni with you?” You turned to ask Claire.

“She had to help her mother with something today, but I told her that I had to help you through a serious crisis.”

“Ah,” you nod. “You’ve been online, huh?”

You take a seat with Dorothea on the couch, turn on the TV. “Wanna pick something to watch?” You smile, and she nods happily, taking the remote from you.

You join Claire in the kitchen, and she hands you a cookies and cream donut. You hum happily as you take it from her, take a seat on the counter, “God, thank you.”

She nods, “Yes, I’ve been online. I’ve been tracking everything about you and your big, big night,” she chuckles. “So I was ready to run over here when I saw those pictures going around.”

“You saw them?” You gasp, horrified, with the donut hanging from your mouth.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t remember when they were taken, though?”

“Vegas, 2001,” you tell her. “You didn’t — you didn’t come with us.”

She sighs, tilts her head at you, “[y/n] . . .”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you nod, reassuringly. “I’m not going down a Matthew rabbit hole. Not right now. Y’know why? Because he is an ass, he’s rude, and disrespectful, and stirs shit up for no reason, and —“

“Whoa!” Claire exclaims. “Did I enter a time portal to 1999 or something?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you roll your eyes.

“[y/n], you knew seeing Matthew was a possibility last night, and that it would bring back all these emotions, and you swore you could handle it —“

“I did handle it! I handled it very, very well. He’s the one who lost his cool. You should’ve heard him, Claire,” you ramble. “Nothing I did tonight has anything to do with you? I’m a professional? I didn’t do it to cushion your feelings? He’s a dick! He — he threw everything in my face the minute he could, and now my name is connected to his, our history is out there for everyone to see, and . . . he probably fucking hates me,” you laugh.

You laugh.

It’s a dry laugh, a sad laugh.

Claire frowns, and steps over to you, putting her arm around your shoulders.

“He hates me,” you say. “And he probably has every reason to. But I can handle it. I can handle the emotions, I’ve handled them for a long time,” you look at her. “And it’s not my fault if he can’t do the same, right?”

Claire sighs, pushes your hair back, “No.” She shakes her head. “No, you’ve moved on. You should want him to do the same thing, and not cause anymore hurt. You deserve that.”

“Mom! Aunt [y/n]!” Dorthy calls from the couch. Her head pops up, and she grins at you two. “Best and Ballet is on!”

“Ooh, what show is that?” You chuckle, hopping down from the counter. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Hey,” Claire calls, grabbing onto your arm before you can walk into the living room. “It’s like everything else in show business, right? People will talk for a few days, maybe a week, right? And then it’ll fade. It’ll pass.”

You give her a nod, let her know that you hear her, and that you’re going to push through this. Because you have no choice. Because above being a celebrity, a figurehead, a boss, a producer . . . you’re a teacher. A damn good one, and the last person who’s going to change that is Matthew Gubler.

You pack him away. The idea of him. Tie him off with a neat, little bow.

Because the show must go on.

“Rolling!”

You walk across the studio, behind the cameras, watching your students on screen. “Can you get a wide shot? You’re not getting the best lighting, nor every student in one shot.” You say to the cinematographer.

“[y/n],” the director calls. “We film from this angle every episode. Why change it?”

“Because every episode, some of my best dancers are cut from the shot beside of sloppy angles and the light from the windows blinds the mirrors the cameras?”

“Those are things out of our control.”

“Oh, yeah?” you turn to him. “You wanna tell that to someone who didn’t go to film school? . . . Twice?”

He gulps, motions to the cinematographer, “Change the shot.”

You grin, order the camera woman to make the correct adjustments, “See?” You beam. “No glare.”

You walk off, Ramona trailing behind you, giving the director a pitiful smile. Once you’re away from the cameras, and the studio, you grumble, “Remind me to never be talked into hiring a male director again.

“You’re turning into Medusa.”

“What?” You look at her, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What? You’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy? Medusa? Turns people into stone? A . . . bitch?”

“Actual Medusa was not a bitch, she was cursed by a man.”

“Okay, fair, you were cursed by a man —“

“Dooooon’t!” You roll your eyes. “I’m not Medusa, I’m very nice.”

“You’re nice to me, and to your students, and the nice ladies that do your hair and makeup. Everyone else, stone.”

“Stop.”

“I wish you would tell me what happened,” she groans. “It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone! I’m just, worried about you, and a little nosey.”

“Ramona . . . it’s been how long since that weekend?”

“Well, well,” she stutters. “Only a week.”

“A week is a long time, I’ve moved on. I’ve avoided any and all questions on the subject, from everyone. I’ve been actively dodging it on social media. I’m doing well.”

She nods.

“Now,” you continue to walk down the hall. “I have a talk show interview tonight? What time do I have to be there?”

You stop when you realize Ramona isn’t following you. You turn around, and she stuck in her spot.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Can’t move. Been turned to stone.”

You hated the Medusa comparison wholeheartedly. But, right now, you just want to yell at whoever booked you for a late night talk show. You’re tired after a long day of work, and you’re cranky, and crabby, and maybe, just maybe . . . the comparison isn’t too far off right now.

You’re charming, sure. Let’s go with that. But now, it’s all starting to dawn on you. Here, in this dressing room that’s lit up like a christmas tree. Revealing every ounce of exhaustion in your face, in your eyes. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, and you’re placed in an elegant, black dress that stops just above your knees. Black heels cover your feet, and your hair and makeup were done half an hour ago.

You have to figure it out. You test different ones out in the mirror. Different smiles. You have to nail the I-have-to-talk-about-myself-for-an-hour-and-laugh smile. The happy, glowing, kind smile. You think you have it when there’s a knock on the door.

You keep the smile on, don’t want to lose it. You call Ramona in, and she looks at you, curiously. “You okay?”

“Yep,” you nod, brightening your smile. “Show time?”

“Are — are you having a stroke?”

“Okay, I’m trying to put on my interview face here, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry, you look great!” You smiles.

“Ramona,” you whisper, stepping close to her. “There’s a good chance they’re gonna ask me about him, right?”

She takes a breath in, prepared to answer, but no words come out. Your eyes are wide, innocent, hopeful. And she hates to lie to you.

“Yes . . .” is all she can say. “There is a, very, very good chance they will ask you about him.”

You sigh, duck your head. And when you pick it back up, your smile is on. “Okay, let’s go.” You step out into the hallway, Ramona closing the door behind you.

It was a time portal. The door. The hallway.

Matthew’s eyes land on you at the same time you see him, and you both freeze. Ramona bites at her nails, anxiously eyeing the two of you.

You feel your body, your soul, revert. Regress in every way to embody the spirit of you, at age 18, about 18 years ago.

You scoff, meaning your next words with every fiber of your being, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

TAGLIST:

@muffin-cup

@pinkdiamond1016

@ncsls0515

@spencersbed

@safertokiss

@calm-and-doctor

@spencerreid-mgg

@reidsconverse

@sizzlingclamturtlesludge

[ncitygirls]

matryoshka - part 1, 4k

sibling!johnny, taeyong x f reader, mark x f reader, platonic/‘sibling’!haechan

nct crime au, angst, cw: character death, death, mental illness, police, injury, violence

300 days

There are few people who can disarm a man like Johnny Seo. Since the rather untimely, and inexplicable death of his mother and father at the tender age of fourteen, he quickly adopted this persona. He considers it a token from his late mother. She had always said, in a voice as soft as the breeze in spring, that to be polite is to be in control. He holds himself to that quite forcibly, reminding himself time and time again that there is power in making others fold to him. At time it is as simple as approaching an adversary with a smile, and awaiting the flare in their skin, the bugle in their veins and the ripple in their muscles. There are few who can disarm Johnny Seo. But few does not equate to none.

“When will you discharge her?” Johnny began, the words rolling off of his tongue with an air of nonchalance that bordered on flippancy, but an edge that was new to even him.

“Mr Seo,” without thinking, Johnny rolls his neck, bracing himself for a response he knows he will refuse. He thinks it odd to loathe an act he is yet to commit, especially when he can still prevent it. What he hates more however, is that you are here to witness it. When the doctor sighs, letting his glasses hang around his neck, he smiles sympathetically. Johnny sees nothing but pity. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but physically? Your sister is stable enough to go home. When we went in to remove what was left of the bullet fragments and saw to her ruptured spleen, we managed to mend her torn ligaments. Her blood work came back clear, and for the most part, her vitals are stable. With a few weeks of physio, I think we would be able to discharge her. Ideally, she could go home this week.”

“Wonderful,” Johnny’s hollow cheer guides his hasty movements as he, unthinking, strips you of your blanket to reveal a sight he thinks might change his mind. Rows of red line your skin, moons of dried blood covering the heels of your palms. He cringes at the dirty cotton cuffs that strap you to the metal frame of your hospital bed. Johnny can’t seem to make sense of the sight. “Did this happen during the shooting?”

“No, Mr Seo,” the doctor shakes his head, his frustration with his patient’s only living relative shedding every second he watches Johnny take in your limp frame. “It is like I was saying. Miss Seo is fit enough to leave. But mentally-”

Johnny simply raises his palm, ignoring the tears that pool in and out the corners of your eyes, a steady stream gathering in your hairline as you relive the events the two refer to so flippantly. “She will do better at home.” It is unclear for whom the assurance is intended. The doctor, you, himself. It is all just hope. So it doesn’t matter. “She will do better once she’s home.”

“Mr Seo, as your sister’s physician, I must implore you to reconsider.” Johnny understands where the doctor is coming from, he truly does. Johnny, taught well by his father, prides himself in being understanding. Like his father before him, Johnny prides himself in being calm in the face of not only danger, but regular folk - those who go about their lives, slaves to normalcy. Those who live life year to year, those who plan their lives, who wake up to sleep, expecting to see the sun once again. Those who consider life a right, rather than a privilege. Johnny has come to understand men like this. Not by choice of course, but because he had to. Especially once you met Taeyong.

2,109 days

“I met a guy today,” the words crackle through the phone, Johnny’s fingers stilling as he finally takes a break from his work, placing a mental bookmark on his train of thought. He wants to ask where, but he doesn’t enjoy seeming interested in affairs of the heart. They sicken him. “He was really weird,” you hum as you kick the curb, swinging your arms as you traipse through what Johnny thinks must be your university campus. He pretends he bother to know your schedule, but never has a reason for why he always gets himself up before you leave every morning. “A good weird,” you add, “his clothes hardly fit, they were all baggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“You kids and your trends,” he huffs, spinning in his chair to watch the city, eyes landing on the bell tower of your campus. “What happened to a nicely fitted suit?”

“It’s a college campus, John. Plus, it’s like half ten in the morning,” you can hear his next question before he even asks. “I mentioned his clothes because I wanted you to envision him, not judge him.”

“Well, I am envisioning a bum.”

“Okay, but envision a cute bum,” you try. “A beautiful, cute, funny bum.”

“That is still a bum, y/n.” You hear the faint sound of floor boards creaking, a telltale sign that he’s pacing. “Did he ask you out?” You hum in agreement, always too shy to admit anything so personal outright. It is times like this he wonders why you bother calling him and not just Haechan. He’ll never tell you this however. Lest he lose his spot as your first call. “I hope ope he’s taking you somewhere nice?”

“Yeah, of course,” he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s Hyuck’s you're both going to. Not that there as an issue with Hyuck’s. Even if you’ve already had the menu four different ways, front to back and then back again. It’s where you take all your first dates, you give Haechan a chance to size them up, figure out if they’re worthy. “I just wanted to tell you first because I think he’s a real contender this time.”

“And you’ll be late home, so you won’t be making dinner again?” Your affirming grunt forced a long sigh from Johnny. However, no matter many times he claimed his annoyance was due to your absence inconveniencing him; you both knew the loneliness bothered him now. “Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try,” you sing. “And I’ll bring that coffee cake you love so much, okay?” Johnny offers his own affirming grunt. Though it sits a couple octaves below your own, you hear the sliver of joy he lets through. “Love you.”

He doesn’t respond. He had already hung up.

300 days

“Mr Seo?”

Johnny had finally shrugged off his suit jacket and let his shoulders sag when he heard his name for the umpteenth time that day. He wanta to ignore it, but what would mother say?

“Yes?” SMPA. The badge is hard to read as it glistens under the glaring hospital lights. But he can’t miss the shape, the obnoxious insignia.

“Good evening,” the detective starts, his smiling eyes are in direct contrast to the gloom and doom of the last few days. Johnny wonders if smiling with teeth is proper practice when greeting someone who almost lost their little sister. “I am Detective Lee, I have a few questions for you about the shooting at Hyuck’s Diner. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he sighs, straightening his spine. “I am sure you are aware, but I wasn’t there.”

“I think it’s lucky you weren’t,” the detective adds, a sad smile settling on the bed to your right. “I am a friend of Donghyuck’s.”

“Oh,” there’s a short second where Johnny feels an odd sense of comfort, one he believed would only come when you finally opened your eyes. He also feels some guilt. “I didn’t know he had any other friends in Seoul, I tried to reach everyone I could.”

“And thank you for that,” the detective lets his eyes fall on his friend’s unmoving figure for a moment, his gaze returning to Johnny when he feels a familiar prick. “I have been hard at work on this case. I received word you did not wish for your sister to remain in hospital. May I ask why?”

“It is a public hospital,” Johnny responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can afford better.”

“Then why did you let her stay?” The detective asks, scribbling away. Johnny wonders what dictates the parameters of an investigation versus a friendly conversation. “Her psych eval?”

“No,” he sighs, eyeing Haechan to your right. “They wouldn’t let me take him too,” when the detective tilts his head, surprise evident in his round eyes, Johnny lets himself laugh for the first time in over a week. “You wouldn’t want to be me when she wakes up to find I left him behind.”

2,361 days

It is past midnight when you fly into Johnny’s bedroom, a dew gathering on your forehead, chin and neck. In his sleepy haze, he hears only the end of your ramblings, your steps ordered in a manner Johnny can only describe as frantic. It is not in his nature to panic, he leaves such trivialities to you. But when your wide eyes find his, fear brimming as you scramble to get ready, you throw him your phone and he finally sees why.

“There are a bunch of guys who won’t pay up at Hyuck’s and he’s scared. Let’s go.”

That’s how Johnny found himself parked outside Hyuck’s Diner in downtown Seoul, just north of the river. You didn’t give him a chance to park up as you dashed out the still moving vehicle, door left wide open. Johnny is thankful it’s late, but quickly notes it being far too late for Hyuck’s to still be open. As he parks up, he watches you storm into the near empty diner, sees the relief on Haechan’s tired face as you round the bar. Johnny can’t really make out what you’re saying, but he can see the fire in your eyes. He sniggers as he stalks after you, seeing his mother in them too.

“I said, pay up, or give it back.”

“That’s funny,” one of the burly men says, food spitting out his mouth and onto the clean bar top as he laughs in your face. While Johnny only counted two from outside, he can now see a third standing off to the side. When his eyes meet Johnny’s, he falters slightly, thick hands running through his hair as he avoids Johnny’s haunting figure hovering by the only exit. “Who exactly is gonna make us?”

“Me,” you grin, reaching for the back of his head and slamming it hard down onto the bar. You hear Haechan yelp in what you assume is fear for his newly polished, now dented bar top. As the guy to his left lunges at you, you’re quick to utilise your surroundings. Johnny almost applauds your ingenuity as you quickly reach for a used butter knife and practically mutilate the man’s fist. It is then Haechan disappears from your side, his head nearly halfway down the drain pipe as blood splurts onto his newly polished, now dented, now blood stained bar top. The first guy had rounded the bar, only to be met with a fist to the throat, and knee to the gut. Johnny sees you’re expecting something to happen as you repeat the motion before seeing sense. With your hand latched to his collar, you drag his doubled over body out onto the street before you knee him again.

In the middle of the intersection pours his unpaid bill, meeting one end of the deal. Johnny laughs at how visibly dissatisfies you are, considering how long their bill actually was. You fish his wallet out of his back pocket, taking a few hundreds to cover the balance. “Who even carries cash anymore?”

Johnny wonders too as you pass by him, walking back inside and turning on the third guy. “Your friend covered yours, so you’re free to go.” As he scrambles to leave, he keeps his eyes fixed on your brother, halting when Johnny moves to stop him, a lone finger pointing toward the man's weeping companion.

“Take them with you.”

It’s a few seconds before their presence is no more than a distant memory. Johnny is quick to clean the bloody bar top, and rearrange the furniture. He even loads the dishwasher as you tend to a still queasy Haechan. “When I text you, I didn’t think you would do all of that,” he huffs, backtracking as he notes the hurt look in your eyes. “I mean, I am so grateful. Really, I am,” he smirks, fatigue stealing the light that usually fills his eyes. “But I didn’t know you were The fucking Bride.” When you roll your eyes, he presses on, glimpses of his usual self slowly return as the adrenaline begins to kick in. “No, honestly! I wish I had cameras in here because- fuck! That was insane!”

“Alright, whatever. Get your things, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Haechan asks, the worry in his tone hurting you beyond belief. “Do you think I should call Mark again?”

“Who, the cop? No, they won’t be coming back, trust me,” you hum. When Johnny emerges from the back, drying his hands on a clean rag, you jest, “no thanks to angel eyes over there may I add.”

“Oh my god, hyung! And you!” Haechan restarts, allowing you to pack up his things while he recounts the terror in the third man’s gaze as he locked eyes with your brother. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, grabbing Haechan while Johnny locks up. “Or something.”

It’s nearly dawn when Haechan crashes. It was Monday and he needed to find cover for the open. But getting cover didn’t stop him fretting, and no amount of herbal tea nor booze could settle a frantic Haechan. It is laughable though, how it took no more than a film opening to send him off. You slip away at sunrise, snuggling up to Johnny who gave up on sending you away shortly after your parents passed. However, he still makes sure to express his disdain for the affection.

“At least stick to your side, y/n-”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you breathe, clearly uninterested in satisfying his request. “I know you have to be up soon, and I’m sorry. But having you there was- yeah. Thank you.”

For the first time in years, Johnny lets you snuggle with him. An hour later, for the first time ever, Johnny lets Haechan do the same. He fears that this might become a pattern, the two of you craving so much affection it might suffocate him. Johnny knows it just might, but has found peace in that. Much like he has found peace in your insistence that Haechan be one of you. Because he is one of you, he too left orphaned at a young age, you took him under your wing. So much like that day, as Johnny falls asleep to the sound of your light snores, he also decides-

300 days

“He’s family.”

“He speaks so highly of you both,” Mark adds, smiling thankfully at your sleeping frame. “But I’m sure he would forgive you for doing what’s best for her.”

“She wouldn’t.” Johnny adds, though a part of him knows he might have trouble forgiving himself.

“What is it you do for a living?” Mark asks, eyes quickly scanning Johnny’s crisp suit. “I can’t say I recall Hyuck ever mentioning it.”

“A bit of this and that,” he jokes, glancing towards you. “That’s what she calls it.” He hates the melancholic tone he has adopted. It is pitiful. “After our parents passed, I took over their pharmaceuticals company just after I turned twenty-one. We dabble in everything; medicine, cosmeceuticals, nutrition, you name it.”

“That must keep you busy.”

“I work from home,” Johnny knows he is being foolish, trying to falsely place an accusation in Mark’s assumption. Johnny knows he fell into the classic trope of throwing himself into his studies, and then his work, just to avoid the harsh reality that his parents were gone and they were never coming back. He would readily admit he abandoned you in the beginning to grieve on your own, to figure it all out on your own. He just wouldn’t take that from a stranger. “I tried to be around for her as much as I could.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mark’s smile is kind, full of unfiltered sympathy. Johnny wonders if you have to practice such a thing, and if so, whether someone should have the doctors do the same. “I just wonder if you are wearing yourself thin is all.”

“You needn’t worry about such things Detective.” Johnny reminds, drawing the line between the two so simply, his eyes flicking slowly to Mark’s badge. “Worry about the case.”

“Of course,” Mark rushes, scrambling to defend his statement. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“And I you,” when the doctor enters to take both yours and Haechan’s vitals, he greets Mark warmly. Johnny feels no resentment to this warm reception, none whatsoever. But he can’t help but wonder what about him denies him the same warm greeting. He is quickly reminded of the first time he was to meet Taeyong.

1,977 days

“Your knees are shaking the counter, hyung,” Haechan sniggers. He knows he shouldn’t, he does. But he can’t help but bask in his friend’s nerves. How can the coldest man he knows be so scared to meet his sister’s boyfriend. As calm and collected as he behaves, Haechan is no stranger to worry, and it worries him to no end how the evening will go. From what he has heard from you, Taeyong is as nervous as one can be. And yet, your main concern lies in how your brother will react, and Haechan is an empathetic soul. He just knows he will feel it all. “Your vibe is really killing the mood, lighten up.”

“Shut up, kid.” Johnny warns, eyeing his watch every so often. “They’re late.”

Strike one.

“You know what y/n is like, she’s probably trying to talk him out of it.” Haechan notes how innocent Johnny looks with his head tilted, confusion bleeding into his features. “You are pretty scary hyung, maybe she thinks you’m scare him off.”

“Maybe he isn’t worthy then.”

Strike two.

“Or,” Haechan sings, adjusting his embroidered apron, Hyuck’s opening anniversary gift from the very man he is about to berate. “Maybe you’re not ready to watch your sister grow up, so you sabotage everything with your scary eyes and bad vibes,” Haechan shrugs with his chin in his palm, blinking sweetly at Johnny who resists the urge to flick his forehead.

“Don’t you have coffee to go pour?”

Haechan sniggers once more as he does just that, refilling Johnny’s coffee and shrugging. “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

So he can’t fly?

Strike three.

300 days

After a few hours, Mark returns for a detailed description of the three men he suspects may be involved in the shooting. Johnny says as much as he can recall, even going as far as to emphasise the detective’s lack of involvement. He suspects it is in direct retaliation to his earlier comment and ignores it, though Johnny quickly sees his own guilt reflected back in the detective’s guilt ridden eyes. “Will that be all?”

“Almost-” Mark starts, before glancing over at you. “I just,” he can’t seem to push past the lump in his throat. Johnny has given him everything he knows, that much is true. But after speaking with the doctor, Mark can’t help but wonder. “Why haven’t you tried speaking to her? Doctor Kim said she may respond well to a familiar voice.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Mark knows it’s a loaded statement. One dripping in regret, in guilt, and in shame. But Mark can’t afford for Johnny to be ashamed. Not with Haechan lying unconscious as you lie there, reliving that day over and over and over again. Mark needs you to wake up. But Mark also swore to never relinquish his compassion. All Mark knows of you is the stories he’s heard through Haechan. Though some have a rosier hue due to his familiarity with you, Mark is sure there is no exaggeration in your case. You are a good person. One who cares deeply, who loves deeply. Mark thinks those parts of you are the ones Johnny can tap into. He just won’t.

“Haechan was my first friend in Korea. When I moved here as a kid, my parents worked at the orphanage he was at. He made fun of my Korean for a year straight before I could finally understand and speak fluently enough to defend myself. But, I guess it was okay, you know? He was helping all the same. I was a scrawny kid, I used to get picked on a lot. He was always there. Even though he got beat up too. He’s in all my earliest- my best memories. growing up. He’s like my brother. If he was awake, I think I’d-”

“But he isn’t,” Johnny reminds, eyes locked on your sunken face. Johnny knows what Mark is doing, he knows the tactic very well. He is quite acquainted with guilt as a form of persuasion. “He’s not awake, detective. The doctor said he doesn’t know if he will ever wake up. You know, I overheard the doctors say they haven’t seen spinal fractures that severe in their fifty years of combined experience. They said if Haechan ever opens his eyes again it will be a miracle. If he walks again? This hospital would be internationally renowned. Those surgeons would be infamous. But they can’t. They can’t so it. They can’t do it because they don’t have the facilities for such an operation, and even if they did, Hyuck couldn’t afford it. Even if he could afford it, y/n would have to wake up and give them the okay, because this idiot made herself his guardian so he could practically sell his soul for the loan for that fucking diner.

“So, I’m sorry, detective. I’m sorry that the only thing standing between you ever seeing your friend again is my selfish sister.”

“Mr Seo-”

“But you must agree, she is selfish. She thinks she’s the only one hurting, the only one who has lost something, lost someone.” Mark only sees what Johnny is doing a few seconds too late. As Johnny raises a lone finger to his lips, his eyes catching on the stream pouring down your temples. Mark’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as your vital signs begin to whir, the machinery at your bedside coming to life as Johnny reminds you that, “people die every day. Our parents, Hyuck’s parents, and now Taeyong-”

“Don’t!” You scream suddenly, your body nearly thrashing off of the bed. Johnny fears the force with which you rise could snap your arms in two, but nothing is more worrisome than the bloody red rimming your crisp white eyes; the visible and painfully rapid rise and fall of your chest; the tremor in your chapped lips. “Don’t! Please! Please don’t say it-”

Johnny had never moved so fast. His hands clinging to your trembling frame as he stroked the back of your head. He chanted quickly in your ear, pleading with you to stay with him as he promises to stay. “I won’t go anywhere, I won’t leave you. Never. I promise. Just please, stay with me, okay? I need you here, Hyuck- Hyuck needs you, okay? I need you to stay with me, we’re all we have. Please, y/n-”

Mark couldn’t help but feel intrusive. His earlier pushing began to feel filthy, unfair, unjust. But how could he know you were this far gone, this distraught. Nothing is more sickening than the soft, croaky ‘yes’ that spills from your lips. Your bloodshot eyes lingering on his frozen frame before you see Haechan. You tremble again, your body nearly convulsing as you recognise the boy beside you.

“Shh, he’ll be okay- I promise- we’ll get him help. I promise you- we’ll be okay.”

Johnny rarely spoke out of hope. He was a man who would cling so tightly to reality, you would sometimes joke that his knuckles would snap from the pressure. But as he holds you tightly in his arms, rocking your hollow frame back and forth, he realises he has nothing more than hope.

But since when has hope ever been enough?

[amydancepants-peralta]

mr mendes just released a new song & i was wondering if you could write something inspired by the line: "i wonder what it's like to be loved by you" 😌✨

Ericaaa I loved this prompt! 💕 Of course I had to throw in some Pining because it’s so good ... hope you enjoy! (here it is on AO3)

to be loved by you 

It’s a secret to absolutely no-one that Amy Santiago is the kind of woman that likes to excel in any skillset.  Unapologetic in her badass-ery, she can (and has) chase a perp through the boroughs of Brooklyn in boots that have a higher heel than three of her male colleagues put together.  Her finely tuned memory - the same one that has led Trivia Newton John to seven straight victories - helped solve a series of long-dead case files, and her problem solving skills are the reason that one of the city’s biggest kingpins is currently behind bars.   

With this in mind, one could consider it safe to say that Amy regretting her natural ability to ace any situation would be up there with hell freezing over, or for a flock of pigs to soar across the sky. 

But tonight, here in Shaw’s bar as she watches Jake have what seems to be a lovely date with Sophia; Amy just might be, if only maybe a little, slightly regretting her highly graded observation skills (yes, the same ones that pushed her into the highest percentile when graduating from the academy - which she very rarely brags about, and she really should - it was mentioned in the commissioners speech and everything).  

To be fair, it wasn’t all bad.  She could, for example; hear the jukebox in the corner, playing Come on Eileen for the fifth time in a row - unknowingly settling into a duet with squelching sneakers as a bunch of drunken frat guys danced, all of them too far gone to notice any repetition.  Plus, she could pick up on the subtle click of the acrylic nails on the woman at a neighbouring table, listening to them tap against a series of her friends’ photographs, rotating between descriptions of priddy and gawgeous.  

Mixed with the scent of spilled beer and day-old peanuts, it was exactly the combination that to others may appear seedy, but to Amy and the squad, just seemed … familiar.  Shaw’s was their watering hole, the basement bar each could disappear into and drink to forget their days, and despite the five empty glasses on her table and the half-full one in her hand, Amy was finding it incredibly difficult to stop noticing just how sweet Jake was with his girlfriend.  

Even more impossible was to stop imagining what it would be like if she were the one standing near the dart board, with Jake’s arm resting comfortably over her shoulders.   

It had all started earlier today, when she had glanced over at her partner just in time to pick up on the tiny little smile that grew on his face when he noticed a text from Sophia.

(Okay, it’s possible that it had actually started back at The Maple Drip Inn, with that look he’d given her after maybe, yes, a little.  It had definitely led to a series of Thoughts after Teddy’s departure, of which she’d only given herself just that night to think about.)

(Except ‘that night’ then turned into that week, and okay fine then it had turned into ‘just that month'; and now here she is, several weeks later; completely unable of getting Jake Peralta off of her mind, and it’s becoming very likely that this is more than just a little crush.)

It had been so endearing to see, that tiny glimpse of joy and enchantment as he’d read Sophia’s message - just fleeting enough for Amy to wonder if anybody had ever reacted to a message from her with such glee.  (Teddy, she remembers, preferred not to text; and would instead express his affections by saving her the last bottle of his favourite pilsner, or brewing a new concoction ‘inspired by her’ … sweet, but somehow didn’t hold the same sentiment.)

So she’d kept her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her as she listened to Jake pick up the phone and order a bunch of flowers to be delivered to Sophia’s office - using his debit card, and not a combination of the five questionably balanced credit cards under his name - which in itself is huge.  Pretended not to notice the multiple kiss emojis in his reply, or the soft tune that he hummed for a few minutes after, focusing intensely on the case file in front of her as she described a recent interrogation in finite detail.  Kept up the facade of all that stuff with us is in the past as he recounted a romantic weekend to their squad in the break room - laughing along in all the right places, doing her very best to keep the wistfulness out of her eyes.  

And all the while, Amy’s mind had kept contemplating if she would ever get to know what it would be like to date someone like Jake: to have somebody who would take all the black and whites of her life and show her the beautiful greys in-between. 

So when he’d shown up at Shaw’s this evening, with Sophia’s hand carefully wrapped around his own and a grin that announced his contentment to anyone who cared to look; Amy had felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest.  Her painted smile had just lasted until the couple retreated to the corner for a crazily competitive game of darts, and Amy had decided tonight would be a great opportunity to drown her sorrows in a few glasses of whiskey, doing her absolute best not to notice all the little things she will never have.

Like the way Jake would punctuate each congratulatory high five with a kiss, even when it meant that his girlfriend had beaten him at a game.  The gentle way he steered them away from a rambunctious crowd, keeping an eye on the raised voices as his unaware girlfriend played her shot and came so close to hitting the bullseye.  Or the way Sophia’s hand would rest on Jake’s chest as he held her in his arms (just the way that Amy wishes she could do), and the way she would laugh so happily as he commented on the drunk guys dancing near them.  

It was all very simple, but undeniably sweet, and Amy doesn’t know how she ever doubted that Jake would be anything but. 

“Your covert skills need work, Santiago.”

The chair beside Amy scrapes angrily against the worn floorboards and she turns, startled by the interruption, quietly praying that her face isn’t quite as red as it suddenly feels.  Terry, far more interested in taking the last sip of his scotch than commenting on her appearance, settles in to his new location next to her, and his glass hits the soaking cardboard coaster with a slap.  

“Wha-huh?  Covert skills?  You really must be drunk, Sarge.  We’re not even on a stakeout right now.  Unless you’re talking about us staking out the contents of that fridge behind the bar haha!”  

(She’s rambling - she knows she’s rambling; but cannot stop the desperate need to pretend that she hadn’t just been completely busted for spending her entire evening staring at a life she may never know.)  

“Ugh.  Okay fine.”  Her mouth stretches out into a cringe, eyes flickering to the colleagues Terry had just walked away from.  “How noticeable are we talking here?”

“Noticeable enough that Charles has spent the last 40 minutes lamenting on ‘the beautiful tragedy of unrequited love’”.  Dropping his air quotes, Terry rolls his eyes, one eyebrow lowering as he returns to his drink.  “He lost me when he started quoting poetry.  Terry loves Shakespeare, but he could do with a little less soliloquies - and a little more spirits - tonight.”

“Oh!  You know what, there was just a Shakespeare play in Polonsky that starred - ” Terry overlaps her last words with his own heavy voice, and Amy’s stops in it’s tracks.  

“Dianne Wiest.  Terry knows.  That was his segue, Amy.”

She nods, sensing the need to dig up.  “Should have known.  Charles loves his Wiest feasts.”  Terry grunts his assent, pressing his lips together as he savours another verse-less sip, and Amy seizes the opportunity to cast another furtive glance at the happy couple.  

“Seriously, though.  Just because Peralta hasn’t noticed, doesn’t mean the rest of us haven’t.”

Amy brushes her hair to the side, swirling the liquid in her glass with her free hand.  “Okay, so maybe I haven’t been very subtle tonight, or whatever.”  Her gaze returns to Jake, drawn to him like a magnet, and her heart squeezes once more.  

To his credit, Terry gives her a moment; waiting for a silence to settle over their table before leaning forward in his chair, ignoring the sticky residue of the tabletop as he rests his arms on either side of his glass. 

“Out with it, Santiago.”

She shakes her head, swallowing hard to push down the burgeoning lump in her throat.  “They look really happy together, don’t they?  He looks … happy.”

Terry shrugs, glancing in the direction of Amy’s eye line.  “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“He does!  All shiny and cheerful and just .. happy.”

“I don’t know.  Terry remembers a time when you and Teddy looked just as content.”  His look is pointed, and followed by the unsubtle raise of his eyebrows.  Amy nods, draining the last of her drink.  Somehow, she has a feeling that Sophia’s underwear isn’t lined with mesh like Teddy’s had been (and even if it was, it would be some kind of inexplicably sexy mesh, for sure). 

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem, sarge.”

“You know that works both ways, don’t you?”

Nodding again, Amy wipes her thumb along the smudged lipstick print on her glass, choosing to remain silent.  Terry didn’t get it - none of them got it, really.  She’d had her chance, the very first time the words romantic styles were uttered, and she’d let it slip away.  And now, she has to live with the consequences.  

Clearing his throat, Terry continues.  “I mean … she is a defence attorney, you know.”

“But see, even that isn’t something that I can fault.  Not fairly, anyway.”  Clocking the look of disbelief on Terry’s face, Amy shrugs defensively, waving her hand vaguely in Sophia’s direction.  “I know we all like to joke and call them evil, but really … all they’re doing is making us prove that our findings are beyond reasonable doubt.  If anything, it’s people like her that push us to do better - to work harder to make sure that we’re definitely charging the right person.  And as annoying as that can be, it’s definitely not a reason to hate her.”

“Kinda sounds like you do, though.”

She shakes her head, feeling the sense of defeat sink into her bones.  “I really don’t.  She’s incredibly smart, and funny and beautiful … she honestly looks like she should be in a commercial for shampoo or something.  She’s perfect for Jake, and I’m just …”

“You’re just … ?”

Shrugging, Amy slots her thumbnail into the edge of the coaster underneath her glass.  It, like her heart, had seen better days, and it was time for her to cut her losses.  “I’m just … going home.”

“What?  No.  Stay!  Our squad kicked butt this week, Amy.  We all deserve a drink.”

Painting another smile onto her face (she really is getting good at them), Amy pushes her seat away from the table, allowing herself one more glimpse at Jake’s smile before shaking her head at Terry.  “Sorry sarge, I just can’t seem to celebrate tonight.”

Heading towards the exit without a second thought, Amy doesn’t see Jake pull away from Sophia, taking a half step in the direction of the door as he watches her leave.  She doesn’t notice him pull out his phone, start to type a message before hesitating, pocketing it without hitting send.  The night moves on as Amy walks away, and the streets are deafeningly silent as soon as the bar door closes behind her.  

The sky seems to feel just as morose as Amy this evening, tiny droplets dropping onto her grey work blazer as she waits for a cab; too lost in her thoughts to take in the frivolity of a parting crowd.  As the rain increases and the splotches on her blazer turn into tiny Rorschach Tests she decides to give herself one more night - one last night of wishing for things that will never be. 

In the backseat on her ride home Amy twists her hands together, linking her fingers and imagining not for the first time that one hand was Jake’s (she would imagine similar .. later).  She thinks of what it could be like to have his warm presence near hers .. to have his hand resting on her leg, not out of possession but just to be near.  Watching him get out of the car first, only to turn and offer a helping hand for her exit, every time without fail.  

She pictures what it would be like to feel the brick exterior of her apartment against her back as Jake presses his soft lips against hers, kissing the life out of her, making her see stars before pulling her into the apartment for so much more.   

He wouldn’t always be the perfect partner - and lord knows, neither would she - but Amy knows that through it all he would remain her best friend, because even through all of this yo-yo pattern of denial and admittance, thats who Jake has been for her.  After all these years, he’s become the only one she wants to talk to, at any given moment of the day, who knows her coffee order better than his own and remembers her Abuela’s birthday, even when she hasn’t mentioned it in weeks.  

The scent of rain lingers in her apartment as Amy readies herself for bed, casting her pantsuit aside with drunken abandonment and giving her face a half-hearted wash before stumbling towards her bed.  She closes her eyes, the thoughts of what could have been still so loud in her quiet apartment, hugging the pillow beside her tightly while her mind begins to wander.  

As she finally drifts off to sleep that night, Amy tries not to remember the smile that Jake gave her as they danced so long ago at the community hall - that special kind of smile, that made her think that maybe it was solely for her - and tells herself once. and. for. all. that sometimes, life just doesn’t work out the way you’d hope.

* 

* * 

It’s a rush of cool air that alerts Amy to a brand new morning, the drop in temperature squashed as quickly as it arrives by the wrapping of a warm arm around her middle.  She smiles into the pillow as it completes its protective loop, letting her body get pulled closer to the human hot water bottle in the middle of her bed, and if there was a better way to wake up on a cold day, Amy is yet to see it.  

She lets out a sigh of comfort as the bridge of a prominent nose digs into her shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his breath through her old academy shirt, nestling closer until her legs are well and truly tangled amongst his.  It’s late, later than she would normally allow herself to sleep, but the two of them were far too invested in basking in the afterglow of a rainy Saturday filled with sex and movies to consider leaving the bedroom anytime soon.  

Jake’s voice is rough, the remnants of a deep sleep obvious in his throat.  “Today’s Sunday, right?”

Amy nods, wriggling herself just free enough to turn within her boyfriend’s embrace.  His hair is sticking out on all ends - unaided, she is certain, by her hands the night before - and she runs the tip of her thumb along his right cheekbone.  Though his eyes are still closed, he leans into her touch, and she grins.  “Definitely Sunday.  A rainy Sunday, but part of the weekend all the same.”

He nods, the short and prickly fibres of his morning stubble scratching her palm.  “Good.  More time for time machine building.”

“… we’re building a time machine?”

“Yeah, one that lets us skip past all the boring work stuff, and leaves us with all the time in the world for more of this.  Kinda like that movie Click, but a lot less ‘trying to change the past’ stuff, and a lot more sex.”

She chuckles, and his left foot rubs along the side of her calf under the blanket.  “You’re crazy, Peralta.”  (Although, she will admit - the ‘a lot more sex’ part did sound kinda great.)

His eyelids flutter open, gaze growing soft as a smile stretches across his face.  “You’re beautiful, Santiago.”

Amy feels her cheeks begin to heat up, resisting the urge to cool herself down by tucking her hair away, completely unable to move as long as Jake continues to look at her like that.  There’s a pimple growing underneath the surface of her chin that is going to rival Mount Vesuvius, and her morning breath could probably wilt the flower pots living happily on her kitchen’s windowsill.  But here, in bed with her boyfriend of almost two years, she feels more beautiful than all of her best days put together.  

“I don’t think I’ve told you this today, but I love you, Jake.”

Leaning forwards, Jake’s soft lips press against Amy’s, and he winks as he pulls away.  “I mean, we’ve both been awake for a sum total of three minutes, so yeah, you’re pretty late with the love you’s today, babe.”

Her free hand flies out from under the cover, delivering an indignant smack to Jake’s chest, and he grabs it back before she can pull away, linking their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.  “I love you too, Ames.  Even if you don’t want to build a time machine with me, I still love you.”

She laughs - a giggle that starts in her belly and bursts through her lungs, something that she’s been doing a lot more of these days - and pulls Jake in for a longer kiss, morning breath be damned.  

One day, in eight or so years time, they’ll have a son - a miniature version of Jake that, much like his father, runs to the beat of his own drum; and answers to the name Mac.  Amy will fall pregnant again, and when they explain to their son that he’s going to be a big brother, his response is so perfectly him that it makes Amy’s eyes tear up with laughter.  

For they are, by Mac’s decree, now officially a Ninja Turtle family.  He is Raphael (or ‘Rafel’), Jake Michelangelo due to his love of nunchaku, and Amy nabs Leonardo purely out of homage to one of her favourite artists.  The mini-Peralta still growing in her womb is, by default, Donatello (or Donatella, depending), and even though there was a time when Amy truly felt like she could never be this lucky, she will love their little family with all of her heart.  

But for now, she has Jake; and together they have warm bedsheets and no plans for a future that isn’t together - no matter what obstacles may be thrown their way.  

And Amy realises, as Jake begins to trace a series of kisses along her side of her neck; truly, being loved by him is better than she could have ever imagined.  

x

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

Where You’re Bound Pt. 12 (Final Chapter)

Dear sweet Followers, I never in all these years thought I’d be posting this. This is it. The end....THE. END. I cannot believe we’ve followed the Reader and Sam through this huge, horrible, long, sad, tear filled, sweet road. I can’t wait for you all to read this ending!! It was so bitter sweet. I loved this series and I loved writing it! That being said, I do have some new ones coming out!! YAY!!! and finishing some old ones!! Yay!! So be on the look out!! :) I love you guys! Thank you for making this story come to life!!! You never know, there maybe something in store for this series in the future! ;) P.S I may or may not be willing to add an epilogue to this series-only if its wanted! 

Donations

Where You Belong (Series 1)

Where You’ve Been (Series 2)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 

                                     Chapter 12-The Final Chapter! 

                Saying yes was the best choice you’d ever made in your life. Sam wanted you to have a grand wedding, and while the idea was appealing, you wanted to keep things small and intimate. Sam had decided that a new house would bring a new happiness to your future together. As you moved boxes in, Sam wrapped his arms around your waist, “I can’t believe this is real, you being back in my arms, about to become my wife. I feel like my life is complete.” He grinned kissing your cheek as you giggled.

               “The wedding is still four months away handsome.” You said smiling at him as you turned around in his arms, allowing him to take the boxes from your hands and set them down before pulling you in close. “I know, but you have your dress, I have my suit, why wait? We can do it right here in the backyard, what do you say?” Sam smiled.

               You looked at him with a surprised look, “Wait are you being serious?” you asked him, which made you smile. Sam couldn’t wait to make you his wife and you couldn’t wait to make him your husband. “Yes, I’m dead serious,” Sam said with a bright smile. You grinned and kissed him deeply. “Alright, let’s move up the wedding!” you kissed him again as he picked you up, carrying you upstairs as you giggled.

~6 weeks later~

               You paced your bedroom, your nerves getting the better of you, you’ve tried for two days to tell him and you still weren’t able to find the right words. You stopped in front of the mirror and stared at yourself, your ivory gown fit perfectly, hugging your torso just so. The sleeves were fitted perfectly, and the skirt was large and rounded, all satin, all beautiful. You loved staring at it. It was a simple gown and what made it more and more beautiful was the fact you were marrying Sam in it. The door opened and Sam stepped in. He froze when he laid eyes on you.

               “My god Y/N, you’re absolutely amazing, and stunning and beautiful…oh my god,” Sam walked over to you smiling brightly. Your worry showing clear on your features. “Sam I have to talk to you about something, and it’s serious so I need to tell you but you have to understand I haven’t know but for like two days and I wanted to say something but-” Sam chuckled putting his finger against your lips.

               “Baby, you’re rambling. What’s going on?” Sam asked sitting you down on the bed. He held both of your hands in his as you took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Sam I found out I’m-” the bedroom door opened and Dean stepped inside. “Dude, what the hell! You can’t see the bride before the wedding! It’s bad luck! Get your ass out!” he grabbed Sam’s arm and began leading him out. “I think we’ve gotten past our bad luck,” Sam grinned at you before pulling away from Dean. He walked over to you and slid his hands up along your jaw, cradling your face and kissed you deeply.

               Kissing him back felt like heaven with a double chocolate chip cookie and a glass of chocolate milk. He was your everything. “Alright alright Save it for the ceremony,” Johns voice broke the kiss, causing Sam to pass you a wink and a smirk. You got butterflies in your stomach as you grinned at him. “I  love you,” he whispered softly. “I love you more,” you whispered back.

               “Alright break it up love birds,” Dean walked over and dragged Sam out of the room before you had a chance to stop them.

               John smiled at you, “Y/N you look incredible,” Sam’s father grinned at you. You smiled thanking him softly, you’d pushed all thoughts of what you needed to tell Sam to the back of your mind, knowing that you’d just have to talk to him about everything after the ceremony. Which, you didn’t mind, you just had finally built up the courage to say something.

               Sam stood nervously at the small wooden alter he, his father and his brother had all built together. Cas sat with a very pregnant Ellen who beamed at Cas with happiness. Sam smiled at them, maybe that would be you and him one day. Truth be told, you and Sam hadn’t talked much about a future, you just knew you wanted to be with him forever and he wanted to be with you. But you hadn’t talked about having kids. How would you feel about that? Your childhood wasn’t so amazing, maybe you didn’t want kids. Sam would be okay with that; as long as he had you, he had the world, and he knew everything would be fine.

               You walked with John down the make shift isle that everyone had chipped in and put together. The moment your eyes landed on Sam a large grin covered your features. You didn’t pay attention to the twinkling lights that hung above your heads between the trees, or the pink and white flowers that surrounded you guys. It all looked incredible, but what really caught your eye was Sam, who stood there grinning, wearing a black tux and his hair was just slightly tussled from running his fingers through it.

               He looked incredibly handsome; you couldn’t get down the isle fast enough. Sam loved you more than anything in the world. You were the best woman he’d ever had and he’d made a huge mistake letting you go once, he wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

               You let go of Johns arm and gently kissed his cheek thanking him. The moment you stood in front of Sam it felt like the world had faded around the two of you. To anyone watching, it was like two halves of a soul were becoming one in that moment. No two better people had been made for each other.

               Through everything though, neither of you guys had stopped loving one another. You both knew that you’d found the one when you first met. Now, you were being pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Winchester and you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him deeply. Sam smiled into the kiss wrapping his arms around your waist lifting you off the ground some.

               As you and Sam made your way to the house for your reception, you stopped him. “Sam, now that we’re alone for a minute there’s something I really have to tell you…” you stopped yourself and looked up at him. He grinned at you, you were now his wife, and no matter what you said next he’d be able to handle it.

               “What’s on your mind Mrs. Winchester?” he beamed with pride as he looked down at you, calling you by your new official title. You smiled up at him and took his hands in yours, “Sam, I’m pregnant.” You said softly.

               Sam’s smile turned into a grin, “Are you serious??” he asked you, you grinned and nodded your head as he scooped you up in his arms and kissed you deeply. “you have no idea how happy you’ve made me Y/N! I’ve never been this happy before,” he laughed kissing you again.

               You grinned kissing him back, “So you’re okay with this then? Even though we don’t well, we haven’t talked about having a baby?” you asked as Sam set you down. “As long as I have you Y/N by my side, my life is perfect, and adding kids to that equation just makes it even better Y/N. because no matter what, you are most important. Forever and always.” Sam said kissing you deeply.

               Your childhood and even teenage life may have been hell and torture but the moment Sam entered your life, all that changed. Sam and you had finally found your happily ever after and nothing would keep you from spending the rest of your forever together.

@adriellej @sgarrett49 @smoothdogsgirl @mrssamfuckingwinchester @hobby27 @traceyaudette @mogaruke @thewalkingdistancefrom @booger206 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @heimganger @moonlitskinwalker @teamfreewill-imagine @stoneygirl @monkeymcpoopoo @sandlee44 @asgardianvamp21 @frozenhuntress67 @babypink224221 @just-another-busy-fangirl @flamencodiva @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jaylarkson @auriel187 @animenerdz1819 @jessica-marsh09 @woodworthti666 

[olicitysecretsanta]

Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud 

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess. 

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so. 

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow. 

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List. 

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze. 

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm. 

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her. 

Huli jing. 

His anonymous hacker ally. 

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean. 

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.  

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word. 

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island. 

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note. 

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all. 

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked. 

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support. 

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support. 

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?” 

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him. 

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before. 

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes. 

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible. 

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence. 

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him. 

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false. 

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s. 

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure. 

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit. 

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.  

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him. 

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help. 

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?” 

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently. 

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.” 

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.” 

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.” 

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond. 

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped. 

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.” 

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them. 

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret. 

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.” 

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?” 

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of��feel around.” 

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him.  He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb. 

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing. 

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush  body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response. 

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was. 

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not. 

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes. 

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that. 

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core. 

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected. 

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists. 

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife. 

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced. 

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought.  She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation. 

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious,  strategic manner that he was unused to in other people. 

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing. 

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak. 

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer. 

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her. 

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.” 

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed. 

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind. 

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.” 

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.  

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder. 

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place. 

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him. 

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her.  He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability. 

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too. 

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.  

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water. 

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick. 

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Love Isn’t Always On Time Part Eleven

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Notes: Sorry this took so long! Summary: I had shadows of the future, pantomime plays that I had to sit and watch. I wasn’t in any position to help Bucky anymore, but I’d be damned if I was going to leave Stevie.

Warnings: None?

Rating: T (this may change)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

 The knowing was always the hardest part. I knew Steve was at Camp Leigh being picked on by the other recruits and encouraged by Dr. Erskine and Margaret Carter. I knew he would have the serum administered, that he’d wind up in Europe and learning of Bucky’s capture.

I had shadows of the future, pantomime plays that I had to sit and watch. I wasn’t in any position to help Bucky anymore, but I’d be damned if I was going to leave Stevie.

——-

2012

“Where do we start?” Maria asked, pulling up their database. Fury looked out of his window for a moment. It was late; the base was dark, still trying to recover from the latest power surge.

“The year on the paper was ‘41.”

“But it was December,” Hill pointed out. Fury nodded. Hill went quiet for a moment.

“We don’t even know if we’ll find her this way.”

“When she out that message up, it had been two hours here, five years there,” Fury said.

“Two hours is, what, two and a half years. Half that time is a year and three months...”

“How long has it been now?”

Hill glanced at her watch.

“Three hours, twenty minutes.”

——-

1942

“Heard from Steve lately?” Madge asked. I shot her a smile.

“Sent me a letter last week.” Madge let out a scoff that was meant to be sweet, but I knew her well enough to know there was bitterness.

“Like clockwork. I mean I barely hear from John.” I reached, out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Even before Steve had gone away, he was always leaving me little sketches and notes to say that he was thinking about me. Bucky and Steve were very different in how they showed their affection: Steve was all small gestures and subtlety; Bucky was all bouquets and kisses and holding hands and 'ain't my dame the sweetest?'.

I hadn’t heard from Bucky in nearly a month. I was trying not to worry too much. I knew he was traveling from London to ‘somewhere Italy’ (his last letter had told me so).

Steve’s letter had been all about Dr. Erskine, and training; he’d mentioned Peggy Carter in passing. I may have spent a little long on those two sentences. But I’d met her. She’d never been anything but complimentary when it came to Steve; always called him ‘Captain Rogers’, with this glint her in her eye. I understood now, of course. The guy was definitely glint-worthy.

——-

As a former member of S.H.I.E.L.D., there were certain reflexes I had. A friend of mine had taught me a particularly good move to employ if I was ever caught by the wrist.

I felt a large, warm hand closed around my wrist and I moved on instinct, spinning around and planning to give the assailant what-for. Instead, I was met by large, stunned, bright-blue eyes.

“It’s me, it’s Steve,” the man said quickly. My grip slackened and my jaw dropped.

“Stevie?” I asked almost dumbly. I knew this man. This was the man I had seen in the grainy reels of war footage, in textbooks, in a photo frame on Peggy’s desk.

“Yeah,” he said softly, face relaxing. I didn’t bother asking how; I knew how.

“Holy shit,” I managed, setting my hands on his arms. His arms wrapped around my middle, and I leaned into him, pressing my face into his shoulder. It was more of a shock than I’d expected. I had gotten so used to Steve— my Steve, half a head shorter than me, leaning up for kisses, looking down those incredibly long lashes at me when we curled up together on the couch.

“I— what happened? Why are you here, what—“ I stopped rambling questions as I felt Steve tense.

——- It had been easy to sneak Steve back up to my room, once; we’d put him in one of my skirts and kept a collar pulled up high over his neck. Mrs. Devnick had thought he was a friend of mine. And he was. But fooling around was strictly prohibited in the boarding house. “That drain pipe is harder to climb that it looks,” Stiles grumbled, climbing in through my window. I shushed him, closing the window behind him and looking over to my door to ensure it was locked before I led him over to my bed. He sat beside me, hands intertwined. I rested my chin on his shoulder, closing my eyes. I’d spent months worried about my boys, but seeing even one of them was enough to calm me down a bit. “What happened?” I asked again, sharply. This was a gap; as far as I knew, Steve was injected with the serum and sent off to war.  He filled in my gaps: Erskine, the lab, his murder. I could feel him shaking even as he told me. That wound was fresh, hardly two days old. “What happens now?” I asked shakily. “They want me to go on tour, spread the word about the war effort.” I nodded a little bit. “Leaving me again, then,” I tried to sound as calm as I could, but I couldn’t keep that disappointment out of my voice. I could feel Steve hesitate before he said, “I want you to come with me. You’d get a chance to travel, see the country. I’ll take care of you. Steve turned his head, looking down at me. “I understand you have your job, but I want you there, with me.” I could feel tears pricking my eyes despite the fact that I was smiling. I leaned up, kissing him sweetly. “Where you go,” I promised, “I go.”

Tag list: @gloryevans @redryderdesigns @winter-scolder @aactuaaltraash @secretagentben @staplerrrr@moli1497@adayinmymeadow  @allonszassbutt @mannls @witch-of-letters

[fanficsrusz]

Toothache - John Wick oneshot

A/n: so this was requested by @babymadz. Its kinda on the shorter side but its fluff. I hope you enjoyed it and im sorry if its not that good im kinda having some family issues at the moment so im not 100% commited to writing at the moment 😅

_________________________________________

Stepping in the shower, john let the hot stream of water wash over his body. Sighing he brushed his hands through his hair. John had taken some time off from his work and word had gotten out that he had become 'soft' because of a certain girl. Well girl was a term john used loosely, he would describe her as more of a God. He smiled thinking about her. Maybe he had gone a little soft because of her. Her name was y/n and for some reason unknown to him, she had fallen in love with him and accepted his marriage proposal more than two years ago. She was always kind and put others first despite the countless times john had told her to not forget about herself and to not let people abuse her. She had this glow about her that made anyone within a 5 mile radius get drawn to her. Her jokes were lame but kept john entertained for hours. She was beautiful on the inside and out.

He looked down at the gold wedding band on his finger and his smile grew even larger, this was the first time in a while he had truly been happy and it was all thanks to her.

Before he knew it the bathroom door slammed open, interrupting his train of thought. 'speak of the devil' john thought just before the shower curtain was drawn back abruptly and y/n stood there, her face red and stained with tears. John was shocked to see his normally smiley wife a crying mess. "Y/n? What happened? Who hurt you?" his voice was serious as jumped out of the shower so he could check over her body, looking for any indication that she had been hurt. Seeing nothing he was confused and so took in her appearance. Comfy shorts and one of John's old shirts. Her hair flowed loosely around her face, finished off with a bit of popcorn stuck to a strand and it soon became apparent as to what caused her to cry. "what movie was it this time?" he laughed and she just sobbed harder as she leant forward to hug him "marley and me" she said, well that's what john interpurated the sounds between cries to be. He laughed again as he leant down to rest his head on top of hers before giving her a small kiss. "y/n its only a film. No dog was killed for real" she pulled back and looked up at him through wet eyelashes before looking down at his naked form. She blushed instantly despite the fact that she had seen him naked thousands of times. John laughed at her actions before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself. "come on. We'll go watch a movie were no animals die" he began to lead her out towards to living room before leaving her to go get dressed.

A few minutes later and john came out seeing y/n sat on the floor looking through movies, all evidence of her previous crying session was gone and replaced with her usual smile. She stood up turning to him as she grabbed the popcorn that was placed on the table. Popping a piece in her mouth she walked towards john "babe, i thought we cou- OW"  she stopped halfway through her sentence as she grabbed her mouth in pain and john rushed over. "let me see" he asked opening her mouth blood slowly filling it. "looks like you've cracked a tooth. We have to go to the dentist" y/n stepped back shaking her head. "NO! Its ok i can just take so- OW" another wave of pain shocked her. John knew of her fear of the dentist and stepped forwards holding her shoulders "you have to go. I'll be right there with you holding your hand. It won't be that bad. I promise" he kissed her forehead before she sighed, '' I have no choice but to do it do i" she said carefully trying not to cause herself anymore more pain and john just pushed her towards the bedroom "nope. Go get dressed and i'll make an emergency appointment."

Within 20 minutes, y/n was laid down in the dreaded dentist chair and her hand nervously tapped on the arm rest as the dentist looked in her mouth. John placed a hand on her leg and rubbed it soothingly just as the dentist stepped back ready to give his diagnosis. "well it seems you have chipped a part of your wisdom tooth so we can just remove it for you today" he said it so calmly and y/n sat up tears in her eyes. "are you sure? Won't it hurt? Im-"

The dentist cut her off before she could ramble on with any more questions. "Mrs Wick, your husband has already told me about your fear and rest assured, you will only feel some mild pain for a day or two after the surgery. You would be completely anesthetized and will feel no pain, think of it more as a little nap. It will take no more than an hour" the dentist said it in such a way that y/n felt silly for even being scared and out of embarrassed just nodded as she agreed to go along with the procedure. "ok give me 5 minutes and i will get the anesthetist and we can begin" he smiled and walked out. Y/n laid down again as fear consumed her. John leaned down and kissed her deeply "y/n don't worry, i will be right here" to shaken to speak she just nodded again as she laid waiting for the torture begin.

An hour later and the dentist had called john back into the room where y/n had the surgery. "Mr Wick, everything went fine and she is perfectly alright however she will be a little out of it for the next couple of hours or so, so just watch out for her and make sure she takes her pain medication regularly" he lead john into the room where y/n sat talking to the nurse about something with a big grin on her face, her mouth stuffed full of wool. 'so far she seems normal' he thought but he was soon proven wrong. As y/n caught sight of john she grabbed the nurse and pulled her closer "you see this is my husband he's actually a secret ninja but but you cant tell no one" she pulled her finger to her lips making a shushing noise and john just laughed awkwardly hoping the nurse would just take it lightly and not think she was telling the truth and luckily she did. "she has quite the imagination" the nurse laughed and john nodded "you have no idea" he stepped forward and began to help y/n up "come on let's get you home." she reached out for his face like a child before she began to poke and pull it. "you're really good looking and i want to kiss you but my husband would kill you if he found out" she whispered and john laughed "well you are pretty special to him".

At this time, y/n attention span was the same as a toddler and she couldn't keep to one conversation the whole ride home. Once they were finally parked outside john helped her to the front door as she spoke gibberish about some fairy. He let go of her for one second to unlock the door before turning around to her. "ok lets get you t- y/n" as he turnt around, she was gone and he panicked "Y/N!" he shouted not being able to see her but then her laugh broke the silence and he followed it around the house and made his way to the garden where she sat playing with a stray cat. He walked over to her slowly and he could begin to hear her talking to the cat softly ".... I really love him mr kitty cat. He's the beeeessssssttttt. He's tall he's handsome he can kick people's asses and he's reallllly good in bed" john smiled and walked closer before crouching down next to her scaring the cat off. She looked up at him before smiling "Jooooohhhhnnnnnn there you are. I just wanted to tell you i love you and that i want to have the sex with you" she laughed and booped his nose. John looked dow. At her "as much as i would love to have the sex with you, you need to rest. Come on" he scooped her up and made his way inside before putting her in bed. After an hour of y/n talking nonsense and john just laughing at her, she finally fell asleep as john stroked her hair. Despit her swollen face and messy hair, she was still the most beautiful girl he had even seen. He smiled as he leaned down to kiss her forehead before slowly getting out of the bed, careful not to disturb her.

Five hours later and a groggy y/n staggered out of the bedroom holding her face. John looked up and smiled when he saw her "hey" he said and she just looked at him before making her way over and falling on top of him "my face hurts and im hungry" she mumbled hiding her face in his stomach as an attempt to hide from the pain. He stroked her hair and she looked up at him "thank you for looking after me. What can i do to repay you?" she hugged him and he just smiled. "being next to me is more than enough" he kissed her on the lips and she smiled " no seriously". John looked up and thought for a second before smirking. "well if i remember correctly a little someone called y/n promised to have the sex with me. That might be a good place to start" he laughed holding her cheeks in his hands and she sat up. "I said that?" john sat forward and kissed her gently before nodding "yep". It was her time to smirk "in that case i will have the sex with you as payment for you taking such good care of me" john smiled brightly but y/n just laid back down again "but maybe in a week or so because my face hurts to much" john laughed "cock block" he laughed as he stroked her hair slowly sending her back to sleep "youre too good for me. sweet dreams my favourite little toothache." he smiled relishing in the happiness that y/n had given him over the last few years and for many more years to come.

The end

_________________________________________

A/n: i hate the dentist so very very much....

[ohtheseboysilove]

7 seven days in Hell [Roger Taylor x F!Reader]

Words : 1, 100 K +

Summary : Reader have an accident and stay in the coma for seven days. Roger don’t leaves her side during all the week /b>

Note :Thank for the request babe, hope you like it !!!  

☀ Masterlist ☀

"Where the fuck his my wife ?" Roger yelled angrily at the poor nurse who had no idea what was going on. "(Y/N) Taylor ! I get a call telling me a car hit her ! Can you fucking answer me ?"

"Roger stop it !" Brian scoffed at him and offered an apologetic smile to the woman, at the edge of the tears after the drummer’s outburst. "Could you please ask a doctor where we can find our friend ?"

She swallowed thickly, nodding ferociously and practically ran away, following by Roger’s burning gaze.

“Fucking useless” Mumbled the blond, his fingers drumming nervously on the hospital counter, his heart beating abnormally fast.

"I know you’re scared Roger but terrorising this young lady won’t help you find (Y/N)” The guitarist pressed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "She’s gonna be okay”

“You don’t know that" Replied weakly Roger, his head bowing under the weight of his worries. "What if it’s really bad Brian ? I can’t live without her" He rubbed his glossy eyes hiding behind his sunglasses as the brunette shook energetically his head.

"She is will be fine, you know her, (Y/N) is strong”

"Mr Taylor ?” The drummer almost jump on the woman wearing a white blouse, a serious expression on his face.

"Yes it’s me ! Please, tell me my wife is okay" He gripped tightly Brian’s forearm, knuckles white under the harsh pressure.

"Your wife had been pretty badly hit by a car earlier this morning, causing a broken ankle and multiple concussions" Roger swallowed every of her words, his chest heavily pumping. "Now, the part which worry me is her head. She bang against the road rather roughly and an internal bleeding it a possibility. We are going to do scanner but she will certainly need an operation"

Roger was pale like a ghost. Internal bleeding. Operation. He didn’t like the sound of these words at all. The rest of the explanations didn’t reach Roger’s ears, his blood was pulsating to loudly to hear anything.

**

Roger felt like he was waiting for hours, Freddie joined them as soon as Brian called him but John was in holidays with his wife, it was useless to make them worried without any more answers about your health.

"I’m gonna become fucking mad" Grunted the drummer who was outside, smoking cigarette after cigarette, eating alive by his nerves.

“She’s gonna—"

"I swear Brian if you say one more time (Y/N) is gonna be alright, I’m using your mouth as an ashtray" Stated the drummer, his jaw clenched roughly.

"We should go back inside boys" Freddie said before Brian could answer to Roger, both of them tense from the long waiting.

They waited few more hours before fucking finally a nurse called Roger.

"The operation went well but the damage are more important than the doctor initially thought, they had to put her in an artificial coma to let her body rest”

"What ? F— for how long ?” Roger’s fingers were tugging anxiously on his blond locks, it was a nightmare. “Is she gonna be okay ? Can I see her ?”

"We can’t tell, she could wake up in few hours or in few days, nothing is certain" The nurse gave him a nod, motioning him to follow her. "You can see her now, the doctor will come see to give you more information"

The drummer pinched his lips, almost making them bleed as he arrived in front of your room, Freddie and Brian behind him.

"(Y/N), shit baby” The blond was on you side in a second, looking at your asleep frame through his watering eyes. "I’m so sorry baby, I should have drop you off, not letting you walk by yourself" His thumb slowly rubbed your cheek, the one which wasn’t bruised, his body shaking with quiet sobs.

He felt so powerless, watching you laying on this hospital bed, your pretty face covering with cuts and concussions...it made him sick. He couldn’t do anything except wait for you to wake up.

**

Roger spent the night with you, sleeping on the very uncomfortable chair but he couldn’t physically move from the room. He just couldn’t let you here all alone, no way. Visitor weren’t allowed to stay overnight but it was Roger Taylor and after a tantrum and a ridiculously big cheque to help the renovation of the hospital, he was welcome to stay with you.

In the morning you weren’t still awake and Roger stared the whole day at your face, wishing for the smaller sign of you awaking but nothing happen.

**

The second day, Freddie went by in the morning, with the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find, trying to cheer up his friend. It was a sweet gesture but pretty useless, Roger was moping around all day, pressing your hands in his own, begging you to wake up.

Brian went check out later that day, bringing some dinner with him for his band mate, knowing very well he certainly didn’t eat anything. He didn’t talk a lot either, responding with nods and grunts but nothing more.

**

On the third day, Roger’s nails were bloody after too much biting. He couldn’t go out for a smoke, terrified at the idea of you, waking up all alone in the hospital’s room, thinking he wasn’t by your side.

He started talking to you, random facts about things that happened during touring or sometime he was just crying, telling you how much he missed you and how worried he was.

The stupidities on the TV were making him crazy so he switched it off, sinking further in his chair at the horrible silence. The silence was making him even more talking, rambling about anything which could stop the quietness of the room.

**

On the fourth day, Brian forced Roger to take a shower in the bathroom of your private bedroom, he also brought fresh clothes and Roger’s notes about potential new songs.

“You got plenty of free time in here, use it wisely" If look could kill, Brian would be immediately erased from planet earth.

The guitarist didn’t mean to be nasty, of course not, he just wanted to find something to change his friend’s mind during this hard time.

"Maybe she would like to hear about this cheesy song you were hiding from her last time” Roger’s cheeks went red immediately.

"It’s not cheesy !” He grumbled something but took the papers from Brian’s hands, earning a relieved smile from the brunette.

Later in the evening, after Brian’s departure, Roger read out loud the half song he wrote about you, wishing you could hear him.

**

The fifth day went more chaotic. Jim and Freddie went by, bringing more presents for your formal hospital room. Freddie claiming that no one would like to wake up in a such depressive room. "I mean, look at theses bright lights darling, absolutely awful ! And these horrible grey curtains ? Make me want to vomit” The singer stayed dramatically as he hanged a heart balloon on your bed.

Roger ate half of sandwich, his hand still glued to yours, making the task not really easy but the couple didn’t even try anything. They knew how stubborn he could be.

"I’m sorry, is this (Y/N) Taylor’s room ?" A man, looking in his early forties was standing awkwardly in the embrace of the door.

Roger just grunted for all answer, getting bad vibes from the weirdo.

“It is,yes. Do you know (Y/N) ? A friend from work maybe ?" Freddie shook his hand and smiled nicely to man. "Oh look Rog, he brought (Y/N) a box of chocolate ! Aren’t he sweet ?" The singer cooed, trying to relax the atmosphere.

"I...I’m not a friend from work" His words caught Roger’s attention, reluctantly taking his gaze away from you to stare at the unknown man. "I’m sorry...it’s me who hit her with my car..." Freddie gasped and Jim closed his eyes for a second, already knowing was coming next. "I just wanted to know if she was okay...I never wanted to hurt her it was an acci—"

Roger slammed him roughly against the wall, his face red and veins popping up on his neck, he was furious.

“Does she look okay for you asshole ? I’m gonna fucking murderer you ! Look what you done to her !" He royally ignored Freddie and Jim’s plaiding, his fingers tightening around the shirt of the man. "Look what you did to my wife ! You could have kill her fucking wanker !" He threw him on the ground and punched him square in the face.

"Roger, it’s enough !” Jim grabbed the drummer by the shoulders to push him away from the man but he was firmly sitting on him, hitting the man roughly. "Roger stop !"

"I don’t even know if she’s gonna wake up ! Because of you and your stupid car !" The blond was yelling furiously but his cheeks were soaking by tears, your sleepy body right on his sight. "It should be you in this fucking bed, not (Y/N) ! She don’t deserve any of that ! I swear if she don’t wa—"

"For god’ sake Roger stop !" Jim finally managed to drag the drummer away, locking them in the bathroom as Freddie checked on the other man. "Listen to me Roger, Listen !" Jim wrapped his arms around him, keeping still the blond who were trying to go back to the man.

"He did that to her Jim ! I— I can’t lose her ! I can’t !" He tried few more times to escape from his embrace but it was weaker, his head falling onto Jim’ shoulder as he cried silently. "I just want her back" He chocked out, Jim’s hand rubbing softly his back.

"I know Roger, I know it’s hard but the violence is not the answer, even if this asshole did deserve the first punch" The blond stifled a weak chuckle and slowly broke the hug, wiping his puffy eyes. "But you can’t do that again, if someone had see you, you could have been ejected from the hospital, Rog. And I’m sure you don’t want that”

The drummer nodded in agreement and winced at his bruised knuckles, you hated when he was involved into a fight. You were usually the one to take care of him after.

"(Y/N) is going to kill me" Roger murmured as he put his hands in the sink, rinsing then with cold water. "I swore to her to stop hurting myself in stupid fights”

"I’m sure she will do an exception for this one” Jim winked at the blond who smiled sadly.

When they went back in the room, the man was gone and Freddie was picking up the mess caused by the fight.

"You’re okay darling ?” Roger shrugged at Freddie’s question and sat back next to you, taking your hand into his, ignoring the throbbing pain in his knuckles.

"I’m sorry for the mess baby, I know you need quietness, not fucking fuss like that” He murmured to you with a deep sigh. He was tired of waiting.

**

On the sixth day, Brian brought one of his guitar for Roger. The blond knew how much you loved when he played guitar to you, which didn’t happen often as he was usually banging his drums energetically.

His fingers were swollen and hurtful but that didn’t stop him to play random songs you liked, his sad voice echoing through the room.

Roger didn’t notice until your accident how much your were important in his life. He knew he was completely crazy for you, that why he married you but right now...he never felt worse. Life without you was just sad and fucking lonely.

"Please (Y/N), wake up. I need you so much. I’m fucking lost without you" The drummer pressed several light kisses on your hands, not wanting to hurt you. "I didn’t have a real meal since your accident and I know who gonna be mad at me. I showered only once in six days, I didn’t clean the concussions on my fingers and now they are all swollen and fucking hurt. I’m being really dumb without you around. I really need my darling wife back, please baby"

**

On the seventh day, Roger woke up under soft touches on his hairs, light as a feather. You were awake and a tiny little smile was painted on your bruised face, your eyes still heavy from all the drugs. The drummer was sure it was a dream, too beautiful to be real and honestly, he never wanted to wake up.

"What—" You throat was dry and rough but Roger jumped on his feet at the sound. It wasn’t a dream, you were finally awake. "What happened to— to your fingers Roger ?” You whispered with a painful voice and a slight frown of your brows.

Roger bursted in laugh. You woke up in a fucking hospital bed and the first thing you asked was what wrong with your husband’s hands. Of course. You pouted when his laughs became cries, ugly and loud ones. He sat back and rambled through his sobs, his lips kissing yours a least a thousand times.

"Don’t you ever dare leave me like that (Y/N)" He murmured as his chest going up and down quickly. "I thought you weren’t gonna wake up baby, I thought I lost you"

"I’m here Roger" You weakly replied, trying to process everything that was going on. Seven days of coma was scary, if it had been Roger instead of you in this bed, you would certainly have lost it. "I’m sorry you had to go through that" You gently stroke his wet and burning cheeks with your fingers, his eyes closing under the soft caress.

You never saw Roger looking so vulnerable before, it made your heart sunk.

“I love you (Y/N), so much. These seven days without you have been fucking hell" He opened his big glossy eyes, leaning further into your touch, like a kitten craving for some more rubbing. You slid your hand into his hairs, slowly brushing off the knots from his dirty locks. "I’m sorry I smell, I didn’t shower a lot this week"

"That’s okay, I didn’t either" You joked with a little smile as the drummer shook his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Too soon to joke about ?" He nodded timidly and sniffled, the sound compressing your chest. "Come here babe” You tugged onto his neck to bring him closer to you, lips brushing together. Slowly and carefully. "I’m really sorry"

“‘s not your fault (Y/N) but I’m serious, never again. Just stay with me ‘kay?”

"Pinkie promise Rog” You wrapped your little finger with his and both of you giggled at the childish gesture. "Can you do something for me babe ?”

“Everything, tell me” The blond was already half standing, ready to do anything for you. You could him ask to jump naked from the bloody window, he would not even think twice about it before doing it.

“Can you find a first kit aid ? I really need to clean your swollen knuckles, it driving me crazy” You blushed a little under Roger’s incredulous gaze but shrugged anyway.

"Jesus fucking Christ woman, you’re unbelievable. Every time you open your mouth, I keep falling harder for you"

You chuckled stupidly at his words and the drummer imitated you before pressing a warm kiss on your nose, promising to be back quickly.

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1826 Sunday 5 March

6 3/4 11

Went into the stable - sat down at my desk at 7 1/2 - wrote 1 1/2 pages to Tattersall to ask him if he thought he could 'with advantage and without impropriety' try to sell a horse of mine at the sale (the week after next as said the man in the mail on Thursday) of Mr. Lambton's steed - described Hotspur - concluding with apologizing for asking an unnecessary question, but said, that, if Mr. T- [Tattersall] knew anything of a gentleman of the name of Emery in London who furnished Veturino horses for all parts of the continent, I should consider myself obliged to him to give me his address - then wrote 2 pages and the ends to Mrs. Norcliffe - thanking her for the guinea bird and her note on Tuesday and for her letter on Wednesday - thanked her for her opinion and advice respecting our going abroad -

'I have always valued the one, and often regretted not having followed the other, and entreat and hope you will continue to let me benefit by both so long as we are each of us permitted to sojourn here - I shall always remember all your kindness with affectionate gratitude, and never cease to think of you with pleasure as one of the best of my friends' -

Said my aunt wanted a dry air even more than a warm air, which dry air was not to be had anywhere in England - we were to follow the climate that suit us, and could not therefore as yet decide exactly where she should attempt to settle - had ordered Dr. Clarke's work on the different places on the continent resorted to by invalids, and should be much influenced by this - had ordered a carriage and should be much obliged to her for any hint she could give - mentioned about Betsy Harrison and desired to have Burnett's opinion enclosed a bill from Whitley of 3.9.6 dated 31 March 1824 for binding prints for Mrs. N- [Norcliffe] on cleaning the room after IN [Isabella Norcliffe] and I were gone, this bill (sent to IN [Isabella Norcliffe] was found on the floor - then wrote very nearly 3 pages to IN- [Isabella Norcliffe] mentioning what I had done in York, and that we expected M- [Mariana] tomorrow week, and there was still some chance of Miss Mc.L-'s [Maclean's] coming for I read or skimmed over the letter from her and M- [Mariana]

At 10 1/2 sent off my letter to 'Messers Tattersall and company Hyde Park corner London' my letter to 'Mrs. Norcliffe Langton hall Malton' and my letter to 'Miss Norcliffe the Reverend James Dalton's Croft Rectory Darlington' - then had my breakfast here (in my room) and read my letter from John Lister (Swansea) 2 pages very proper letter of thanks for the mourning ring, and for my 2 letters - He says of my uncles death 'it shocked us very much not knowing that he had a bad state of health' - I omitted to mention the name of the office in which his insurance is effected - I thought as soon as I had sent off my letter - I will write again - then read my letter from M- [Mariana] (lawton) 3 pages and the ends - she knows nothing to prevent her coming tomorrow week - has not shewed my last to Mr. C.L- [Charles Lawton] but perhaps may -

'I have very good reason for believing that neither your letter nor one 1/2 of mine was read - so strange a being as Mr. C.L- [Charles Lawton] to deal with, you cannot conceive - I will defy anyone that does not live with him to comprehend the difficulties which those that do are perpetually meeting with' -

Then read my letter from Miss Maclean (Edinburgh) 3 pages - the thought of my going abroad seems to have affected her much - she fancies we may never meet again - our leaving Shibden had never entered her head - she had thought of going to settle matters at Quinish in May (should they continue in Edinburgh) hoping I could go with her

'and the idea of travelling together, and spending a few weeks rambling thro' the wilds - without any one to interrupt our intercourse - was such a delightful thought, I fancied it must come to pass - then we must have got acquainted with each other but vain are human plans - the lonely - desolate feeling your letter occasioned, you, perhaps could not have guessed - but I am chasing it away - I have allowed myself to think too much of you, having not one but yourself whose thoughts are as my thoughts - whatever bitterness of spirit I might be in, your letters always cheered me, till this last'....

She wishes to come yet knows not if she can, or, if she can, if she ought while we are in the bustle perhaps of moving and while my aunt is so unwell - Sat down immediately and wrote 3 pages and the ends (she tells me, too, of a treasure of a woman servant aetatis 40, a highlander, a Macdonald) in answer, to go tomorrow -

'Sibbella! I have this moment received your letter - It affects me more deeply than you think; for I discover from it what I have scarcely vanity, or courage, call it which you please, to acknowledge to myself, much less to you, - I discover from it, that you have perhaps more regard for me, than we either of us felt assured till this moment - you do not write like a person who is heartless, or like one whose heart is lightly interested in the fate of this friend 'The lonely desolate feeling......(quoted to 'think too much of you') - Sibella! forgive me, if I can guess better than you imagine; - forgive me, if, on looking into my own heart, I seem in some sort looking into yours - I knew not - thought not- hoped not - your mind would muse upon a scheme so winning as 'the idea of travelling together....(quoted to 'interrupt our intercourse') - this sentence sinks deeply in my heart - yes! 'then we must have got acquainted with each other' - you would have known me, - known whether I was worth the thought and friendship you have given - Perhaps it may be still, - and, tho' not next summer, a summer afterwards that may not please us less - Why despair? Why give up the hope of meeting in happiness even in this world? If you are strong enough to bear the journey, come; if not, I will try to see you by some means or other'.....

Mention our expectation of seeing M- [Mariana] tomorrow week, and then afterwards, and our plans as far as we know them - if she can come early in June will meet her at Northallerton or Newcastle or wherever she likes, and bring her in the carriage from York - mention Dr. Duffin's handsome sister having married a Mr. Thompson? bookseller in Edinburgh - mine and my aunt's thanks for the trouble she has taken about the servant

'your account of Macdonald is very tempting - I only wish you had seen her Is her health good? Does about 40 mean rather less or rather more than that age? - Do you know if she can speak French? and if she is neat in her appearance, and altogether a nice looking person? I should like a Highlander - In your next will you answer these questions if you can, and give me her address? for if we'd not take the one in York, I should like to look after your Country woman' -

On speaking of the probability she would be more comfortable here than at Langton

'there is a something passing shew on which the joy of heart depends - I could name circumstances under which we might have taught each other this lesson practically - But Providence ordains it otherwise - and all thing are ordered wisely - Give me your friendship for ever, and I am satisfied - come, see what I am, and tell me, if you can, you have not repented the day we met' -

These 3 pages and the ends to Miss Mc.L- [Maclean] took me 1 1/2 hour till 12 3/4 - then wrote out the journals of Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday and so far of today, and had just done at 3 10/60 - it is four hundred and fifty a year - from then to 4 1/2 settling accounts - then wrote out my father's future rent-roll of the property here - which took me till 5 - Dressed and washed for I had not had time to do it before - Dinner at 6 10/60 - tea and coffee at at 8 - Fine morning before 12 - then showers of hail and rain, during the afternoon and evening - came up to bed at 9 3/4 at which hour Barometer 1/3 degree above changeable Fahrenheit 44° Read from page 153 to 171 the last no. [number] (65) of the Quarterly review on Gilly's history of the Vaudois - E..O.. -

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/9/0065 - SH:7/ML/E/9/0066

[alj4890]

Crack Fic Request

(Psych! X Choices: The Royal Romance) as requested by @krsnlove 😂

A/N WARNING This is pure crack. I am combing two of my all time favorites: Psych and The Royal Romance cast of characters. If you haven't ever watched Psych about a fake psychic detective, please...do so. You have no idea the laughter that is missing from your life. If you are a fan of delicious flavor, then read on.

I have no idea who to tag other than my other fellow Psych lover, @hopelessromantic1352

Masterlist

History? What About Her Story?

"My love, have you seen the book you gave me on our wedding day?" Liam walked along the shelves of the palace library, searching each brown leather spine.

"No. I don't believe I have seen it since the reception." Riley set her book down and began to help him search. "Did you allow someone to borrow it?"

"No." He frowned and called for Bastien. A search was conducted with no results.

"It has to be somewhere in here." She muttered.

Maxwell and Drake joined them, bringing Hana and Olivia. After much discussion, Maxwell offered to call in a favor.

"I know a guy who is able to solve these type of mysteries." He pulled his phone out and scrolled through his contacts.

____________________

Santa Barbara, California

"Chief, the psychic realm is buzzing with gossip and a little ethereal bird told me to stop by." Shawn announced, bursting in on a meeting between Chief Vick, Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, and Detective Juliet O'Hara.

"Mr. Spencer, I don't know what birds are whispering in your ear but they need to remind you not to interrupt a meeting." She said in a frustrated tone.

"Sorry Chief, but when they tweet, I must answer. Usually with hashtags. Right, Gus?" Shawn turned to his best friend and partner.

"It's true Chief. He uses an unusual amount of hashtags." Gus added.

"Dude! You know my Twitter followers need to be in the know. I can't just offer a thought without a dozen or so carefully phrased hashtags to explain it's significance." Shawn reached over for Juliet's doughnut and was immediately batted away.

"Jules! Sharing is caring." He reminded her.

"If there are doughnuts, we need to be made aware of their location." Gus searched the room and looked out toward the main room of the police station.

"Enough!" Carlton yelled. "Spencer, you and Gusster go find a doughnut and leave."

"Come on, Lassie. Don't you want to break bread with us. Or a doughnut as the case might be while we discuss the next step in our investigation?" Shawn tried to secretly slide Juliette's doughnut his way, earning another slap.

"I would rather go to a hot yoga class with McNabb." Carlton uttered in a deadpan voice.

"Well, I for one am ready to find this Corduroy antique." Shawn said sitting down and propping his feet up on the table.

"Cordonian." Gus corrected.

"I've heard it both ways." Shawn quickly repsonded.

"Shawn you didn't even know it was a country." Gus added.

"Gus, I can't help that the psychic tweets didn't give a geography lesson with the message. There's only a limited number of characters allowed." Shawn argued.

"Gentlemen!" Chief Vick interrupted. She stared pointedly at Shawn until he took his feet off the conference table. "Due to the international attention you and Lassister and O'Hara have gained with past investigations, the King and Queen of Cordonia have asked the four of you to come help find out what happened to one of the king’s prized possessions. The mayor insists you go to show how Santa Barbara is keeping up international relations."

"The tweets never lie." Shawn said, a smile lighting up his face. "What type of clothing should we pack?"

"It's in the Mediterranean." Juliet told him.

"So, snowsuit?" Shawn asked.

"Be ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning. King Liam is sending his private plane for you." Vick flicked her hands for them to leave.

__________________

"Gus, I was meant for this lifestyle. Private planes. Servants. Ruling over a small country. Adored by my people." Shawn reclined in the Corinthian leather chair as the plane flew over the Atlantic.

"Dude, your people would overthrow you within a week." Gus muttered.

"And what a glorious week it would be." Shawn replied.

Gus glanced behind him to where Juliet and Carlton were sleeping. "What did Maxwell tell you?"

"Some brown book filled with the country’s history is missing. The queen presented it as a wedding gift. Who gives their spouse an ancient book as a gift on their wedding night? Do you think there was underwear in it? I bet--"

"Shawn." Gus attempted to reign Shawn's ramblings in.

"Anyway, they can't find it. So it is up to us to find out who took it, why they did, and where it is now."

"Great. Did Maxwell offer any leads?"

Shawn frowned. "No...but how many people actually were in a small palace of a tiny country?"

_________________

Liam and Riley walked with Maxwell down the corridor. "A psychic?" Liam asked again. "I can't believe we invited a psychic detective to assist in this."

Maxwell nodded. "Shawn isn't some run of the mill psychic. He has solved numerous thefts, murders, even stopped a notorious serial killer. I think he will have this book back in your hands by this evening."

They walked into the study and warmly greeted their guests.

"Maxwell!" Shawn walked up and fist bumped him. "How long has it been?"

"Um...I want to say a two months since I was in Canada. The whole book tour being interrupted by Pierre Despereaux's thefts was when we last met." Maxwell explained.

"Thefts?" Riley asked.

"An international art thief, your majesty." Juliet explained, dropping into an awkward curtsy.

"Please, there is no need for any of that." Riley said with a smile. "I'm still not used to it. Every time someone needs a refill on drinks, I hop up to get it."

Juliet laughed and clapped her hands. "Your story is the stuff of dreams. I love how you and King Liam met."

"O'Hara." Carlton muttered.

"Right. Sorry." Juliet straightened up beside him.

"Can you tell us if you have any new staff, possibly seen anyone suspicious around the book?" Carlton asked.

"No, most have been here for years. The ones visiting the palace are nobles and friends that have never caused a problem of this sort." Liam explained.

"Of this sort?" Gus repeated. "So there have been problems?"

Liam shared a loaded glance with Riley. "I recently created a council of both nobles and commoners to help my queen and I rule to the best of our abilities. After the terrorist attacks from the Sons of the Earth, I wanted to try and not allow a situation like that to develop again."

Shawn raised his hand to his head. "I'm sensing that there were a few who did not agree with this."

Riley nodded, eyes wide. "There were some, one in particular, Lord Neville."

"The singer of Tell It Like It Is?" Shawn asked.

"That's Aaron Neville." Gus corrected.

"Right, the quarterback for Green Bay." Shawn asked.

"That's Aaron Rogers!" Gus exclaimed

"Right. Love his neighborhood." Shawn put his hand back to his head. "I'm sensing that Lord Rogers--"

"Neville." Gus whispered.

"That Lord Neville might wish to get back at you. Mayhap even--" he turned to Gus. "Did I use mayhap right?"

"Yes." Gus answered

"Too pretentious?" Shawn furrowed his brow.

"A little bit." Gus shrugged.

"It's this setting. I mean look at this place. Velvet sitting chairs. Who has this? Really, even velvet drapes? Does Elton John visit?" Shawn walked over and lifted the red drape.

"He has..." Liam replied, trying to keep up with Shawn's thought process.

"Is he planning on visiting soon?"

"I--" Liam shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Hmm. To solve this mystery, I am going to need to become one with this palace. I am going to need to eat what you eat. Sit where you sit. Touch what you touch." Shawn winked at Riley, earning a smack to the back of the head from Carlton.

He glared at Shawn before turning to Liam. "Rest assured that O'Hara and I will do all we can to solve this for you."

"If you wouldn't mind, we need to speak to your head of security." Juliet added.

"Of course, right this way." Liam and Riley walked out with the two detectives.

Maxwell grinned. "Alright guys, show me that magic you did in Canada."

"Oh you will see the magic." Shawn promised.

"We got magic for days." Gus added.

"At least for a couple of hours." Shawn corrected. "Maybe an encore card trick or two."

Maxwell chuckled and finger gunned them on his way out. "Great. Let me know if you need anything."

"Magic for days? Really Gus?" Shawn shook his head and left the study.

"What? The man asked for it. What was I supposed to say? Shawn!" Gus ran after him.

__________________

"We start with the list Maxwell gave us of those that are normally in the palace." Shawn explained. "From there, we can easily say Neville did it and we receive some kind of royal award, like a spare chest of jewels or a quick swim in the gold vault."

"Liam is not Scrooge McDuck." Gus reminded him.

"Are you saying he doesn't have a gigantic money vault that he secretly swims in while wearing a bathing suit from the turn of the century?"

"Yes. That's what I'm saying."

"Well, that's disappointing." Shawn muttered.

The pair stopped by an office and knocked. When they opened the door they saw a petite, strikingly beautiful blonde filing some papers. "Who are you?" She asked, eyes narrowing.

"My name is Shawn Spencer and this is my partner, Sir Spinsalot. We have been asked to assist in locating the King's missing book."

Madeleine sat down behind her desk. "And?"

"We were wondering who you suspected." Gus leaned closer. "A lady of your talents of changing the minds of the people should have a few suspects in mind."

A proud smile formed. "When King Liam chose an American waitress as his Queen, there were some that were less enthused with his choice."

Shawn zeroed in on her fingers tensing, the old issues of magazines behind her desk, and the faint tan line on her ring finger. There was also a flyer partially hidden with the word rebound on it. A sticky note had a m and a f with groups of numbers listed. 1728 and 1817 were written down. "I'm sensing that these nobles preferred someone else. They wanted you to be queen."

She momentarily stilled. "Yes they did. After my upbringing as the Countess of Fydella, I was the natural choice as queen."

"I bet they were disappointed when Liam ended your engagement." Gus added.

A hard glint came into her eyes. "I suppose so. Who wouldn't wish for one trained since birth how to run a country and interact with nobles and dignitaries around the world without an entourage to constantly tell her what to do?"

"Good to see you're not bitter." Shawn stood up. "Thank you for your time."

"Do you think she did it?" Gus whispered as they walked down the hall.

"Nah. She has moved on with this new position. Plus it looks like she is getting some type of rebound counseling after being dumped. She's the kind that has to be needed." He explained.

"I think I could need her." Gus grinned, brushing his thumb across his nose.

"I say this with all the love in my heart. Something is wrong with you." Shawn stepped outside.

__________________

"He did it." Shawn nodded toward a man dressed in a demin shirt talking to Juliet.

"What? That's the King's best friend!" Gus exclaimed.

"Doesn't matter. He did it." Shawn persisted. "Only a thief would flirt to distract the investigation."

"He's not flirting. Juliet is." Gus pointed out.

"Man." Shawn shook his head and walked over.

Juliet was smiling. "....I named him Sprinkles because of his dappled coat."

Drake's smirk appeared and he looked up as Shawn and Gus approached. Juliet turned and introduced them.

"Drake, this is Shawn Spencer and Burton Gusster."

He nodded to them. "How's the investigation going? Any leads?"

"It's going." Shawn answered. "I'm not at liberty to reveal any parts."

Drake cocked an eyebrow. "You're not at liberty?"

"That's right, Jack! The psychic's relationship with the visions he is given is precious. Has to be nurtured. It's a circle of trust and it gets upset when I share its secrets with suspiciously handsome dudes that flex their muscles in a barn. Or stable. Is this a stable?" Shawn pulled the door open.

"It's a stable." Gus decided.

Juliet looked up in silent frustration. "Thank you Drake for your time. Guys, I will see you back at the palace." She walked away.

Shawn noticed Drake checking Juliet out and spoke harshly.

"So what do you do here?"

"Er...I do...things." Drake muttered.

"What type of things?" Gus asked.

"I...you couldn't really put a name on it. I do a variety of...stuff." Drake stuttered.

"Is theft of antique cornucopia history--" Shawn began.

"Cordonian." Gus corrected.

"Cordonian history rank as one of your things?" Shawn asked.

Drakes eyes narrowed. "What? Are you actually accusing me of stealing from my best friend?"

"No!" Gus said while Shawn said, "YES!" At the same time.

Drake glared at them and stormed off.

"What's his problem?" Shawn asked.

"Shawn, you just accused the man of stealing. What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Maybe point me toward the most likely suspect. Didn't he seem a little more secretive than one would normally be?" Shawn asked.

"Maybe. Why?" Gus watched Drake walk into a hidden side door.

"I think he's hiding something." Shawn motioned his head in the direction Drake disappeared. "We need to keep an eye on him."

___________________

"There has to be food somewhere in this joint." Shawn muttered.

Gus threw his arm out, stopping Shawn. He took a sniff and turned down a hallway.

"Super sniffer activated. What!" Shawn exclaimed following his friend.

"Do you smell that?" Gus asked, stopping again.

Shawn took a deep breath and let out an exaggerated moan. "It smells like heaven's bakery: one filled with cinnamon, sugar, chocolate, and our third grade teacher Ms. Ferguson wearing that sundress on field day."

Gus closed his eyes in memory. "You know that's right. Every teacher should look like her."

They stepped into the kitchen and watched a lady in a pink dress remove a tray of snickerdoodles from the oven. She brushed her long dark hair back and began to place the cookies on a cooling rack.

"I'm in love." Gus whispered.

Shawn nodded at the vision before them. He walked up to her with a look of wonder on his face. "Excuse me, but are you an angel?"

Hana looked up and giggled sweetly. "I know you! You're the private detectives Maxwell called in." She wiped her hands before holding one out. "I'm Lady Hana Lee."

"My name is Shawn Spencer and the suave gentleman stealing cookies is my partner, The Duke of Earl."

Gus quickly swallowed and gave a slow wave. "Hello."

Hana's grow furrowed. "The Duke of what?"

"Earl. But you can call me Slade." Gus replied with a seductive look.

Hana nodded and motioned toward the counter covered in sweet treats. "Please, help yourself. I tend to overdo it when I bake."

"That is impossible." Gus muttered. He took a bite of a still warm brownie and rolled his eyes in pleasure. "I'm proposing to her tonight." He whispered to Shawn.

"Tonight? I'm proposing marriage this afternoon. She can't be real." Shawn filled a plate with a variety of sweets and sat down. With a mouthful of food and a few moans of pleasure he began to question her. "Lady Hana, have you noticed anyone acting suspicious lately?"

She poured them each a glass of milk and chewed on her bottom lip. "No."

Gus slapped Shawn's hand away from his plate. "Stop playing Shawn!"

"Come on son. You grabbed the last of the macarons! The least you can do is offer one or two."

"Not my fault you took your time with the magic bars." Gus countered.

"They literally have magic in the name. They taste like what I imagine Siegfried and Roy playing with baby tigers feels like." Shawn reached over again and shook his head when slapped. "I can't believe how greedy you're being."

"I don't care." Gus replied in a high pitched voice.

Hana laughed and went over to one of the containers filled with more macarons. She offered it to Shawn and blushed when he exclaimed over her. "I don't care what you say, I can see your wings and halo."

"This is what nice people do Gus, they give." Shawn held up the cookies Hana handed him.

"Suck it Shawn."

"You suck it."

They began to talk quickly over each other and suddenly stopped. Shawn took a drink of milk and focused on Hana. "I'm sensing that you have seen someone you are close to acting odd recently."

Her lips parted in surprise. "Yes, I have. But he couldn't have taken the book! He is much too loyal to ever do something against Liam."

Shawn placed his hand to his head, closed his eyes and slapped Gus for trying to take another brownie. "I'm sensing that the one you are worried about is Drake."

Hana gasped. "Yes! Maxwell told me you were the real thing, but I couldn't believe it."

"I am merely the vessel," he slapped the back of Gus's head for trying again, "that the visions use. Now, would it be too much trouble to find something we can use to carry all of this with us?"

______________

“I don’t like this.” Gus whispered as he crept behind Shawn through the dark palace halls.

“Drake wasn’t in his room. It’s two in the morning. Where is he?” Shawn responded. “I’m telling you, he is up to no good.”

“You’re just jealous that Juliet was flirting with him instead of you.” Gus muttered.

“Please. Me? Jealous? Just because Jules basically giggled like an eighth grade girl over that ridiculously good looking man means--” He held his hand up and stopped Gus. He pointed down another hallway where he could see Drake standing in front of a door.

“What’s he doing?” Gus asked.

Shawn moved in an exaggerated manner to hide behind a suit of armor. He motioned for Gus to follow. He shook his head no. Shawn began to motion faster while Gus silently argued back. They did rock, paper, scissors three times with Gus losing. He snuck over.

Drake looked behind him before knocking in a strange pattern. After a few moments he tried the pattern again, his brow furrowing with the continued silence that followed.

Shawn went to move to another suit of armor, only to end up frozen with a sword to his throat.

“One more move and you and your little friend will be a shish kabob.” 

A sultry red head moved out of the shadows and narrowed her green eyes at the pair. “What are you doing here?”

Drake turned around and glared. “It’s those psychic detectives Maxwell called in.”

Olivia kept her sword against Shawn’s throat.

“You would need at least three more.” Shawn suddenly said.

“What are you blabbering about?” Olivia demanded.

“For kabobs.” Shawn continued. “Everyone knows that you can’t just have two things. You need something to make the kebobs pop, like onions, tomatoes, something green. Most add some zucchini yet I think bell peppers add more zing--”

“SILENCE!” Olivia said over his ramblings. “Why are you following Drake?”

“Could you lower the sword?” Gus asked.

She dropped it down. “Now talk before I change my mind.”

“We are searching for the cornstarch--”

“Cordonian!” Gus corrected yet again.

“Cordonian history book.” Shawn finished.

“They think I took it.” Drake folded his muscular arms across his chest.

“Why would Drake steal the book? It is only about nobles and ancient scandals. I think one of the last entries was from 1817.” Olivia noted. 

Shawn thought back as his brain flashed to that post it note with that particular year listed. He raised his hand to his temple. “I KNOW WHO STOLE THE BOOK!”

________________

Everyone gathered half asleep in Liam’s study. Shawn stood in the middle of the room. “I’m sure you all wonder why I asked you here.”

“Cut the crap Spencer.” Carlton replied. “We know you have some half cocked theory that will somehow be correct.”

Gus shrugged when Shawn turned to him.

“Really you too?” Shawn asked. 

“It’s late Shawn.” Gus countered. “We flew across the country and the Atlantic ocean to get here. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours. You know how I get without sleep.”

“Gus, don’t be that can of Coke Zero. Bring back the sweetness.” Shawn pleaded.

He turned back to the group. “This missing piece of history isn’t filled with only boring facts. No! I sense that it is filled with the dirty secrets about what goes on in the unknown, deep, dark recesses of this palace.”

“It’s actually pretty bright everywhere.” Maxwell spoke up with a yawn.

Shawn ignored that. “Even though the scandals go back thousands--”

“Hundreds.” Gus whispered.

“Hundreds of years.” Shawn repeated. “They are still ones that some will want to remain in secret.”

“Who wouldn’t want that?” Drake muttered.

“Someone wanted to erase these recorded memories. Someone who has already gone through humiliation. Someone who doesn’t want their name added to their ancestors’ naughty times. Isn’t that right...LADY MADELEINE!”

Madeleine paused yawning. Her eyes widened for a moment. “I beg your pardon!”

“I can see it all now.” Shawn stood over her. “You were already sick of seeing your name in the magazines as the jilted fiancée of the King. When Riley asked you to be her publicist, it was a slap in the face for a Countess and former Queen in training. But you took it, because your family name was on the line. You had to correct your image somehow. What better way than to appear not only fine being pushed aside, but also being magnanimous to the foreign interloper.” 

Madeleine stared silently at him as he continued.

“It was going well until Riley decided to present Liam with a rare and very odd wedding gift. Seriously. Naught underwear is what all men want for gifts.” Shawn turned to Riley and Liam. “Back me up on this guys.”

“It’s true.” Drake muttered.

“Drake!” Riley exclaimed.

“No, he’s right, blossom. It is all we want.” Maxwell added.

Riley blushed and turned to Liam. “Were you disappointed?”

Liam shook his head. “Of course not. I love everything you have given me.” He frowned at Shawn, Drake, and Maxwell. “Proceed Mr. Spencer.”

“If only Riley had not found it.” Shawn continued. “You didn’t realize what it had until you flipped through it. Then you saw what your ancestors did. It wasn’t just on your mother’s side in 1728 that your people got into trouble, but also on your father’s side in 1817. After a little bit of research and the help of Olivia’s memory of your father being from England, it seems the former Duke of Karlington was involved in trying to overthrow Queen Charlotte. Couldn’t have that be discovered, could you?”

Madeleine glared at Olivia. “I should have known that a descendant from traitors would make certain to point out other decent noble’s despicable relatives.”

“You took the book and decided to have those pages removed. But how to do it in a way that Liam wouldn’t notice?” Shawn interrupted before Olivia could retaliate. “You needed to have the book taken apart by a specialist and then rebounded. Simple glue apparently wouldn’t do with the old leather. That’s why if we go to your desk we will find a brochure for a book binding place called Rebound.”

Madeleine paled. She stood up and lifted her chin. “Yes, I took it. If I refuse to recognize my ancestors that betrayed their monarchs then no one else should.”

Gus and Shawn shared a fist bump as Liam had Bastien lead Madeleine away.

Once she was gone, Shawn turned his sharp eyes on Drake and Olivia. “I see what the big secret is. I wasn’t sure which John Hughes movie you were. I thought maybe a gender switched Pretty In Pink. But now that you are all together, I see you guys are The Breakfast Club.”

“What?!” Everyone exclaimed.

“Olivia is Molly Ringwald. She’s rich and fallen for the less economically sound tough guy, Judd Nelson or Drake in this instance. Liam is Emilo Estevez. Nice. Popular. Everyone likes him. I guess that means Riley is Ally Sheedy. Hmm. Hana doesn’t really have a character. We could make you the principal but that just seems mean. Maybe the little sister to Anthony Michael Hall...but you’re too sweet for that too.  Maxwell...you’re Anthony Michael Hall but way cooler.” Shawn pointed at each one. “And just like in the movie, Molly and Judd are meeting in secret to be together.”

Everyone stared at the duchess and the commoner that were both speechless at their secret being discovered.

“And my work here is done.” Shawn exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. He walked over to the door. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to catch up on that sleep everyone was mentioning earlier.”

_____________

“I am going to miss this country. After Hana refused my offer of marriage, I guess this will only be a fond memory.” Shawn said as he boarded the plane with the others.

“I’m just glad she made us going away bags.” Gus opened his and frowned. “Shawn! Where are my cookies?”

“Hmm? Seems like another mystery.” He held tight to his bag as Gus demanded he either share what he had or return what was stolen. “Man, I didn’t take your cookies.”

“You must be out of your damned mind if you think I believe that.” Gus argued. The best friends began to talk over one another, bringing up the great cupcake incident of fifth grade.

Juliet sighed as she sat down with Carlton. “It’s going to be a long flight.”

Carlton nodded. “Good thing I stole Guster’s bag of baked goods.” He offered a cookie to Juliet. She glanced at Shawn and Gus before biting into a chocolate chip cookie.