#i want it to be a Flat Line. If you were here on april first 2024 you have 3 cat themed badges

[bitchfitch]

Recommendation on this April fools:

Enter a death pact with a mutual and boop each other into jelly to get the Boop Breaker Badge by booping each other 1000 times. Forge a Bond Today. Fucking Kill Eachother.

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003- 

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance. 

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away. 

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing. 

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks. 

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week. 

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own. 

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice. 

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction. 

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask. 

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking. 

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-” 

“Please!” Sarah exclaims. 

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading. 

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say. 

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.” 

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely. 

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage. 

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up. 

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little. 

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah. 

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in. 

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in. 

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine. 

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…” 

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.” 

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel. 

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing. 

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy. 

“Yep,” you nod. 

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks. 

“Not everyone has them.” 

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.” 

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?” 

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy. 

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots. 

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene. 

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks –  what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth. 

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing. 

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor. 

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both. 

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong,  but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now. 

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy. 

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own. 

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?” 

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company. 

And you’re great company. 

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable. 

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like. 

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.” 

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it. 

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close. 

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not. 

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love. 

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.” 

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough. 

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes. 

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working. 

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003- 

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas. 

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to. 

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same. 

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name. 

“Hey!” 

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room. 

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner. 

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door. 

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo. 

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had. 

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist. 

“Here,” you say, and he turns. 

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions. 

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised. 

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.” 

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win. 

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis. 

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him. 

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head. 

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap. 

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you. 

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light. 

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say. 

“What do you miss the most?”  

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that. 

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods. 

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little. 

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?” 

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.” 

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.” 

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.” 

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with. 

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect. 

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods. 

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic. 

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden. 

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows. 

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.” 

“You play?”  He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch. 

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?” 

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head. 

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall. 

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him. 

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune. 

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer. 

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet. 

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep. 

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color. 

“So are you,” he shifts closer. 

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

--

part iv

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha

[citrusses]

AO3 Wrapped 🎁: Drarry Favorites Published in 2022

Featuring eighth year and fuck-or-die fics that were instant classics among classic tropes, steam and suds, mind-bending non-linear narratives, and character studies that made me consider anew the protagonists with whom I’ve spent so many years. 

January

Finely Drawn Lines by @the-sinking-ship (E, 61k) 

Draco doesn’t consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus.

February

The Things We Need by @kbrick (E, 25k)

Three hundred and fifty-three days out of the year, Harry is in a monogamous, fulfilling relationship with Draco Malfoy.

Then there are the other twelve days.

Lateralus by @shiftylinguini (T, 2k)

The world after the war was so big, and so untamed. Magic spilled out of every corner, creatures never seen before watching from nooks that never used to exist. There were colours in the air, in the morning dew drops on the leaves―indescribable, and new. Otherworldly, and pulled from a spectrum that shouldn't be visible in their world.

March

Heartlines by @sorrybutblog (T, 22k) 

Just as Draco Malfoy's life seems to be getting back on track, the magic at Malfoy Manor is spinning out of control. Auror partners Harry Potter and Angelina Johnson are assigned to the case and quickly find that nothing about the situation is obvious. The flare ups are unpredictable at best, downright dangerous at worst, and why has a Hogwarts first year gone missing at the same time?

April 

​​Heal Thyself by @astolat (T, 47k) "Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”

“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

“Oh, I thought you might,” she said. “Well, goodbye.” And off she wandered again in her addled way.

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices. All guests–because no one is a prisoner here, the literature brags–are to be provided with shelter, food, clothing, and the guided support of a Mind Healer via a programme they call “ideological restructuring,” which is, of course, mandatory. 

Lovesick by @corvuscrowned (T, 8k)

People keep spiking Auror Harry Potter with love potions. Healer Draco Malfoy keeps having to pick up the pieces. But it's getting harder and harder for Draco to watch Harry fall in love with everyone except for him.

The Only Magic Left Between Us by @lqtraintracks (E, 24k)

Harry goes to the market and ends up having to save Draco Malfoy’s life with sex. He saves Draco’s life with sex and ends up with a husband. The last thing he expects in all of it is to fall in love.

Once More With Feeling by InnerLilith (E, 29k)

Draco is dosed with a consummation-compelling potion, with Harry Potter as his intended. It’s a cruel irony, because he’s wanted Potter for years. But not like this.

May 

Not Nineteen Forever by @sorrybutblog (E, 6k)

A rogue charm hits on a mission and suddenly, Draco is nineteen again. Harry is still thirty-five and doing his best to look after his de-aged Auror partner (and forget about his long unrequited crush) until St. Mungo’s can brew the antidote. Only, Draco insists on wandering around Harry’s flat wearing nothing but Harry’s pants, flirting like his life depends on it and in the end, Harry’s only human after all.

June 

An Emerald In The Sky by @corvuscrowned (M, 7k) 

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

July 

Two to Lie and One to Listen by @fluxweeed (E, 85k)

It’s weird when Hermione announces that she and Ron have broken up. It’s weirder when this is followed by the revelation that she’s already moved on—and the new object of her affections is Draco Malfoy.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not by @sleepstxtic (T, 6k) Astoria watches her husband fall in love with Harry Potter.

August

The (Third) Worst Year by TheFrancakes (E, 20k) 

Draco Malfoy has one year to fall in True Love with Harry Potter or be turned into a Dragon. And he knows that is never gunna happen. This is going to be the worst year of his life.

Well, minus that whole having to kill Dumbledore or be killed by Voldemort thing.

Second worst year.

Oh, but there was his whole 7th year while Voldemort was using his house as a home base for Death Eaters and making him torture his fellow students. That one was pretty bad too.

Fine, this is the third worst year of his life. Hoppípolla by @moonflower-rose (E, 21k) Falling in love was as easy as jumping in puddles, and Draco Malfoy was completely drenched.

September

The July Tree by @oknowkiss (E, 52k) 

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love. OR: It’s Eighth Year, and Harry Potter has detention. What else is new? Well, since you asked: Greenhouse Four and the Tree of Life, for a start, and then there’s the new shared Eighth Year common room, and Harry’s sexuality, and these pesky dreams he keeps having about a blond man pushing him into things…

Pack by @rockingrobin69 (Not rated, 1.4k)

It was cute when they were in school, the whole rivalry thing. 

What Makes a House a Home by @writcraft (E, 27k)

Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts Draco Malfoy wakes up in an unfamiliar house owned by none other than Harry Potter. Even stranger is the snow in September and a night sky without any stars. Naturally it’s a matter of life and death, because isn’t it always?

The Unspeakable by @the-sinking-ship (E, 24k)

Healer Draco Malfoy took the job at the International Department of Mysteries for the paycheck and the prestige.But what he got was Unspeakable Harry Potter and the most fascinating curse he’d ever seen.

October

The wrong sort by @vukovich (Not rated, 1.6k)

Draco half-rolled, half-fell onto his back, his skin sweaty against Harry’s sheets.  He licked his dry lips and exalted the plaster ceiling with, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Howl by @tackytigerfic (M, 9k)

After an encounter with a vicious werewolf, Draco Malfoy wakes in a field hospital with a mangled shoulder, a furry little problem, and an inconvenient crush on Harry Potter. Potter, meanwhile, is still trying to save the world, only this time he wants Draco right there with him while he does it. Taking part in a rebellion against a corrupt regime isn't always glamorous, but at least sometimes there are organic farmshop pastries and fancy hotel bedsheets. Just don't ask about that smell of burning.

November

Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants (E, 34k) 

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed?

but first, we fight by @nv-md (E, 8k) 

Fighting with Draco Malfoy has never been quite this thrilling...or this frustrating. Harry's always horny, Draco's in denial, and there simply isn't enough time in the day to fight crime and watch your ex-archnemesis wash his arse.

December

Tapestry by @kbrick (E, 51k) WIP

In 2017, Harry is on his way to Pansy and Luna's beach house. He’s a bit terrified of seeing Draco, to be honest. It’s been a while, and then there’s the little matter of Draco having married someone else in the interim.

In 2001, Draco is drunk, wearing Pansy's mother's ermine coat, and afraid to walk into the Leaky because someone might throw a curse at him. So, of course, he runs into his ex-nemesis and hopeless crush, Harry Potter.

The Same Sweet Shock by @xiaq (E, 17k) WIP

One day, Draco Malfoy is going to get his life together.

One day, he will be a respectable citizen. He will have a respectable job and his last name will no longer be a scarlet letter and people will no longer try to hex him in the street. One day, he is going to live a good, honest, ordinary life.

Today, however, is not that day. Because today, he is driving a stolen police car and will likely be responsible for murdering Harry Potter.

Accidentally, of course; not that the papers will care.

[sylviegunpla]

Plamo: Mega Man X3: Hawk Ride Armor (kitbash of Chimera Armor & accessories from Vile's Ride Armor / full paint job)

I Finally Finished It! Well, i finished it sometime around April 1st, 2024, based on the timestamps of my (older, mostly obsolete now) photos. I've definitely not been keeping up with this blog as much as i should.

These are the main angle views of it. There's some "errors" on this thing, but they're not gratuitous. The most annoying part for me is a spec of white on the left-thigh piece (his left not audience-left). Unfortunately due to the way i haphazardly mixed paints, i cannot recreate the exact shade of blue and thus can't properly touch it up. There's actually a few places you can see where i near-matched the shade of blue for some touchups, but im not sure how visible they are in the image. Also, the bolt holes on his-right upper arm are MEGA duplicated on the back. Those were custom panel lines and holes i made by gouging with an exacto knife and then filling in with gundam panel line marker.

I also did some extra special detailing on the leg greebles (which i plan to NOT recreate in my future ride armors): I glued thin plastic into the greebles so it could naturally create panel lines, then i used "Wave System Option: H-Eyes Red" to put jewels into the greebles (using double sided tape).

I will recreate the jewels in future builds, but not the panel line details

Here's some more (uglier) shots:

So there's still something i want to do with this build: I want to attach it to some kind of action/display base, so it looks like it's mid air, and find OR MAKE some sort of clear blue ring-shaped jet-blast effect part to put under the "hover pack", so it looks like it's hovering mid-air like it does in the game. I'm not gonna try to recreate the missiles though lmao. BTW, the Hawk Armor parts don't come with the base Chimera Armor So this was nearly all done using Mr Hobby Aqueous paints and an airbrush, with touchups by hand. Also some Gundam EX Marker Silver for some details, Mr. Super Clear Gloss so get a good surface for panel lining, then flat coated everything except for the red missile tips in the canons (those got a nice juicy gloss coat). I did a lot of masking using tamiya masking tape, which is a technique i'm also doing for the Kangaroo armor. BTW, the Kangaroo armor is also approaching a state of Completion. I'm still working on greebles and the arms (which were also the parts i put off til last on the Hawk armor lmao). But hopefully i'll post it in a more timely manner when that happens! I'm really happy to have finished this. When i first saw Bandai put out "official" kits for 3 of the 4 ride armors of this game, i absolutely knew i wanted to repaint the kit and make it look like the actual key art. I actually based the color choices on the sprite art, but otherwise mostly used the key art for reference with details and such. Well, Bandai did most of that work. I just followed it properly. However... i also have plans to do something absolutely ridiculous to try to recreate the Frog Armor... in time. I don't have full plans for it yet, but i have the ride armors and a dream. Anyway here's a preview of the Kangaroo Armor, a WIP shot:

[2nd2ndalto]

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

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***NB there are two parts to this chapter since it was too big for one Tumblr post!!***

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I started writing this fic a year ago to the day!! It's hard to fathom. And it's still not done! Haha, sob.

TW for Luke being a huge dick. In canon, I don’t have particularly strong feelings about Luke & I feel there’s a lot of potential nuance to his character. But for my X-Files purposes, I just needed a bad guy. My apologies to any Luke stans.

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Chapter 6 (part 1 of 2)

(chapter 5 here)

April 1999

“Nico, look what arrived,” Will announces, bouncing back into the office.

Nico looks up, hopeful. “Is it my new three-hole punch?”

Will looks thrilled enough that it just might be the three-hole punch.

“Even better,” Will says. He pulls up a chair next to Nico and begins attempting to open a cardboard box. Smaller than a bread box, probably the wrong shape for a three-hole punch. Damn.

Nico watches Will struggle for a good thirty seconds before snatching the box away, grabbing a letter opener and easily slitting the packing tape. He hands the box back, one eyebrow raised.

Will just grins like an idiot. “My hero.”

There’s yet another box inside the first, and Will, very sensibly, hands it over before he can try breaking into it.

“Oh. It’s a… camera?” Nico says, confused. The X-Files already has a camera. It’s been serving Nico well for years. He’s rather attached to it, honestly. The little device has seen better days, but it’s small and sleek, fitting in his coat pocket and into the cradle of his hands like it was custom made.

“It’s a digital camera,” Will says, taking the box back once Nico’s cut the tape.

“Oh –”

“So you don’t need film! Plus you can take a photo, and see it right away on the little screen.” Will looks delighted.

Nico nods in recognition. “Yeah, Frank’s got one of those. That’s cool.”

Nico doesn’t think he’s ready to retire his film camera yet, despite its sometimes-reluctance to power on and the little piece of electrical tape holding the battery door shut. But maybe Will can use the new camera. He seems intent to try, anyway. Prodding at it for a moment, Will manages to turn the thing on, then aims it at Nico, pressing a button. The camera makes a fancy little digital beep.

“Hey,” Nico protests, scowling. He tries to shove the camera out of the way, but Will’s already lowered it to his lap, poking at the buttons.

“Aww,” Will exclaims. He turns the camera to Nico and yes, sure enough, there’s Nico on the tiny screen, looking blindsided and five-o’clock-shadowed.

“Amazing. What a time to be alive,” Nico says, flat. “Now delete that immediately. I know you can, I’ve seen Frank do it.”

Will shakes his head, trying and utterly failing to maintain a straight face. “No can do, this model doesn’t have that function.”

“Fuck you,” Nico complains, reaching for the camera. But Will pulls it away, fumbling and almost dropping it. Will’s eyes go wide as he catches it just before it smashes to the floor. Nico snorts.

“One of the best things about digital cameras,” Will is saying, continuing to keep the thing out of Nico’s reach, aided by his unfairly long arms, “is that you can take as many pictures as you want!”

Nico smirks. “Because you can just delete the ones you don’t like?”

Will freezes, looking hilariously caught-out, and Nico laughs. “It’s cool, anyway,” Nico says. “I heard the Bureau was getting them.”

Nico regards Will for a moment, his partner now carefully lining up possibly-artistic shots of the mess on Nico’s desk, the empty coffee maker, his own shoes.

“Wonder how long before the Bureau writes up a new policy about agents not using the cameras for personal photos,” Nico muses aloud, thinking of all the possibilities. Not possibilities for him. But maybe for others. It’s his job to think of what other people might do, okay?

Will binks in confusion for a moment before turning abruptly, adorably pink. Nico laughs, pretending his own face isn’t also warming.

“Oh god,” Will says.

“Exactly.”

Something seems to occur to Will. “Hey, now we can take pictures of us together!” he exclaims.

Nico sighs. He somehow didn’t see that coming, though he probably should have. “Because we couldn’t have done that before?”

But Will’s already scooting his chair up next to Nico, leaning in while he holds the camera out in front of them, lens aimed in sort-of their general direction. “Say cheese,” Will says.

Nico tries to look as unimpressed as he can manage. It turns out not to make any difference anyway, because when Will checks the camera, it’s captured a blurry shot of the wall behind them, a flash of gold at the bottom of the frame that might be Will’s hair.

“Damn it,” Will frowns, shamelessly deleting the image. “We need to get closer.”

“Not sure that was really the issue,” Nico mutters to no avail as Will comes in even closer. Nico’s gotten accustomed to Will’s lack of personal space over the months, has gotten to appreciate it, mostly. But this happens so fast and somehow Nico finds himself unprepared – for Will’s arm, tight around his shoulders, Will’s warm cheek suddenly smushed against his.

His whole body warms; tingling heat accompanied by the sudden, intense desire for more, aching like an open wound. Nico’s desperately hoping it doesn’t show on his face, when Will snaps the picture.

Will’s touch is gone just as fast – too fast – as he moves back, flips the camera to look at the photo. Something softens in Will’s expression, and he doesn’t speak for a moment.

“What?” Nico asks, nervous about it now.

“We look –” Will shakes his head, smiling. “It’s – just a good camera.”

Nico reaches for the camera and Will passes it over. It is a good photo. There’s Will, beaming like an idiot, looking somehow thrilled to be pressed up against Nico. And Nico looks… content. Maybe a little harassed, but happy. He’s not smiling, but there’s a quirk to his lips. A warmth in his eyes.

And the weirdest thing is – they don’t just look good individually. They look good together. Like the two of them add up to more than the sum of their parts. It’s as if, seven months ago, there was a Will and a Nico. And now there’s a them. How did that happen, without Nico realizing?

“I’m gonna print that one,” Will says, a bit softer. He takes the camera back.

“Sure,” Nico agrees, as cool as he can. “We can put it right next to the picture of my fish.”

Will looks pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nico turns back to his desk, shuffling papers unnecessarily.

Will stands, glancing at his watch. “Oh, it’s almost five. Wanna walk me to the train?”

More often than not these days, they leave the office together, deep in conversation – lingering first in the lobby, then making their way to the metro station where they finally part ways and Nico heads back to the parking garage.

“Um.” Nico clears his throat. “I was going to stick around, actually. Some Fridays I grab pizza from that place on F Street, pull some old files.” He’s not sure why he’s suddenly feeling awkward about it. But he supposes he’s never mentioned it to Will before.

Will blinks, surprised.

Nico shrugs. “You know. Try looking at things with new eyes. See if I can find anything I’ve missed.”

“Oh –”

“You don’t have to stay,” Nico adds quickly, because he suddenly realizes that he would like the company, but he definitely doesn’t want Will to feel obligated. “I’m off the clock. It probably sounds stupid, but I just kind of like hanging around here when the building empties out. It feels –”

“Spooky?” Will grins.

Nico rolls his eyes. “No, nerd. It’s – relaxing. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. Go home,” he adds, tossing an eraser at Will and turning back to his desk. “We’re done for the day.”

“No, I get that.” Will doesn’t make any move to leave yet. “I’d like to stay, actually. But –”

Nico’s quick to shake his head. “No, go enjoy your Friday night. You don’t have to–”

“No, I was going to say I would stay, but my little brother’s in town with his band. We’re going out for dinner. But next week? If we’re not out on a case?” Will asks, suddenly sounding nervous.

Nico gives him a dry look. “You wanna stay after work. Put in unpaid time. In the spooky basement.”

“Yup.” Will beams at him.

Nico rolls his eyes. “Fine. Next Friday, I will permit you to stay late and do work you’re not being compensated for. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Will grins, plucking the eraser from the floor and tossing it back. “I’ll even cover the pizza.”

It becomes a routine, after that, nearly every Friday.

And before too long, case research begins bleeding over to Nico’s apartment, which isn’t far from the Bureau, after all. Somehow, Nico’s not surprised when that begins to evolve into something more; Nico putting on a movie, in disbelief that Will’s never seen it. This, inevitably, leads to Will falling asleep on Nico’s couch, Nico draping a blanket over him before heading to his own bed.

And if Friday nights begin leading to Saturday morning coffee, before Will heads back to home… well.

::

Will’s sprawled on the couch with a book when the apartment door clicks open. He raises a lazy hand to wave at his sister. “There’re leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry. How was your date?”

“Lovely, thank you,” Kayla answers happily, kicking off her shoes and joining Will on the couch, shoving at his feet until he moves them out of her way.

“What did Luke want?” Kayla asks, reaching for the remote.

Will frowns. “Luke? Luke who?”

“Luke Castellan. Luke your ex.”

Will makes a face. “He’s not exactly an ex.”

“Well, he’s an ex-something,” Kayla mutters, beginning to flick through channels. “He called. Did you not see the message?”

::

Coffee is what Luke wants, apparently, and mid-morning the next day, Will excuses himself, vaguely telling Nico he has an errand to run.

Leaving the Bureau and walking up Ninth Street, he feels guilty about the white lie. And maybe a little guilty that he felt the need to lie in the first place. There’s no reason for it, Will reminds himself firmly. Luke is a colleague, same as Nico. The coffee meeting is about a case, ostensibly. It’s all on the up and up.

Nevertheless, waiting to cross the street to the coffee shop, all Will really wants to do is turn back the way he came. There’s a chilly breeze, and he pulls his blazer tighter around his shoulder. He wishes he’d brought his coat. He wishes he was back in the Bureau basement.

When Will pushes the door open at the Starbucks, Luke’s already sitting at a table by the window, all lanky height and tousled brown hair and dark, smoldering gaze. And okay, Will can admit to himself that it was attractive, once upon a time.

Luke stands, pulls Will in for a handshake, just a little too friendly, looking just a little too pleased at Will’s arrival. Waiting at the counter for his coffee, Will feels more than a little like fleeing, not entirely sure why.

“I heard about your reassignment,” Luke is saying once they’re both seated. “Field work, hey? How’s your spooky partner?”

Will cups his coffee with both hands, warming his cold fingers. “It’s been great, actually,” he says lightly. “Nico’s an excellent agent. We’ve had some really interesting cases.”

Luke grins. “Yeah? Aliens? I think I heard something about vampires.”

Will feels a sharp flash of annoyance, not in any mood to joke about a job he’s become very fond of, nor the partner he has very similar feelings for. Never mind that the maybe-vampire case almost culminated in Will losing that partner, permanently, something that continues to eat at him in quiet moments. “We’re just solving cases. No different than what you do.”

Will can hear the irritation in his own voice, and surely Luke can too. Luke holds up one hand in surrender. “Okay, okay, take it easy Will. I was just kidding.”

“What do you want, Luke?” Will asks, abruptly finding himself completely devoid of patience.

Luke looks surprised, but quickly recovers. “I wanted to get your input on a case, actually.”

The no need to be rude about it seems unspoken, but Will can’t find it in himself to care. The truth of it is that he doesn’t really like Luke Castellan, whatever they had together a couple of years ago aside. But if this is purely about work, Will supposes he can live with that. He takes a deep breath. “Sure. What’s the case?”

Luke reaches for his bag, extracting a file. “It’s a local case. Alexandria PD, they want our help on a serial killer profile. Three murders in the past six weeks. Victims vary in age, race, gender. No known connections to each other.”

Will frowns, feeling his shoulders relax a bit at the now-familiar feeling of sinking into a new mystery. “I take it there’s some kind of pattern?”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “The point of entry. Or rather, the lack of one.”

“What do you mean?”

“First victim, college student. Killed in her ten-by-twelve cinder block dorm room. She was found with the windows locked and the door chained from the inside. Second guy was found in a maintenance shed. Again, locked from the inside. The last incident, yesterday, was the top floor of a high security office building. Nothing at all on the security monitors. Janitor spoke to the victim minutes before the murder, didn’t see or hear a thing out of the ordinary.”

Will considers. “Suicides?”

“Each victim was found with their liver ripped out,” Luke informs him. “No cutting tools used.” Luke opens the file then, pulling out a photo and pushing it towards Will. A gory mess of someone’s midsection. Will raises his eyebrows.

“The killer what – used their bare hands?” Will asks, pulling the file closer for a better look.

“As far as we can tell, yeah.”

Will surveys the bloody evidence, impressed despite himself. “Physiologically that’s… pretty improbable. This sounds like it could be an X-File.”

Luke leans back. “Let’s not get carried away. What I’d like from you is a look over the case histories. Maybe come down to the crime scene. See what you think about a profile.”

Will glances up to meet Luke’s gaze. “Do you want me to ask Nico?”

Luke shrugs, seemingly trying for unconcerned. “If he wants to come along and give you a hand, sure. But just make sure he knows this is my case, Will. The thing is – our section leader’s all tied up with another investigation at the moment, and I’ve been given clearance to run this on my own. If I can break a case like this one, it might just be the bump up the ladder I need. And who knows? If you can help, maybe it’ll be your ticket out of the basement.”

::

Nico seems willing enough, his eyes lighting up at the mere mention of the extracted livers. Will smiles to himself. They’ve reached a point in their partnership where Will knows exactly what will get his partner going, and it warms him a little every time he’s able to provide it. Even if it is in the form of manual dissection.

It’s a short drive to the crime scene, a glass-fronted six-storey office building on a block lined with several other such buildings.

“No balconies, no fire escapes,” Nico notes as they approach the entrance, glancing up at the shiny exterior, glinting in the early afternoon sun. “And those windows don’t open. Can’t imagine it would have been easy to get to the sixth floor from the outside.”

The place does seem particularly secure, Will thinks, as they pass through two different checkpoints just to reach the elevators. He takes note of the security cameras in the lobby and the elevator.

All’s quiet on the sixth floor when they arrive, no sign of Luke or his partner. The office where the murder occurred is a far cry from their office at the Bureau. Besides the fact that it’s currently a crime scene, it’s impressive; vast, with floor-to ceiling windows and a desk that Will’s pretty sure is worth more than all the furniture he owns. If he and Nico had this kind of space in the basement, they could add a sofa. Maybe a stationary bike.

“Just think how many filing cabinets you could fit in here,” Will murmurs.

Nico grins. “Right? I could finally take my cryptid art collection out of storage, start a whole gallery wall.” He spreads his arms out in front of him.

“Wait – what?” Will laughs, but Nico just waggles his eyebrows, immediately getting to work. He pulls out a camera (not the digital one, Will notes) and evidence bags. He drops to a crouch, a close inspection of the carpet around where the most recent victim was found. Will takes in the dried blood, soaked through lush, sand-colored carpet, yellow plastic evidence markers scattered over the room like fallen leaves.

A moment later Nico turns to glance up at Will, brow furrowed. “You said there was nothing on the cameras, right?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “And there was a security guard right outside the door.”

Nico chews on it for a long moment, thinking. “This is definitely an X-File. Why didn’t they just send a consult request straight downstairs?”

Will shrugs, ignoring the flash of guilt. “Luke and I knew each other at the Academy. I’m sure he just felt more comfortable approaching me.”

Nico, unfortunately, is an excellent profiler, when it comes right down on it. Normally Will doesn’t mind much, having that intense gaze directed at him rather than any given murderer. He tries not to give it too much thought, but the truth is he usually likes the attention. Right now, however, he could do without it. Nico rises, watching Will a little too intently.

“And I make people… uncomfortable?” Nico guesses.

Will grimaces. “Look, Luke likes to play by the book. He thinks your methods, your theories –”

“Are spooky?” Nico’s lips quirk.

“You know how people are.”

Nico holds Will’s gaze a moment longer, all big dark eyes and long lashes, just long enough for Will to feel butterflies stirring in his stomach. Honestly. Does Nico know what he’s doing?

“And Luke…” Will shifts awkwardly, wishing he didn’t always have to be so obvious, an open book. “He wanted to make sure you knew this is his case.”

Nico rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. He thinks it’ll be good for his career.”

Nico huffs dismissively and Will feels a rush of fondness. He’s known Nico less than a year, but he’d never call him competitive, nor does he seem to have any interest in climbing the corporate ladder. He’s truly just about the case. Finding answers. Solving the puzzle. At the very least, it aligns nicely with Will’s own moral code, and at the most, it endears him deeply.

Will glances toward the doorway, checking to make sure Luke hasn’t arrived yet. He lowers his voice. “Luke likes to come out on top. You know the type. But it’s not as if we really have to work with him. We’ll just take a look at the evidence, give our expert opinion and then move along.”

Nico nods. “I can live with that.”

“You’re the expert,” Will adds under his breath, aiming a light kick at Nico’s shoe.

Nico laughs, low. He looks pleased. “I already knew that,” he says, kicking Will back.

“Agent Solace is right in here,” comes a voice from the hallway, and they both turn.

“Will,” Luke grins, striding into the room. “Sorry I’m late.” He reaches out to shake Will’s hand, his gaze lingering just long enough to make Will take a step back. He’s sure Luke does want their help on his way up the ladder, has no doubt that that’s exactly what prompted this meeting. But he’s getting the feeling the other man may have other intentions as well. And Will is very much not interested.

Will clears his throat. “Not a problem. We just got here ourselves. Luke Castellan – Nico di Angelo.” He gestures between the two men.

The two shake hands. Nico watches Luke even as Luke turns away, a slight furrow to his brow.

“And this is my partner, Annabeth Chase,” Luke adds, as a serious-looking dark-haired woman enters the room, her gaze thoughtful. She brightens as she catches sight of Will.

“Agent Solace,” Annabeth extends her hand. “It’s good to see you. How are you enjoying field work?”

“I’m loving it, actually,” Will smiles. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Will hadn’t realized Annabeth was partnered with Luke. He briefly worked with her at Quantico before she was transferred to Violent Crimes. She’s a consummate professional, almost always more knowledgeable than anyone else in the room. Just her presence is reassuring.

“Nice to see you again, Agent Chase,” Nico says.

Annabeth nods, a small smile. “You as well. I was pleased to hear you’d be able to offer your expertise,” she tells Nico. “I suggested to Agent Castellan that this case might be in your wheelhouse.”

Luke clears his throat. “Annabeth, they’re purely here as consultants. At least this time.” He offers Will a winning smile that Will doesn’t return. There’s the slightest crease to Annabeth’s brow as she flicks a glance between them.

“So, Agent di Angelo, what do you think?” Luke asks, light. “Does this look like the work of little green men?”

“Gray,” Nico says, deadpan. His expression doesn’t change, but Will knows him well enough to take in the slight tensing in his posture. He feels its echo in his own jaw.

“Excuse me?” says Luke, still smiling.

“Gray,” Nico corrects. “You said green men. The Reticulan skin tone is actually more of a dark gray. They’re notorious for their extraction of terrestrial human livers, due to iron depletion in the Reticulan galaxy.”

Luke’s smile falters. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you have any idea what liver and onions go for on Reticula?” Nico asks, just this side of impolite. “Excuse me.” He turns, crossing to the other end of the room.

Luke looks sour at this, but makes no comment. Will lingers near Luke and Annabeth, all three watching Nico. He crouches at the wall across from the desk, pulling out tweezers and extracting something from the carpet, then glancing to a vent cover near the ceiling. He pulls over a chair, climbing on it and proceeding to dust the vent cover for prints.

Luke frowns. “What the hell is he doing? That ventilation shaft is maybe six by eighteen inches. Even if someone could squeeze through it, it’s screwed in place.”

Nico walks back towards them, holding up an evidence bag. Inside, just visible, is a thin metal thread. “Well, something came through there.”

::

Will’s at the Bureau early the next morning, but when the door of the basement stairwell falls shut behind him, he can see light already shining through the door of the office.

“Come take a look at this,” Nico says as Will enters, not turning from where he’s hunched over a lightbox.

“What, not even a good morning?”

Nico’s head shoots up. He blinks, wide-eyed and bemused, taking a minute to focus on Will. “Hi?”

Will laughs. “Hi.” He hangs his coat and crosses the room, pulling up a chair.

“This is the print I lifted from the vent cover yesterday,” Nico says, tapping a slide on the left. “These others are from an old X-File. I’ve found records of nine murders, Alexandria and surrounding area, undetermined points of entry. Each victim had their liver removed. Prints were found at nine of the ten crime scenes.” Nico sits back so Will can lean forward over the table, squinting at the prints.

“Nine murders,” Will says slowly. “Luke never mentioned…”

“He’s probably not aware of them,” Nico says. “Didn’t do his research. These prints were lifted before he was born, in Fort Hunt.” He taps the right side of the lightbox, five sets of prints. “And these two others were lifted probably before his mother was born.”

Will frowns, peering at the small type on the sheets on the lightbox. “Wait – the dates on these are 1939 and… 1909?”

“Yup. And fingerprinting was just coming into its own in 1909, so there’s not a lot of print evidence from that time period, but I found records of two other murders that year that sure sound similar.” Gingerly, Nico hands Will two handwritten reports, the paper brittle under protective plastic sheets.

Will sits back, scanning through the text; neatly handwritten records from some agent who’s likely long dead, a voice back echoing through the decades.

“Thirty nine year old woman, found dead in a room locked from the inside,” Will reads, frowning. “Cause of death, blood loss, major trauma to victim’s abdomen, liver appears to have been forcibly removed.” Will shakes his head, bewildered. “That’s bizarre.” He double-checks the date at the top of the page – May 3rd, 1909. “Do you think the murders this month were copycats?”

Nico shakes his head. “Not copycats. Each fingerprint is unique, right? The prints I lifted yesterday are a perfect match to the ones in 1909 and 1939.”

Will frowns. “How, though?” He returns his attention to the slides on the lightbox, now looking more closely. “And why are the prints so long?” Each one looks stretched, elongated. Not like any prints Will’s ever seen before. At first he’d assumed the records of the historical prints were somehow compromised. It’s not unusual for decades-old files to be damaged in some way. But as he looks closer, Will realizes none of the text on the slides is stretched, only the prints. Including the ones from the office building yesterday.

“Not sure yet.” Nico shrugs. “But these murders seem to occur in clumps, over the decades, right? There have only been three this year. I’m betting that means we can expect at least a couple more missing livers.”

“So we go to Violent Crimes and present a profile saying these crimes were committed by what – someone who’s over a hundred years old, yet still capable of overpowering a healthy, six-foot-two businessman?” Will asks, doubtful. He’s not questioning the evidence, or Nico’s research. But it’s a lot to wrap his mind around this early in the morning.

Nico grins. “And the guy should stand out in a crowd, with ten-inch fingers.”

Will laughs. “You know, Nico – this is incredible, but – I don’t know how much further we’ll be able to follow this line of inquiry. Bottom line, this is Luke’s case.” Will’s gut twists uncomfortably. He can already anticipate Luke’s reaction to this theory. ”He was pretty clear on that.”

“Not a problem,” Nico says. “Our X-File dates back to 1909. We had it first.”

Will glances back to the lightbox, his gaze drifting out of focus, considering.

“Look, how about this,” Nico says. “We have our investigation, and they have theirs. Never the twain shall meet.” There’s a spark in Nico’s eyes. Curiosity and discovery, a little manic. It’s become harder and harder to resist with each passing month.

Will nods. “Sure. I can get on board with that.”

Nico beams, radiant and inconveniently adorable.

Will laughs, glancing back to the report in his hand. He hands it back to Nico and crosses to his desk, in sudden need of a little space. “Hey, how’s your profile coming?” he asks.

“Actually,” Nico says, “I was thinking maybe you could take a crack at it.”

“But you – you’re the profiler. You’re the expert –”

Nico shrugs, apparently unconcerned with this. “Yeah, but Luke and Annabeth came to you for help. It makes sense for you to do the write-up.”

“I – don’t know if I can –” Will begins, awkward.

“Of course you can, Will.” Nico’s smile is warm. “You’re an excellent writer and you’re great at analysis. I’m always impressed when I read your field reports. Why don’t you give it a shot and then we can talk it over together?”

::

Will pushes back from his desk, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says. “wanna hear what I’ve got so far?”

Nico turns, grinning. “Always.”

Will rolls his eyes and begins reading aloud. “After careful review of these murders, I believe the killer to be a male, twenty-five to thirty-five years of age, with above average intelligence. His manner of entry has so far been undetectable. This may be due to his superior knowledge of the inner structure of buildings and duct works, he may be hiding in plain sight, posing as delivery or maintenance workers.

“The extraction of the liver is the most significant detail of these crimes. The liver posessess regenerative qualities. It cleanses the blood. The taking of this trophy is the transferring act for the killer, to cleanse himself of his own impulses.

“As the victims are unrelated and we cannot predict the next, we must utilize the fact that a killer will not always succeed in finding a victim. When this occurs, a serial killer may return to the site of a previous murder, hoping to recapture the emotional high. Given this, I believe our best course of action is to target these sites.”

Will sighs, tossing his papers on his desk and raising his eyes to Nico’s. The look on Nico’s face catches at Will’s heart. It’s not just approving, but fond. Proud.

“What?” he laughs, self-conscious.

“It’s good. I think you nailed it,” Nico says. “You left out the part about the killer being over a hundred years old, though. And being able to travel through vents.”

Will laughs. “Well, I don’t think Violent Crimes is quite ready for that. But it’s like you said – they’ll do their investigation, and we’ll keep looking for… alternate possibilities.”

They regard each other for a moment, Nico’s gaze still fond. Open. It makes Will want to give him more to smile about. Makes him want to keep Nico’s attention, his approval. It feels like a stupid impulse, childish. But then –

“Hold on,” Will says slowly, his memory suddenly catching up with their conversation this morning, with the bits and pieces of his profile. “There was another case – it could have been 1909 –” and Will’s up and heading for the file cabinet in the corner, the one where Nico keeps newspaper clippings, old magazine articles. Nico follows, watching as Will feverishly flips through folders in a bottom drawer.

“I was going through this stuff, when you were away sick a couple of weeks ago,” Will says. Where did he see it?

“Here!” he says, triumphant. He rises, newspaper clipping in his hand. “I don’t think the story about the death was even meant to be saved, the clipped article is about a geomagnetic storm. But there’s a little article on the back.” Will turns the paper, reading aloud, “a seventy-two year old man and his forty-five year old son were found dead in their home, apparent victims of an animal attack.”

Will scans further. “It says… both had significant wounds to the abdomen, no other trauma to the bodies. It doesn’t mention anything about missing livers, but –”

“But maybe it wouldn’t, if it was assumed to be an animal attack and it wasn’t investigated any further.” Nico’s eyes are alight with interest as he carefully takes the yellowed clipping from Will. “Yeah. This fits. And the dates line up perfectly.” Nico looks up, beaming. “You’re brilliant.”

Will snorts, but he can feel himself blushing. “I learned from the best,” he manages.

“So that’s – that’s five murders in 1939,” Nico says, his gaze going unfocused, the clipping loose in his hand. “And six in 1909.”

“I wonder if there are more,” Will says.

Nico nods slowly. “That’s definitely possible.” His gaze shifts back to Will. Will can almost hear the gears turning. “Wanna head over to the Library of Congress? I bet we can unearth a few more missing livers. Whoever finds the most buys dinner?”

Will laughs. “As appealing as that sounds – I think we need to present our profile to Violent Crimes.”

::

Luke and his team seem to be in agreement with Will’s profile, and that evening finds Will and Nico in the parking garage under the building where the last victim was killed. They’re in Nico’s car – a newer-model black sedan, shiny-clean and freshly detailed. While Nico’s always happiest in his own car, Will privately prefers the Bureau fleet cars. Although snacking is technically permitted in Nico’s car, he gets twitchy about crumbs.

So far, the stakeout has been profoundly unexciting. Will shifts, stretching. His stomach rumbles, and Nico quirks an eyebrow. Will sticks out his tongue.

Then, sudden in the silence of the parking garage, there’s a clanging and scrabbling in a nearby ventilation shaft. The agents glance at each other, alarmed. Will scrambles to sit up straight, then quickly and quietly follows Nico out of the car, both of them drawing their guns. Every little movement seems loud and resonant in the mostly-empty space.

“Call for backup,” Nico says under his breath.

The scrambling noises continue. A rat? Maybe a squirrel? It sure sounds like something bigger.

Will retreats a few steps, quiet as he can. “Position ten requesting backup,” he says into his radio, never taking his eyes from the ventilation shaft.

Will’s jaw is tight, heart pounding. He’s finding situations like this more harrowing ever since Nico’s near-exsanguination in St. Ambrose, his anxiety rising off the charts at the drop of a hat, a fierce thread of protectiveness running through it all. It’s only been a couple of months, though, he reminds himself. Things like this must get easier in time.

Nico creeps in closer, calm, focused, dress shoes quiet on the concrete. When he’s within a few yards of the ventilation shaft, he raises his voice to yell. “Federal agent, I’m armed. Proceed out of the vent slowly.”

Still half-expecting a rat or a stray cat, Will’s eyes widen as the hatch at the bottom of the duct is kicked open and a young man emerges. He slowly stands and turns, holding his hands in the air.

There’s the slam of car doors and the sound of footsteps, then the chatter of radios and voices as agents approach from the other end of the parking garage. Will slowly lowers his gun.

::

“He doesn’t look any older than thirty, does he?” Will murmurs to his partner. “You think he’s our guy from 1909?” They’re seated side by side in the darkened observation room. The man from the ventilation shaft is on the other side of the glass, so far cooperating with a lie detector test.

Nico grimaces. “If he is, we should ask him for his skincare routine before they lock him up.”

Will bites down a laugh.

The door to the observation room opens, Luke and Annabeth quietly filing in. Luke automatically takes the single empty chair. Will glances up to see something like disbelief flicker over Nico’s face. Nico quickly stands, offering his chair to Annabeth. She shakes her head. Nico, stubborn as always, remains standing next to her, propping himself against the wall at the back of the little room.

Will rises after Nico, quirking an eyebrow at Annabeth. She rolls her eyes and sits. Will joins Nico at the wall, bumping their shoulders together. Nico bumps back. Will stumbles and Nico snorts, grabbing his arm. Luke turns to give them both a disgusted look and they fall silent.

The man on the other side of the glass – Eugene Victor Tooms, apparently – answers the examiner’s questions in a slow, dreamy monotone. He’s slim, dark-haired. Unobtrusive looking. He’s employed by Animal Control, he says, and his story is that he was in the vent for work-related purposes.

The examination continues, running first through the usual biographical queries before pivoting to questioning about the recent murders. Tooms denies having killed any of the victims.

“Are you over one hundred years old?” the examiner asks.

Luke shifts in his chair, brow furrowed. “That must be a control question.”

“I had her ask it,” Nico murmurs.

“No,” says Tooms.

“Have you ever been to Fort Hunt?” the examiner asks.

“Yes.”

“In 1939?” the examiner asks.

“No.”

“Are you worried you’re going to fail this test?”

“Yes. Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

::

“He passed with flying colors,” the examiner tells the four agents in a conference room afterwards. “Either we’re not asking the right questions, or your suspect didn’t kill those people.”

Nico reaches for the readout, frowning over the results.

Annabeth nods. “I just spoke to the maintenance department at the building where we found him. They confirm that a strange smell was reported earlier in the day. Makes sense that Animal Control would be there investigating.”

Luke lets out a breath, frustrated. “Fuck. It’s a dead end.”

Will peers over Nico’s shoulder at the polygraph report. “Still doesn’t quite explain why he was there so late at night – crawling up an air duct, by himself. Without alerting security,” Will muses. Nico glances up, a quirk of his eyebrows in agreement with this assessment.

Luke shakes his head. “Will, he passed the test. His story checks out. This isn’t our guy.”

“No, Will’s right,” Nico says.

Luke turns his gaze on Nico, his expression dismissive. There’s a buzz of frustration under Will’s skin. It’s clear to him that Luke’s not going to put any stock in whatever Nico’s going to say, and he hasn’t even spoken yet.

“He lied on questions eleven and thirteen,” Nico says, tapping the readout. “His electrodermal and cardiographic responses are almost off the chart.”

Luke steps closer, just a little too far into Nico’s personal space. Will’s aware of precisely what constitutes Nico’s personal space at this point, not to mention who’s permitted to breach it. He feels the incursion as if it’s happening to his own body. Will pushes down an overwhelming, visceral desire to shove Luke out of the way.

“Was number eleven the hundred-year-old question?” Luke asks, hard. “Because I had a reaction to that stupid question too.”

“Can I see?” Annabeth asks mildly, reaching for the report.

“I don’t need you or that machine telling me this guy was alive in 1909!” Luke says, his voice rising.

Annabeth lowers the paper slowly to the table, shooting her partner a supremely unimpressed look. “Luke –”

“He’s the guy,” Nico says, obstinate.

“We’re letting him go,” Luke retorts. “It’s my case. It’s my call.” He turns to leave the room. “You coming, Annabeth?”

“Give me a minute,” Annabeth says, calm, and Luke rolls his eyes, the door slamming shut behind him.

The three of them stare at the door in silence for a moment.

“Nice guy,” Nico says, dry. “Seems like a real joy to work with.”

“He’s… stubborn.” Annabeth frowns. “He’s usually not quite this bad, honestly.”

Nico huffs. “You think I set him off?”

Annabeth gives him a wry smile. “It might have been mutual.” She pulls out a chair. “Can we take a closer look at these numbers?”

::

“Hey, you beat me here,” Nico says, opening the already-unlocked office door and beginning to pull off his coat. He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s not even 8:30, a good half-hour before Will usually appears. Will’s bent over his desk, scribbling into a notepad, coffee at his elbow. The coffee maker on the counter is half-empty. As Nico moves further into the office, he notices Will’s used one of his mugs, the one Frank got him for Christmas last year that says Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. Nico smiles, opening his mouth to comment on this.

Will clears his throat. “Yeah. I had an idea and –”

Will’s voice, wet and wobbly, is a jolt to Nico’s solar plexus. “Will? What happened?”

“Sorry,” Will shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks as Nico approaches his desk. “It’s nothing really. I um – I thought I’d see if I could get in touch with any of the family members from the 1939 murders –”

“Oh –” Nico begins, an automatic understanding.

“Yeah.” Will gives a wet laugh, another swipe at his face. “I’m fine. I really am. Just, one of them – Nolan Campbell – his parents are still alive, both in their 80s. They live in the UK now, which is why I thought it would be okay to call them at eight in the morning. His mom was really lovely. She wanted to tell me all about Nolan. So she did.”

Nico shifts so he’s sitting on the edge of Will’s desk. “It was good of you to listen.”

Will lets out a long breath. “What else could I do?”

“Yeah.” Nico’s fingers itch to reach out, and before he’s completely thought it through, they have – a quick squeeze to Will’s forearm that makes his heart stutter. It gets a smile from Will, though, and that’s what counts.

Will shakes his head. “I don’t think I got any new information.”

“That’s not what matters,” Nico says immediately.

“I don’t know if Reyna would agree. Definitely Octavian wouldn’t.”

“Well. Fuck Octavian.”

“I hope they don’t keep too close an eye on our long distance usage. My dad – he would always get all bent out of shape about that.” Will makes a face.

“They don’t even notice,” Nico says. “Fucking Bureau probably spent five grand on staples last year.”

Will laughs, blue eyes sparkling up at Nico. His eyes are even prettier when he cries, Nico realizes with a jolt, bright blue and shining. Really not fair. Nico looks hideous when he cries, all splotchy and wild-eyed.

“He was a musician,” Will says.

“Who – the 1939 victim?”

“Yeah. His mom said. She was telling me how relieved she was that he wasn’t drafted – he had some kind of heart condition. And then he went and got murdered anyway.” Will takes a shaky breath. “She might be sending us a Christmas card. And I said I’d call back if – when we manage to solve the case.” Will carefully tears the corner off the sheet he was writing on – a name and phone number – pinning it securely to the bulletin board at the end of his desk, taking care to push the pin in all the way.

“He was murdered sixty years ago,” Will says, soft. “You’d never have known it, listening to his mom.”

Nico swallows. “Yeah. Those things stick with you.”

Will takes another deep breath, a little steadier now. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’ve been crying at work a lot lately.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay to have emotions.” Nico clears his throat. “Personally, I try to avoid them whenever possible, but I’m not exactly a model of mental health.”

Will smiles, lopsided and fond.

Honestly, Nico’s still hasn’t quite recovered from all the talking they’ve done in the last couple of months. He’s definitely never had a working relationship anything like this; emotions so close to the surface, heart-to-heart talks about work and family. In the aftermath, he finds himself feeling raw and exposed. Weirdly healthy, though. Oddly grounded. Though he still hasn’t figured out how to start those conversations in the first place, and he’s not convinced he ever will. Luckily, he’s got Will.

Will tilts to the side, bumping his arm into Nico’s leg where it’s still resting on Will’s desk.

Nico watches him for a second more before – “I have a job for you.”

Will’s lips twitch. “Yeah? Other than the job I’m already doing?”

“Remember that Polish bakery we found on Indiana Avenue?”

“This is a baked goods related job?”

“Yes,” Nico says, firm. “It’s a beautiful morning. You probably got here before it was light out. I want you to walk to Indiana Avenue and get a box of those poppy seed strudel things.”

Will snorts. “Weren’t you just criticizing my choice in breakfast foods like, a week ago?”

Nico regards Will solemnly. “Desperate times, Will.”

He has such a fucking ridiculous desire to lift his hand, brush his fingers across Will’s cheek. He can almost feel the rasp of stubble under his fingertips, can almost imagine the quirk of pink lips.

Quelling that urge as best he can, instead Nico plucks Will’s glasses from where they’re sitting on the desk, sure to keep his fingers away from the lenses. Breath held, heart pounding, he leans in, places the glasses carefully on Will’s face. Because that doesn’t quite count as touching, Nico decides. Nico’s stomach does a frankly impressive backflip as he gently pushes the glasses up the bridge of Will’s nose with the tip of his index finger.

Will’s smile softens into something that makes Nico’s insides turn to mush.

And – It’s just a crush, right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. God, it’s been a long time since Nico’s had a crush on anyone. That must be why it feels like this with Will. Why it feels like more.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to distract me or get rid of me,” Will says, still puffy-eyed, but looking pleased.

“The sad truth is, you may never know for sure,” Nico says, sliding off the desk before he does something even stupider.

Will shakes his head, one more wipe at his face, and then he stands, bumping Nico on his way to the door. “Fine. And who’s covering breakfast?” he asks, eyes sparkling now in a way that makes Nico’s mind settle and his heart swell.

“You’re buying,” Nico says, deadpan.

::

And Will does feel lighter after the walk outside. Calmer. As much as Nico sounded like his mother, telling Will to go get some fresh air, he may have had a point.

“Good, you’re finally back,” Nico says, as Will returns with the pastries. “Come take a look at this.”

Will glances at the clock on the wall, laughing. “What do you mean, finally? I don’t think I was even gone for half an hour.”

“Oh.” Nico looks up, bemused. “Seemed like longer.” The new, shorter hair looks good on Nico, Will notes privately. It makes his face look younger, makes those big, dark eyes look even more dramatic.

“Any amount of time I’m gone is interminable,” Will teases. He drops the box of pastries on his desk, crossing the room and pulling up a chair to see what’s got his partner’s attention. He bumps his chair up against Nico’s and a brief battle ensues, but Will can tell Nico is far too eager to show him what he’s found to be much of a contender. He settles for nudging his chair up against Nico’s and peering over his shoulder.

Nico turns and shoots him a sweet smile, quick, his face inches away, and Will’s stomach flips. He frowns to himself, determinedly focusing on the prints in front of them and not the scent of Nico’s hair; rain-washed stone, something sharp and fresh.

“Okay, check this out,” Nico’s saying. “These are the prints they took from Tooms at the station last night, and these,” he taps the other side of the lightbox, the elongated prints, “are the ones I lifted from the vent in the office building two days ago.”

Will nods. “Okay. But they’re not even the same shape. The ones from the office building don’t even look human.”

“True, but now, look at this.” Nico raises an eyebrow at Will and then zips across the office to his laptop, his chair making a neat beeline on the linoleum. Will, not trusting his coordination or his probably-1960s-vintage chair, stands and follows, squinting at the screen over Nico’s shoulder.

“Here are the prints, side by side, and – voila.” Nico hits a few buttons, and the prints taken from Tooms last night stretch out, familiar elongated ovals. “A perfect match,” Nico announces, eyes bright.

Will blinks at the screen. “What the fuck,” he says flatly.

“I know!” Nico exclaims.

“But how–”

“No idea,” Nico shrugs, thrilled by it.

Will gazes at the screen, trying to wrap his mind around any logical explanation for this. Nico’s hunched over the laptop, carefully making small adjustments to the images, fiddling with the brightness and contrast. Will lifts his hand up in front of his face, considering the whorls of his own fingerprints. “Can you print out that fingerprint comparison?” he asks Nico.

“Yeah, sure.” Nico clicks through a few windows and a second later the printer on the counter hums to life. Will crosses the room to collect the sheets as they emerge.

“Oh. Fuck,” Nico says suddenly, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket, draped over the back of the chair. Will hears the buzzing of Nico’s phone as he extracts it.

“Di Angelo,” he says. Then, “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

“Where –” Will begins as Nico stands.

“Another missing liver,” Nico says, grim.

Will shoots a longing look at the abandoned box of pastries. He folds the printed sheets carefully into quarters as he follows his partner out of the office.

::

“This is it, right?” Nico puts the car in park, glances up at the large, brick-fronted house they’ve just pulled up in front of.

Will double-checks the address he’d written down in their rush out of the Bureau. “Yup, 247. That’s the right one.”

They exit the car, and Nico leads them up a tree-lined drive, then wide stone steps. The front doors stand open, yellow crime scene tape standing out against dark, polished wood.

“Nice place,” Nico comments, glancing around as they step inside. “Maybe this guy likes high-end livers.” The floor is shining, immaculate hardwood, reflecting a crystal chandelier overhead.

“Think I could fit my entire apartment in this entryway,” Will says under his breath. He and Nico follow the sound of activity and voices through the entryway into a vast dining room.

“Let’s run a check on liver transplants in the next twenty four hours,” Luke is saying as they enter. “Maybe this thing is black market.”

Annabeth looks skeptical. “Luke, the way the liver was ripped out – can you really imagine it being of any use as a transplant?”

“Look, at this point I’m willing to give any theory a shot.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Nico says as he and Will approach.

Luke turns, a reflexive scowl as he catches sight of Nico. “I’m willing to give any sane theory a shot. Sorry, Will,” he says, pointedly turning away from Nico, “but I only want qualified members of the investigating team at the crime scene.”

“I asked them to come, Luke,” Annabeth says, frowning.

“What’s the matter, Castellan? Worried I’m going to solve your case?” Nico asks, cool. He goes to walk further into the room and Luke steps in front of him, blocking his path. Nico raises an eyebrow, not backing down.

“Luke, we have authorized access to this crime scene.” Will cuts in, trying for cool and collected, though his heart is pounding in his throat and all he really wants to do is turn and run back to the car. He moves to stand beside Nico. He can feel the tension radiating off his partner. “A report of you obstructing another officer’s investigation might stick out in your personnel file.”

Before Luke can respond, Will grabs the sleeve of Nico’s jacket, physically pulling him over to the corner of the room where the collection of evidence markers is densest.

“I could have taken him. He’s only like, a foot taller than me,” Nico mutters. But he follows willingly enough.

Will snorts. “Yeah, but I’m willing to bet he doesn’t fight fair. Let’s just have a look around and get out of here. The two of you are making me nervous.”

“He started it,” Nico grumbles.

“I know. Let’s just… try to get along for a bit longer.”

Nico rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Will’s. Will fights a smile, mouthing be nice.

Nico mouths back, hand to his chest, who, me? and Will laughs, too loud. Grinning, Nico walks over to the fireplace, a close examination of the mantel.

Will scrubs a hand over his face, taking a second to steady his breathing. This collaboration is already starting to feel like a terrible idea. Will has always hated conflict, always shied away from it. Austin was the mediator, at home. Will was the one who’d avoid the situation altogether if he could manage it. He still prefers it that way.

“You okay, Solace?” Annabeth asks, low, walking over to join him a moment later.

“Yeah,” Will sighs, glancing over to where Luke is speaking to a police officer a few feet away. “I’m fine. Just – want to get this case dealt with.”

Annabeth shakes her head. “I’m sorry he’s being such an ass. I’ve never seen him so territorial before. We really do appreciate your help.”

Will nods, tired.

Luke joins them a moment later. “So, what do you think?”

“Well,” Will says. “It sure matches the profiles of the previous victims – liver extracted, no obvious point of entry.”

Luke’s nodding, brow furrowed, his gaze on the chalk outline.

“Actually – Nico found some prints you should take a look at,” Will adds, remembering what he and Nico were doing before they were interrupted with the news of yet another victim. “The prints taken from Tooms last night matched –”

“Okay, but this isn’t Tooms,” Luke interrupts.

“It’s Tooms,” Nico announces, his voice unexpected at Will’s shoulder.

“We cleared Mr. Tooms last night,” Luke says, his voice tight.

Nico shrugs. “There’s a vent over the fireplace. The vent cover was removed, and I found metal threads on the mantel, same as the crime scene at the office building.” He holds up an evidence bag. “And I’m pretty sure the prints I just lifted from the vent are going to match, too.”

“What the fuck are you saying, di Angelo? That the killer came through the fucking vent?”

Nico just quirks an eyebrow and heads for the door, thankfully electing not to antagonize Luke any further this time. Will begins to follow his partner out, feeling a headache starting to throb between his eyes, a knot of tension in his shoulders.

“You leaving too?” Luke asks, catching up to Will in the entryway.

“Yeah. Like I mentioned, Nico was doing a print comparison, evidence from the other crime scenes. Here, I can show you.” Will fishes the printout from his pocket, unfolding it and offering it to Luke.

Luke just scowls at the paper, though, seemingly reluctant to even touch it. “What the fuck is that?”

“These are Tooms’ prints.” Will taps the paper. “And these are the ones Nico lifted from the third crime scene.” He indicates the elongated prints.

“Your partner doesn’t even understand elementary print collection,” Luke says, disbelieving.

“I know they look strange, but they’re a match –” Will tries.

“You can go ahead and tell your partner to leave those prints alone,” Luke says with finality.

Will lets out a breath, sharp. “Look, Luke. You’re the one who asked for our input on this. Why bother if you’re going to block our investigation at every turn?”

“I’m not blocking your investigation,” Luke says, his voice rising. “Your partner’s got a screw loose. Did you hear those questions during the polygraph last night?”

Will’s in no mood for further argument. “I’m going back to the office. I’ll check in with you and Annabeth later,” he says.

Luke scoffs. “You know, Annabeth said di Angelo was a good agent, that we’d stand a better chance of solving this thing with him on board. So far, all I see is the two of you slowing us down.”

“Luke, Nico’s been working his ass off on this case. He’s found evidence of historical murders with the same MO –”

Luke doesn’t even seem to be listening. “Di Angelo had a decent reputation, back when he worked for Violent Crimes, but he’s lost his marbles working down in that basement.”

Will opens his mouth to protest, but Luke continues –

“You know, maybe it is for the best, that we’ve got the two of you on this case. Maybe your department needs to be exposed for what it really is. Octavian’s wanted the X-Files shut down for years.” Luke pauses. “He’s a buddy of mine, you know.”

Will blinks, a chill running through him. “Are you threatening us?”

Luke hesitates. When he speaks again, his tone is slightly more conciliatory. “Just trying to give you some friendly advice, Will. Give it some thought.”

Will shakes his head, turning to leave.

“Hey,” Luke says, sharp, a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Will jerks away from the touch. “The victim’s, Luke.”

Will fully expects a (completely justified) rant about Luke’s behavior on the drive back to the office. Nico’s uncharacteristically quiet, though, shooting Will an appraising look as he eases himself into the passenger seat and then flicking the radio on low. Will closes his eyes, tilting his head against the cool glass of the window.

::

“You okay?” Nico finally asks as they let themselves into the basement office.

“Headache,” Will says, short, dropping into his chair. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Nico hums in understanding. He digs in a drawer for a moment. “Tylenol?” He shakes the bottle at Will.

“Please.”

Nico tosses the little bottle across the office, a neat shot that should have landed directly in Will’s outstretched palm. Will fumbles it and sighs, dropping out of his chair to crawl under his desk.

Nico laughs, but when Will surfaces again, the other man is on his feet, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Where are you off to?” Will asks, blearily looking around for his water bottle.

“Coffee. I think you need it.” Nico says simply, a squeeze to Will’s shoulder as he walks past, collecting his coat at the door.

“God, yes,” Will groans, dropping his head heavily to the desk. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?” He’s tired and muddled and the words are out before he realizes what he’s said. He freezes, head to the wood of his desk, feeling his face heat.

There’s a pause across the room, then a huff of laughter. “I’ll be right back,” Nico says, his voice softer than before.

::

Will’s mostly recovered his composure by the time Nico returns with the coffee, flipping through files with (finally) a pastry on a paper napkin next to him. When Nico hands over the Dunkin’ cup, Will accepts it gratefully, taking a small sip and then several gulps after determining the temperature is below-scalding. He glances up to see Nico watching him, something soft in his gaze.

“What?” Will laughs, self-conscious. Nico shakes his head, smiling. A second later Will feels Nico’s touch at his wrist, making his stomach lurch pleasantly; a brush of fingers over bare skin.

Will blinks up at the other man.

“Didn’t realize it was formal Wednesday,” Nico says, his voice catching lower than Will expected.

“Oh,” Will laughs, flustered, glancing down to the silver cufflinks he put on this morning. “Those were my dad’s. My mom gave them to me when I was in Fort Worth.”

“Nice,” Nico murmurs. They gaze at each other for a moment, heat buzzing in the air between them. There’s something unreadable in Nico’s expression. Something thoughtful, maybe resolving. Something warm.

Will glances away, suddenly eager for a change of subject.

“You know, I think I’d like to see if they’ve got the autopsy report yet – from the victim at the office building,” Will says.

Nico nods. “Yeah, good idea. You gonna head upstairs?”

“Yeah.” Will stands. He supposes he’ll have to. He’d prefer to avoid interacting with Luke as much as he can, honestly. But he at least can pretend to be a grown up about this.

“You won’t be offended if I don’t come along?” Nico asks, dry. “I’m not sure my presence would be appreciated.”

“No, you don’t have to come.” Will makes a face. “Look, I’m – I’m sorry about Luke. I didn’t have any idea he was going to be… the way he’s been.”

Nico shakes his head, dismissive. “Definitely not your fault.”

::

Will takes the stairs up to the second floor, giving himself a bit more time to mentally prepare. The gods must be smiling on him, anyway, because when he reaches the Violent Crimes section, it’s quiet, Luke’s cubicle empty. Will rounds the partition to Annabeth’s, knocking softly on the dividing wall.

Annabeth’s head rises at the sound.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” Will asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Annabeth smiles. “Here, pull up a chair. Luke just left for lunch.”

“Oh,” Will says, “that’s – that’s good to know.” He hopes his relief isn’t too obvious. But it probably is. He can feel the throbbing in his head decrease by a couple of degrees.

Annabeth’s lips twitch. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I was just going over the autopsy report from the third victim –”

“Oh, perfect. That’s mostly why I came up here.” Will grabs a chair from the corner, pulling up next to Annabeth when she shifts to make room.

“It’s odd,” Annabeth’s saying, thoughtful. “What do you make of this?” She flips to the third page in the report, the toxicology screen, tapping a line with her finger and pushing it over to Will.

Will reads it over, frowning. “They found… evidence of an unknown sedative compound. That is odd.”

“Yes. It looks to be something that was ingested very shortly before the victim’s demise.”

“So something administered by the murderer, maybe?” Will asks, scanning down the rest of the page.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Annabeth agrees. “No obvious site of administration, though, and the perpetrator doesn’t seem to have used any substance that the tox screen recognized.”

“Anything similar on the previous autopsies?” Will asks.

“Nothing so obvious,” Annabeth says. “There were some wonky tox results on the first victim, but nothing as specific as this. And you know what else is strange,” Annabeth continues, flipping a couple of pages, “there’s no one living at the address Tooms provided at the police station.”

“Sketchy,” Will says. “Was it an old address, maybe?”

“That’s what I thought too,” Annabeth says, “but there’s no record of him ever living in that apartment, or any others in that block. I checked with the building management this morning.”

There’s an uncomfortable knot in Will’s stomach, growing. Luke’s positive that Tooms isn’t the guy, but there are just too many coincidences to ignore. He thinks back to his long-distance call this morning, a mother halfway across the world still mourning her son decades later.

“Hey, back at the crime scene, you mentioned some fingerprint evidence,” Annabeth says.

“Yeah,” Will says slowly.

“Not ready to share with the class yet?” Annabeth smiles.

Will sighs. “No. It’s not that. Just –” He glances around the cubicle farm, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone nearby. “I – I don’t want to cause problems. For Nico.”

Annabeth’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Will grimaces, wondering how much he should share. The idea of getting some of the weight off his chest is tempting. And he’s not worried about Annabeth reporting everything he says to Luke.

“Luke… doesn’t like Nico. Obviously,” Will begins. He chances a glance to Annabeth, who looks sympathetic. “And I know that Octavian isn’t a big fan of Nico’s either, or of our department. Luke – he mentioned something earlier, at the crime scene. He kind of alluded to being friends with Octavian, that Luke would report back to him, if he thought Nico wasn’t… handling things the way Luke thought he should,” Will finishes, awkward. He really doesn’t like the feeling that he’s trying to tattle on Luke – never mind that Luke just threatened to do the same to Nico. But he’s feeling nauseous and exhausted about the whole thing. It feels a tiny bit better telling Annabeth.

Annabeth taps her pen on her desk, a twist to her mouth. “Well,” she says finally, “last I checked, Octavian didn’t have any friends.”

Will breathes out a laugh, nervous.

“I won’t tell you not to worry about it, but I think Luke’s mostly just blowing off steam, to be honest,” Annabeth says. “I don’t believe he has a closer relationship to Octavian than anyone else in the department. And Luke certainly isn’t Nico’s supervisor, or yours.”

Will feels that impulse he always does, to smooth things over, to reassure that he’s okay. “Thanks, Annabeth. That’s – good to hear. And look, I know this is Luke’s case, and I definitely don’t want to be the one to step on his toes, or to be responsible for bringing Nico into a situation where he does the same thing –”

“It’s not just Luke’s case,” Annabeth interrupts. “It’s our case.”

“Oh.” Will frowns, diverted. “He – he said something about your section leader being involved in another case, so Luke was running this one on his own –”

Annabeth’s eyebrows rise higher and higher as Will stammers out this sentence, and Will feels himself going red with realization.

“Oh shit.” Will presses a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” Annabeth agrees, unimpressed. “Our section leader is away, yes. So Luke and I were asked to lead this case.”

“He – he didn’t – specifically mention that,” Will says haltingly. “I’m – I’m sorry, Annabeth. I didn’t mean to –”

Annabeth’s already shaking her head. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s not entirely surprising to me. But I’m glad you mentioned it. Even if you didn’t mean to.”

Will lets out a breath. “This is why they keep me in the basement,” he mutters. “So I can’t embarrass myself by talking to my colleagues.”

Annabeth lets out a laugh. “Really, don’t worry about it. I’d love to hear about the fingerprint evidence, though. If you feel comfortable telling me.”

“I showed the prints to Luke this morning – I don’t know if he mentioned…” Will trails off as Annabeth’s mouth twists into a frown.

“He didn’t,” she says.

Will sighs. “Okay. I’ll give you the run-down, then.” Will is hesitant at first – because Nico’s findings are honestly bizarre and as much as he’s gotten used to bizarre in the basement, up here in the noonday light shining over the cubicles, he knows that things tend to fit better into boxes. He and Annabeth have similar backgrounds – medicine, science. There’s no reason for her to accept something that doesn’t seem to make any sense.

“That’s incredible,” Annabeth says, something like wonder in her eyes. “I’d love to have a look at the prints later. Have you thought of any explanation for them being elongated like that?”

“It’s weird, right?” Will agrees, excitement growing with such an easy reception. “I’d thought of some disorder like Ehlers-Danlos, where the skin has increased elasticity, but this is extreme.”

Annabeth nods. “Maybe… I wonder if there could be an extreme manifestation of that disorder, something that’s never been documented. Or maybe some condition that would cause a rapid increase in collagen. If Nico truly thinks the murderer is accessing the victims through the ductwork… something like that might make sense, right? An extreme variant of a disorder that causes hypermobility?”

“Definitely,” Will agrees.

Annabeth’s phone buzzes on her desk. “Oh shoot, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes,” she says, distracted. “I’d love to talk more about this though, and I’d love to come have a look at the prints.”

They both rise. “That would be great. Any time,” Will says, sincere.

“Walk with me down to the main floor?” Annabeth says.

“Sure.” Will stands, following Annabeth out of the cubicle maze.

“Hey, it was good talking to you,” he says as they enter the stairwell. It really was. Will feels as if some of the weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.

“You too,” Annabeth smiles. “I always liked our chats when I was at Quantico.”

Will catches sight of the cafeteria sign as they exit the stairwell at the main floor. “Oh, meatball soup today,” he says. “I better go tell Nico. He gets grouchy when he misses meatball soup day.”

“I’ve never tried the meatball soup,” Annabeth says. “Is it good?”

“Well.” Will makes a face. “It’s –” He shoots a quick look around the lobby. “To be completely honest, it’s pretty mediocre. But Nico was so excited for me to try it the first time I just – I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

Annabeth smiles. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

::

Nico’s very interested in the updates from Annabeth, and he and Will discuss matters as they take the elevator to the eighth floor, and as they make their way through the cafeteria line and then through their meatball soup. They’re in the stairwell, heading back down to the basement when Will remembers – “Annabeth mentioned that Alexandria PD checked out Tooms’ apartment, looks like it was a cover. No one’s lived there in years.”

“Well that’s suspicious.”

Nico’s quiet as they reach the basement and unlock the office. He crosses to his desk, digging for a file. “What was the address of Tooms’ apartment?”

“Um – an apartment building on Carrington Place, I think,” Will says. “I can’t remember the number.”

Nico considers the file for a long moment before looking back to Will. “I have an idea,” he says, slow.

“When do you not?” Will grins. He shifts to sit on the edge of his desk.

Nico ignores this. “103-66 Exeter Street.”

“What’s there?”

“Well,” Nico begins, “I was looking through the historical files, while you were upstairs earlier. One of the victims in 1909 was killed at 66 Exeter. Another was killed two blocks away. 66 Exeter was the address listed for one Eugene Victor Tooms in 1909.”

“Interesting,” Will says. “That’s got to be… what? A grandfather? Great-grandfather?” He’s beginning to feel the tell-tale post-lunch desire for a nap and it feels difficult to force his brain into mathematical calculations.

“Possibly,” Nico allows. “But what about the prints? Prints from 1909 are a match to the ones taken yesterday.”

“That could be genetics,” Will says slowly, though he’s not really convinced himself. “It might also explain other patterns, the sociopathic attitudes and behavior. It begins with one family member, who raises the next, who raises the next…”

Nico looks skeptical. “Could be.”

“Do you think Tooms is living in the building on Exeter?”

“I think someone is,” Nico says rather mysteriously. He stands from his desk, a familiar glint in his eye. “Wanna go for a drive?”

::

Will lets out a jaw-cracking yawn as Nico parks on Exeter Street. He hears Nico snort beside him. It’s a brisk, sunny day, a nice change of pace from the dim basement and the stiff tension at the murder scene this morning. Will takes a deep breath of spring air as he steps out of the car, taking a second to turn his face up to the sunlight. As much as he’s grown to love the cozy basement office, he does sometimes miss having a window, the opportunity to follow the passage of the sun across the sky over the day.

Will looks over to see Nico watching him, a small smile on his face.

“Beautiful day to solve a murder,” Nico says.

It’s a short walk up the block to number 66. The street is filled with derelict buildings, some boarded up. None look habitable. They climb the cement stairs together. The entrance to the building was probably pretty at one time, two tall wooden doors with little crescent windows at the top. Now, though, one door is missing entirely, a pane of glass broken in the one still standing.

The building is dark once they leave the front entryway and both men reach for their flashlights. Will takes a moment to scan the hallway, blinking as his eyes adjust. The place is dilapidated, but it doesn’t look to be in any immediate danger of collapse. They pause, checking the numbers on the dusty doors. Down the hall there’s a skittering; some variety of small animal, probably.

“This way,” Nico says, muted in the dusty hall, and Will follows. They near the end of the hallway and the door to 103 swings open at Nico’s touch.

It’s a small apartment, bare but for some debris around the edges of the room, filtered sunlight attempting to penetrate a dirty window on the far wall. Will crosses the room to scan a small bedroom off to the side, the smaller room in a similar state, the single window boarded up. The whole place smells sour, something rotten catching at the back of Will’s throat. He suppresses a shudder.

He can’t help glancing over his shoulder, squinting into every corner, though he’s sure the room is empty. It feels claustrophobic somehow, closing in. Will’s back in the main room of the apartment quickly, reluctant to linger.

“Nothing in the bedroom,” Will says, his voice coming back to him in the empty space.

“Look at this,” Nico says, quiet. He’s in the corner, his attention on a battered mattress propped up against the wall. He tucks his flashlight under his arm and pulls on latex gloves.

Will approaches, donning gloves as well. Together, they shift the mattress and lower it to the floor, careful not to stir up too much dust.

“Jesus,” Will murmurs, blinking at a hole in the wall that had been hidden by the mattress.

Both men approach the opening cautiously, but the floor surrounding it seems solid enough. There seems to be a ladder inside, leading to somewhere below. Nico crouches and presses on the wall around the opening, testing the integrity of the plaster. He grabs a hold of the top rung of the ladder, gives it a shake. It doesn’t budge.

Nico turns, quirking an eyebrow. “Spot me?”

Will grimaces, but takes a step closer. There’s a creeping feeling here, visceral and wrong, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He opens his mouth to voice this to his partner, despite the fact that he doesn’t think he can explain why this feels like such a bad idea. He’s well aware that “I have a bad feeling about this” isn’t scientific in any way.

But before Will can think it through any further, Nico’s through the opening, a nimble climb down to whatever lies beneath. Will hesitates, wondering if it’s more prudent to stay above in case he needs to call for backup, or an ambulance if the ladder isn’t as sturdy as it looks. But the bottom appears to be only a story below, and Will sighs, turning to follow his partner down. He finds his footing a moment after Nico, who automatically reaches a hand out to steady him as Will misses the last rung.

They pause, casting flashlight beams around the dark space they’ve found themselves in. The smell is worse down here; damp and mildewy. Something rotting.

“Looks like an old coal cellar,” Will says, low. There’s no reason to keep their voices down, not really, but, there’s a strange, pressing feeling, like they’re being watched. Or stalked. Will flicks his flashlight back on, his other hand brushing the gun at his belt, just making sure.

The smell of rot grows stronger the further in they walk, the air cool and clammy. The ceiling is low enough that Will has to duck to avoid pipes. Clinging cobwebs catch on their hair and the concrete floor is cracked and uneven. The close atmosphere combined with the stench and the pounding behind Will’s eyes is making him queasy.

At the far end of the cellar there’s a bend in the building, what looks like it could lead to a room, or a hallway, but it turns out to be more of a nook, plaster crumbling to the floor.

Nico approaches for a closer look, cautious.

“Careful,” Will murmurs. “That wall looks like it might come down on you.” The source of the smell must be nearby. Will’s eyes are watering.

“No,” Nico says slowly, looking it over. “I don’t think it’s part of the building’s structure. Someone… made this.”

“What?”

“Look,” Nico takes a step to the side so Will can approach. The sight before them doesn’t make sense at first, revealed in increments by the twin flashlight beams. But as Will looks longer, he realizes it’s a mess of rags and bits of newspaper, somehow all glued together into a misshapen structure that seems to have become part of the wall around it.

“This is a nest,” Nico says, equal parts amazed and horrified. Still clad in latex gloves, he presses his fingers against the structure. The surface gives under his touch and then slowly regains its shape when Nico pulls back. Something green oozes out. Will leans closer, wanting a better look but not eager to touch. Then, he draws back suddenly, fighting down a gag.

“It looks like – the green stuff – I think it’s bile.” Will takes another step back. “How is that – do you think someone lives in there?” His brain is fighting to make sense of this at the same time as it’s screaming at him to run.

Nico gazes at the structure, an abomination of a paper mache. “I don’t think anyone lives in there so much as… hibernates.”

Will shudders. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted to get away from a place faster. He glances over his shoulder, convulsive, feeling more than ever that there are eyes on him. “Hibernates?” he asks under his breath.

“Imagine if…” Nico takes a step back from the wall and turns to Will, his eyes serious in the dark space. “What if some genetic mutation could allow a man to awaken every few decades? And what if he could sustain himself for that hibernation period by consuming human livers?”

The horror Will’s feeling is somewhat mirrored on his partner’s face, but there’s also that familiar look of amazement and discovery in Nico’s dark eyes.

“What would - what could the evolutionary advantage be? To such a mutation?” Will asks, trying for reasonable. He’s still half-trying to convince himself that this cannot be possible. But he can’t help but think of the bizarre, elongated prints. The unidentified substance on the autopsy report. The impossible points of entry. If those things can be true, why not this?

Nico pauses, his gaze drifting. “Hard to say. I mean, longevity, I suppose?”

“To what end? And what about… reproduction?”

“Yeah,” Nico says thoughtfully, seemingly not particularly put off by having this discussion in the crumbling basement of a lair possibly belonging to a genetically mutated serial killer. “Good point.”

“In any case”, Will says. “He’s not here now, but he’s going to come back. At some point.” He glances over his shoulder again, nervous. “Can we – why don’t we get a sample from this… nest.” Will grimaces, approaching the wall again and digging in his coat pocket for a sample tube.

There’s just so much of the green gunk, everywhere. He’s more aware of it the longer he looks, seeping out in gluey drips and congealed to a brownish yellow across the surface like some kind of horrible glaze. Will carefully collects a sample, dropping the little vial into his coat pocket. It definitely looks like bile, but… more gluey. Viscous. And bile doesn’t have much of a smell. But Will feels certain it’s related. He’s not usually so squeamish about possible bodily fluids, but this one just feels so wrong.

“We need to stake this place out,” Nico is saying. sounding much more certain than Will feels. His eyes flick to Will’s, maybe reading hesitation there. “You don’t think so?”

“No, I do…” Will says, gazing somewhat longingly toward the hole they climbed through, the path back to the upper world. “I’m just wondering how we’re going to spin it so Luke agrees.”

Nico’s brow furrows. “Since when do you care about Luke’s agreement?”

Will sighs. His stomach twists again, the memory of Luke’s threats just a few hours ago. If this was any other case, he’d be more than willing to follow Nico’s lead. But he’s more and more worried about Nico leading himself right out of a job. “Look, this is bizarre, and definitely suspicious. But you know how Luke is. He’s going to want something more solid to go on before he’s willing to admit you’re right.”

Nico doesn’t answer, turned away to examine the nest. Will tries again.

“Maybe we can run some forensics first. Or present it to Annabeth,” Will says, thinking aloud. “She’ll be reasonable.” His head is still pounding and the smell is really getting to him.

“This is reasonable,” Nico says, voice rising. “Look around you. You’ve got an oozing paper mache bile nest, a secret hibernation hideout at the suspect’s last known address. How much more reasonable do we need to be?”

Will blinks, a little caught off-guard by the intensity of his partner’s reaction. Nico seems to read it on his face.

“Sorry.” Nico shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to direct that at you. I’m just – it’s frustrating. This whole case just takes me right back to when I was working at Violent Crimes – I felt like I was never being taken seriously. Like I was some kind of joke.”

Will nods in understanding. “There are more than a few dickheads in that department. Clawing their way to whatever they think the top is.”

“Yeah,” Nico says, deflating a bit. “You’re right, though. We can try to get along before we try anything else. Let’s get some forensic evidence and see how that pans out before we investigate this site any further.”

Will nods.

“Hey, look at this,” Nico says suddenly, crouching and angling his flashlight downwards. Will peers over Nico’s shoulder.

There’s the glint of metal, and when Will looks closer, he sees a row of small objects lined up against the wall beside the nest. The horrible green substance has trickled out across the floor here, seeping into cracks, a gooey line partially obscuring most of the objects.

“They’re trophies,” Nico says, horrified.

“Fuck,” Will breaths out. “Are you sure?”

Nico glances up. “Yeah, I’d be willing to bet. We should take note of what’s here and compare it with the case files back at the office.”

“Should we just take them as evidence?”

Nico hesitates. “No. I don’t think we want him to know we’ve been here, if we can help it.” With a gloved fingertip, Nico gently prods at one of the objects; a tie clip, maybe, or a barrette. It doesn’t budge, glued to the floor with the greenish-brown goo. “We won’t even be able to move most of these without it being obvious that we’ve disturbed them,” he mutters. Then – “look at this one, on the very end.”

Will squints. The trinket is larger than most of the others, a shiny gold disc. It’s cleaner than the other items, too, like perhaps it was only placed there recently. “A pocket watch?”

“Pretty sure the most recent victim was missing a pocket watch,” Nico says. He nudges it. It’s the only object that seems to be completely free of gunk. “We should be able to get prints off it, too.” He fishes around in his jacket pockets, pulling out a notepad and paper. “Fuck, I forgot my camera.”

“Oh – I brought the new one,” Will says, reaching into his own coat pocket.

“Amazing.” Nico accepts the camera, snapping a few pictures before handing the notepad to Will. “Here. Can you take dictation? Your handwriting is better than mine.” He gives Will a sympathetic look. “And then you can move a little further away from the stench. You’re looking green.”

::

When Will arrives the next morning, he’s anxious and underslept, his head still lightly throbbing. He’d had the same dream over and over last night, each time he managed to drift off; vague visions of a man appearing in his bedroom, watching him in the dark. It had spooked him so badly he’d had to sleep with the light on.

He gives Nico a vague wave and a half-smile when he enters the office, hanging his coat and crossing to drop heavily into his chair.

“Everything okay?” comes Nico’s voice.

Will turns, making a valiant attempt to look more alive than he feels. “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.” He yawns hugely.

Nico hums in sympathy. “Coffee’s on,” he says, nodding at the little five-cupper on the counter, just gurgling out the last few drops to fill the pot.

“Yay,” Will says, rising instantly and making a beeline for the pot. “You want some too?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Hey, what do you think about this?” Nico asks when Will brings his coffee over, setting it carefully in the few square inches of available real estate on the desk.

Nico taps a file. “This is one of the victims from 1939. There’s a pretty thorough description of what the victim was wearing when she went missing. No photos, unfortunately, but it mentions a bracelet – gold with two small rubies.”

Will nods, remembering Nico’s dictation yesterday. “Yeah, that sounds like it matches up. I remember a gold bracelet. Can I see the camera?”

Will scans through the pictures Nico took at Exeter yesterday, finally finding the bracelet. “Too bad the light wasn’t better,” he muses. “But this could definitely be the one.” He turns the camera to show Nico, who nods, serious.

“Hey,” Will says, flipping through the photos more slowly now. “Nolan Campbell – the victim whose mother I was talking to – she said Nolan was wearing his dad’s class ring when he went missing. There were a couple of rings, weren’t there?” Will clicks back and forth between several poorly-exposed photos. “Do you think this could be a class ring?” he asks Nico, turning the camera again.

Nico squints at it, then takes the camera from Will, turning it slightly. “Yeah, that could be it. It was kind of half-buried in a crevice, remember? It definitely had that kind of signet shape.” Nico continues to poke at buttons, trying to zoom in, grimacing at the little screen.

“God, I’d love to get that ring back to his mom,” Will says, his voice going rough.

Nico looks up, a sympathetic twist to his mouth. Will shakes his head. He really doesn’t want to get back into that right now. “Did you find any other matches?” he asks.

“Yeah, one more.” Nico sets the camera down, reaching for another file. “There was a silver ring – one of the 1909 victims. No further description – so that could match. And then I was thinking about the article you found, about the animal attack –”

“Yeah, me too,” Will agrees. “Field trip to the library?”

Nico beams.

::

(here is part 2 of chapter 6!)

[katarena]

My turn!

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

Traumatised a character. Like, legitimately traumatised her. I've never really done that before. As a piece of writing, it turned out quite well - but I had to play it carefully as trauma isn't an easy thing to overcome. And this time, it was the good guys who inflicted it.

How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

Nine.

What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

That if something doesn't feel right in your writing, don't force it. If a reaction doesn't feel natural, don't write it. Write what does feel natural.

What piece of media inspired you the most?

That would be the Bay film of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles". They're different from the other incarnations in that they genuinely look like they could kill you if they wanted - which was what I needed for the story.

What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

Pokémon (don't laugh), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2003, and the TMNT Bay films.

What ship(s) captured your heart?

I don't really write ships in fanfiction, but I quite like Jyn and Cassian from Rogue One.

What character(s) captured your heart?

Taylor from the Bayfilms. She's in the first film for less than two minutes, and I didn't expect to like her so much when writing the fics. Probably because I found myself imagining the fear and anxiety she was going through.

Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

Nope.

What fic meant the most to you to write?

Raphael's Big Mistake and Living Well Is The Best Revenge.

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

That would be I'd Search Forever.

What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

Definitely Raphael's Big Mistake. I felt physically ill and anxious while writing it (and I did finish it).

What fic was the easiest to write?

The Subject 17 series. Once I knew where it was going, the story just flowed.

What were your shortest and longest fics this year?

The shortest fic I wrote this year was just a couple of lines of dialogue. I can’t even remember what the title was! The longest would have to be Living Well Is The Best Revenge.

Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

The fic I would rec is Raphael’s Big Mistake. It’s an AU that happens in the first TMNT Bay film, where April doesn’t come to meet the turtles and Raph decides to go and get her whether she likes it or not. After all, it’s better to be scared than killed by the Foot, right? Turns out there are two people living in the flat. He grabs the wrong one. Oops. (For anyone who hasn’t seen the film, Taylor’s not an OC.)

What were you go-to writing songs?

I don’t really have a playlist for fanfiction. Original stories, yes, but they’re a different matter…

What were your go-to writing snacks?

CRISPS!

What was the hardest fic to title?

Probably Living Well Is The Best Revenge.

Share your favorite opening line.

The black eye’s begun healing.

Share your favorite ending line.

“We’re taking the fight to the Shredder.”

Share your favorite piece of dialogue.

I think I’ll go for this one from Raphael’s Big Mistake.

“Do not let my son’s actions have power over you.”

The trouble is, they keep affecting her even though she doesn’t want to let them. That’s trauma for you.

Share an excerpt from your favorite scene.

Oh, you can’t ask me that! I’ve got more than one and they ALL contain spoilers.

Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

I kept rewriting the reunion scene in I’d Search Forever, because it didn’t feel quite right. It was very hard to capture the emotion right, but I am happy with how it turned out. Here’s a paragraph from it:

Leonardo opens his arms and catches him with a joyful cry. Donatello clings to him, sobbing out a laugh as his brother hugs him tightly and kisses him three times on the side of his head. Then Leonardo takes his face in his hands and stares into his eyes.

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I knew that Taylor wasn’t going to just get over what happened to her – but it was surprising how long it took for her to finally snap and let everything out. I found exploring that very interesting.

What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.)

I mostly use Word for my stories, except when it comes to drabble stories I just type them into AO3.

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

That moment in I’d Search Forever when Don is finally reunited with his brothers.

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

Um…not particularly (sheepish smile)

How did you recharge between fics?

I don’t think I did, actually. Ideas just kept coming.

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

I would thank everyone who’s left a review/advice, my parents and other members of my family.

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

I would like to pick up Princess of a Thousand Enemies again, and finish Living Well Is The Best Revenge and I’d Search Forever.

fic writer asks

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

What piece of media inspired you the most?

What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

What ship(s) captured your heart?

What character(s) captured your heart?

Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics this year?

Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

What were you go-to writing songs?

What were your go-to writing snacks?

What was the hardest fic to title?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.)

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

[coleyo]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SUMMARY;

New friends are found, faces are reconized, but not all good things last forever... It never does.

"and what's wrong with splinter..?" April spoke, her voice bouncing off of the walls. Angelo listened from the other side of the door as she and Leo spoke, "-Hes.. sick, growing weaker. I don't think he's gonna make it.." Angelo's eyes widened, they'd tense up, only to let their body relax.. ever since that incident with draxum, everyone knew what he's done.

It was his fault anyways.

Splinter wouldn't speak to his youngest, and would ignore him for hours. A fair exchange of words was rare between the two. Angelo felt useless. He couldn't save his father, and now he was about to lose the other. Tears swelled in her eyes, she would clear them in a heartbeat. No, she couldn't feel emotional for splinter!.. but.. Splinter still loved him, right?

Definitely.

...Then again.

   Angelo picked his head up and Inhaled sharply, "-How much time do you think he has left?" April pleaded, silence lingered between the two, a devastating kind. "I don't know, April.. very little." Commander O'Neil let out a sigh and continued to discuss with the other.. Angelo then heard footsteps approached the door, causing the smallest to scatter.

The door flung open, April followed the red eared slider on the way out. Angelo saw this as an opportunity to sneak into the room where they kept splinter, the clinic. A low, beeping noise came from the machine that checked his vitals thoroughly.

He snuck inside, looking down at master splinters cold, almost lifeless body.

At first, it hurt to see..

But then..

Mikey furrowed his brows.

How DARE his own father make him feel this way. He had a right to be upset, he had a right to feel anger, every single right. Tears of gold streamed down Angelo's eyes once more, until, a low ringing noise came from the machine.. Angelo looked over, the line was Completely flat .

Splinter wasn't breathing..

Splinter was dead.

A gasp escaped Angelo's mouth, they would back away from the lifeless corpse, breathing heavily. The ornate shook his head, shutting his eyes.

'He made you feel like shit you can't be upset..'

The boy thought.. the door Suddenly opened.

"...Angelo?"

"Angelo."

______________________________

"SENSEI ANGELO!"

Mikey shouted, stunning the man. Angelo glared at Mikey, before turning towards him. They were currently sitting at a table in the dark corner of the main room. "..Oh? Mikey, where were you." Angelo asked with a strict tone of voice.. "..with..m- mondo, yeah! Anyways, look!" Mikey hopped off of his seat and backed away so that Angelo could take a look at his fancy skirt. ".. it looks.. fine. It's.. silk?" Angelo paused. "-..yeah! what's the matter with it?" "..Nothing, Mikey. It just reminds me of.. ya' know what, nevermind. You look great kid'." "-Thank you sensei!" Mikey wrapped his arms around the man, holding him tightly. Angelo, to Mikey's surprise, hugged him back.

They were noticably getting somewhere.

Mikey spotted others glaring at the duo from across the room, he'd look back at them and let out a huff, his expression seeming to be slightly Disturbed. "..Sensei.. why do the others dislike you?"

Sensei Angelo's eyes widened, he'd pull away from Mikey. ".. You -- you don't need to know." "-I won't be mad, I just want to know so I can help you!" "-Help me?" "-Yeah!" Mikey sat next to his sensei with a contagious smile. "-I want to see you happy, and you're so-- grumpy. I mean, down that frown upside down, am I right? You can't stay mad forever!" Mikey laughs, Angelo returned his smile..

   Suddenly mondo and Casey caught Michealangelos attention, the mutant gleamed with happiness. "-Look, the others are here! Are you coming?" "-Yeah.. in a second." "suit yourself!" Mikey sprung from his seat and approached the two. "-Mondo, Casey! Where were you guys?" "-Where were you? You were gone for like- ever!" Mondo spoke. Mikey laughed nervously. "-Nowhere... Case' can I ask you a question?" "-Yeah, sure!" "..Why do the people here hate sensei Angelo, I mean-- he seems nice." 'Jr would look around for a bit before kneeling down to Mikey's level,

"..I really shouldn't be telling you this, but.." the boy paused.. "-Hes... Made mistakes.. master Leonardo told me that years ago, he had an outburst with his powers... Hurting people.. killing three. It wasn't his fault!"

"Hurting people!?" Said the gecko, "-..killing..people?" Mikey repeats, glaring at him from the other side of the room. All they could see was an innocent soul, one that wouldn't dare hurt a fly. "That's not true, is it? He'd never!" "-At the time his mystic abilities were unstable! One tantrum or strong emotion could've set him off, and it's probably why he hates forming bonds now.. he doesn't want to loose someone and then have another.. tantrum."  Mikey fell silent, he shouldn't have asked. "..I'm.. I'm going to help him get better." "-Good!" Mondo spoke, "-he needs help." He'd place a hand on his hip. "-Lets talk about this elsewhere, huh!" Casey began to lead the two down a hall.. the boys began to discuss about Angelo, ways to help him, mondo even chimed in once in a while.. they suddenly heard a snarl in the distance, a few cans and buckets falling over. Three large shadows stunned them, leaving them frozen. "-..Hello? Who's there?" Casey called, firstly approching danger. "Case'.." Mikey placed a hand on his shoulder.

   Without warning, one of those kraang dogs jumped out from the corner with two gargoyles on it's shoulder. April's equipment held in it's mouth, it would let out a cry, thrashing it's tail back and forth. "-Dude! That's the one!" Mondo shook mikey, "it kept stalking me!"

"Stalking you?" The gargoyle on the left spoke, catching the others attention. "-IT TALKS, KILL IT!" "kill us!?" The other chimed. Casey gripped the weapon, raising it slightly. "-Woah, woah! Calm down!" The gargoyle shrieked, making an attempt to calm the three down, "STOP SPEAKING! ITS FREAKY!" Mondo screamed, "-You're a lizard --" "-GECKO!" "same thing--" the kraang dog suddenly snarled, pouncing at Casey. The gargoyles flapped their wings out of shock, watching what would happen next.

Casey shrieked, but the creature was suddenly stopped. A bright yellow flash of light was formed, and in the blink of an eye, there was sensei Angelo, he stood imfront of the three. The kraang dog yelped as it was grabbed by the throat. It kicked and squirmed, bitting at Angelo.

"-HEY!" The gargoyle shouted, catching Angelo's attention. Angelo dropped the creature upon reconization. "Huginn? Muninn?" Angelo raised his voice a bit. "E-eh-- Mikey!" Huginn said with a cheerful tone, "What a pleasant surprise!" Muninn chimed in with a smile, the two gargoyles flew around Angelo, gracefully. "-Its been forever since we've seen ya' Mikey!" "..I.. go by Angelo now but.. yeah! It's definitely been a while, I haven't seen you two since-" "-..Since draxum died, yes.." huginn sighed.  "you know those things?" Casey asked, mondo and Mikey were also curious. "..yes. they were my father's friends. After he passed I'm not quite sure where they went." "-Woah!" Muninn exclaimed, pointing at Mikey. "-You had a baby!" "-What? No, it's-- its a long story! For now..; we're getting rid of..that." Angelo looked down at the kraang dog, huginn and muninn grew defensive. "-Woah, woah, woah! You might not want to hurt this one!" "-Really? And why's that?" "-Its mayhem!" Muninn replied, "-Just-- different, they were turned into one of those things after they were captured, that's just armor covering their wounds.." huginn added.. "..Mayhem?" Said the ornate turtle, "-Mayhem?" The three boys repeated. "this is too much to comprehend.." mondo utters, Sensei Angelo would glare at him, and then back at the gargoyles.

  "...Lets get this all situated at my dojo." "-Sweet!" Huginn shouted, grabbing muninn by the wrist and flying over to him. Casey, Mikey, and Mondo watched as muninn and huginn landed on Angelo's shoulders "..so is he not gonna explain to us what those things are? OR about what's happening?" "'Guess not." Mondo held his hand in his pockets.

   A low snarl came from behind the trio, startling them. The kraang dog, now refered to as Mayhem walked past, following the others. The three looked at one another, shrugged, and followed them..

This day just got whole lot interesting..

[optimist-pine]

It's Complicated: Part 4 || Leonardo

Pairing: 2012 Leo x Reader

Word Count: 1,791

Warnings: Mature themes throughout

Leo watched as you held your hand out towards him, gesturing to his own. He reached his hand toward yours and you placed yours lightly on top. Touching his own but just barely, you traced the lines of his palm, and when he looked into your eyes they were focused, but with each movement, you seemed to relax a little more. He let out a shaky sigh and realized that you were having the same effect on him too.

Maybe things will be alright.

Nothing but silence and your fingers moving across his. He focused on them and nothing else. Not what had happened, or what was going to transpire because of it. Just you. You and how you had just begun to hum. And now he closed his eyes, and the heel of your palm rested in his and your fingers only traced lazy circles on his skin. They seemed to ignite something in him. Something bright and burning and not at all like heaviness that had surrounded him when he first sat down. This was a little buzzing pricking feeling that seemed to travel all the way up his arm and into his heart.

Maybe his head knew that everything wasn't alright, but you could've fooled his heart.

---

You worry about Leo. Of course, you've always worried about him. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and because of that, he pushes people away. But right here? Even after what's happened he's not pushing you away. He's letting you hold onto him. If he had pushed you away... You don't even want to think about it. Instead, you choose not to take anything he gives you for granted.

There the two of you are when the others come inside, ready for dinner. The noise of the door banging open followed by multiple loud conversations occurring at once startles you and on reflex, you pull your hand away more quickly than you would've liked.

Leo's eyes snap open and he groans, extracting himself from the couch before noticing his cookie still lying on the table, and he quickly grabs both of your cookies, shoving them in your mouths before the others can see.

Mikey comes barreling into the room, vaulting over the couch and landing with a solid oomph. "I crushed them at hide and seek, (y/n), you should have seen it!" He's practically making the entire couch bounce with his energy.

"This numnut managed to hide for a full freakin' hour." Raph ruffles the top of his brother's head as he walks past.

"I just can't believe he managed to stay still that long." Donnie shrugs. "It's practically a miracle."

Casey appears to be stomping more than walking as he enters the room. "I swear I checked that place at least twice!" He grumbles.

"I became one with nature," Mikey replies, taking a Zen sort of pose. "The only reason you finally found me was because I wanted you to find me."

"I'm never playing hide and seek with you ever again." April scoffs as she collapses onto the couch.

You look to Leo with a smile on your face, and this time he finally smiles back. Even if it's only for this single moment, everything feels like it's supposed to.

But, if you think too hard, that little voice will remind you about the secret you're holding onto. And for now, you shove that little voice to the back of your mind.

---

Leo couldn't sleep. It was far from the first time, but tonight all he wanted to do was shut his eyes and not open them until morning. The tapping of a tree branch on the window panes was becoming more irritating than calming, and he had flipped around so many times already that he was tangled up in the sheets.

He sat up abruptly and threw the covers off of himself, his feet causing a dull thud to emanate from the wooden floors as he moved swiftly to the door. What he wasn't expecting, was for the door to bump into something as he swung it open, or the hand that followed, pulling him to the ground. Whatever? Whoever he landed on let out a pained grunt when they hit the floor, and Leo echoed the sentiment.

"Ouch, ouch ouch." He could hear you hiss through clenched teeth. "Oooooooouuuuuch." You whisper-yelled, pounding your fist quietly on the floor of the hallway a few times before biting down on your knuckle. Hard.

He scrambled off of you as quickly and as gently as he could, but he was clumsy too and managed to end up flat on his back beside you.

"Are you alright?" He asked. In the shadows, he could see you start to shake. No, no, no, why did he keep hurting you?

A strange noise bubbled out of your throat then, and wait. Was that laughter? It was a familiar sound, and oh how he loved it. He could feel a chuckle slip out of himself.

"I'm fine, Leo. Really." You giggled again, trying to speak through the laughter. "But oww... My head." You groaned.

Leo sat up. "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive." You said dryly, giving him a playful glare.

"Well, that's a relief." He replied. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No... You?" You asked, continuing to lay on the floor and grimace, hand rubbing your forehead where he assumed the door had hit.

"Not so much." He sighed. He wondered if what was keeping him awake was keeping you from sleep as well.

"Well, I was headed out to the swing if you'd care to join." You offered, finally sitting yourself up.

He stood, holding out his hand. "That sounds nice." He said, trying to restrain the smile on his face.

The heat of your hand wrapped in his sent a shiver down his spine. "Thank you." You whispered, eyes locked on his. The silence of the hallway in the dead of night made his heart pick up pace until he couldn't take the intensity of your gaze any longer and had to break away.

"After you." He managed to say.

---

It had been three weeks since your "trip" in the woods, and your ankle was almost as good as new. Donnie still had you wrapping it, and not doing anything strenuous for the next week, but after that - fingers crossed - you would be able to go about your normal routine training with the others. It was quite nice once again being able to get around without assistance.

The two of you sat on the swing, Leo keeping a slow momentum going with his foot. You had brought a blanket with you, and it was draped across your laps to keep the chilly evening air at bay. You leaned your head back against the smooth wood of the swing, watching the stars blink in and out between dark tree branches.

"I have something I want to tell you." You said, steeling your nerves. If you don't do this now, you're just going to keep putting it off. "And if it ends up being super weird... then we'll just forget I ever mentioned it... Alright?" Or maybe I'll just die of embarrassment instead. You tilted your head to the side, long enough for his eyes to meet yours.

"Alright." He said.

"I like you. I mean, as more than just a friend." The swing's motion halted abruptly, the sound of Leo's heel catching in the dirt not really giving you the confidence boost you were hoping for. "Or-or a good friend... I have for a long time honestly. And I know that things aren't exactly the same as they were, but my feelings for you, they haven't changed. I just... didn't think it was right not to tell you. With everything, I mean..." You said.

"Me? But I'm not..." He started.

Not interested, probably. You turned to face him. "Not what?" You asked.

"I'm not even human, (Y/n)." He said, his hands lying limply in his lap. His eyes were cast down, watching his toe scuff around in the grass below.

Gently you reached out to place your hand on his. "Wow, I hadn't noticed." You laughed softly.

"You know what I mean." He said. "Wouldn't you rather be with someone like Casey?"

"Casey?" You scoffed. "Casey Jones? The Casey that we just spent an hour getting his hand unstuck from a metal pipe. That Casey Jones?"

Leo sighed. "Okay, okay, no, not Casey, but you get what I'm saying. Wouldn't you rather be with someone who's at least human?"

Why was Leo trying so hard to discount himself? Unless... Unless he didn't want to be with you... "I could really care less about all of that, Leo. Truly. There's no one else like you." Someone who would try to let me down so gently.

You had sprung this on him so shortly after everything that had happened... And of course, now he probably wouldn't ever see you that way. You couldn't blame him.

"(Y/n), I -" He started, placing his other hand on top of yours.

You quickly pulled your hand back, cutting him off. "I know there's a lot on your plate right now, and you probably don't feel the same way-"

"(Y/n)-" He tried again.

But now you were rambling. "- so we can just forget about it a-"

"Would you just let me answ-" He tried one last time.

You weren't letting him get a word in now, hoping you could just end the conversation and be done with it. At this point maybe you should just leave entirely and get out of everyone's way. Go and live in solitude forever. Relationships were proving to be very messy all of a sudden. At last this particular one. And if you left, Leo could focus on leading the others and going home again. Maybe they'd be better off without you. "-etend this never-"

And then he kissed you. This time it wasn't because of the alcohol. This time he knew what he was doing. And you knew what you were doing. You were kissing him back.

His hand moved to hold your head as you pulled apart. "I like you too." He said before he leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time, your head tilting into his palm. You're not exactly sure where your hands went, but you knew they were on him like his lips were on yours. In that moment, a new kind of love sparked in your soul. The kind that, if allowed to grow, is not so easily extinguished.

You stayed out on that swing and kissed... well... you lost track of how many times exactly, but it was quite a few.

[kimnjss]

looks different | myg

⤑ series: be my baby

⤑ pairing: rapper!yoongi x mom!reader

⤑ genre: angst, not even kidding...

⤑ rating: PG13.

⤑ word count: 4.2K

⤑ warnings: there aren’t any. except a very sad min yoongi :( yeah, if you got tissues - bring ‘em. 

⤑ A/N: okay so first of all?? guys!! thank you sooo much, for the quick support i’ve been getting for this fic! i mean we’re only five chapters in nd ., ugh!! just thank you sooo much i love you guyss!! also~ don’t get mad at yoongi, he’s just out here trying his best :(

APRIL 13TH, 2020 | 15:31

It's automatic the way his heart stutters at the sight of you walking through the glass doors of the studio lobby. Every last moment he's rushed down to this very lobby to wait for you, the biggest of smiles taking over his features when you'd finally arrive. More often than not with something healthy for him to eat, paired with the nagging of how he should stop ordering out even if he was working late.

His heart would stutter than too.

Different this time, though. Feeling more relieved than anything. There's no telling the dark places his mind has gone in the years that you've been gone – wondering what could've happened to you. And now you're here – safe. Yoongi loved you, of course, he'd feel relieved knowing that you were fine.

Fine, but different. He can't help but notice all the things about you that just... looks different. Your hair, the long dark waves that he loved to bury his hands in now cut short falling just below your chin. Made you look much older than your new twenty-four. Birthday had just passed, he remembered.

Your hips much, much wider. He can't help but pick up on that huge detail as they sway with each step you take closer to him. Very slow steps, for the record. Nervous steps. The same way you'd approach him if you were wielding bad news. That didn't change. Neither did the tentative way you nibbled at your lower lip, fingers pushing your hair behind your ear as you locked eyes with him.

The nerve to smile. Actually push the corners of your lips up and smile at him, but he's reacting the way he always has. Mouth dropping in slight awe because you were so pretty when you smiled. Even if it was riddled with anxiety.

Yoongi stands just as you're stopping in front of him, eyes traveling over his frame in wonder. He had changed in the past three years too. The hair that he kept bleached now it's natural dark color, his once lanky skinny frame holding more muscle. He's been eating well lately and you can tell in the fullness of his face.

Never the type of guy to wear his wealth, but you can't help but notice the diamond-studded single chain that hangs from his neck. A dazzling 'A' pendant hanging from it. Just a plain black tee and sweats, probably spent the day mixing and didn't bother to change from his night clothes.

That was so like him. And you had no idea how much you missed him until now. Seeing him, so close that you could reach out and touch him. But you don't, given the circumstance. No matter how much you want to – it'd be inappropriate. Could basically feel how angry he was, keeping your distance was best.

Realizing, the two of you had been standing there for quite some time – speaking no words, you decide to be the one to break the ice. It was your fault you were even in this situation, to begin with, right?

“Yoongi-,” You start, ready to explain yourself. Right then and there, lay it out flat for him. Everything. Why you left. The baby. What has happened in the past three years. But you're not given the chance.

His dark eyes widen at the sound of your voice as if he hadn't expected to actually hear you speak, as if you weren't real. And he's reacting all at once, arms reaching out to circle around your waist and pulling you into his chest. The force of his pull surprises you, but not enough to keep you from closing him in.

He smells the same. Has definitely swapped his cologne in the time passed, but that doesn't change a thing. He still smells like him. And you missed him. The sob that breaks through his chest, vibrates your body. With his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, arms clutching you close to his chest – he cries.

Not able to properly handle the emotions overwhelming his body, so he can't do anything but cry. Happy tears that you're safe, that none of the terrible things he thought had happened. Sad tears that you felt the need to leave him without a trace, leaving him to wonder what he could've done to make you feel so alone. Angry tears for all the shit you put him through by leaving, because he hadn't done anything wrong – it took him a while to realize that one.

All of those tears soaked the collar of your shirt, shaking his back. Fists clenching the fabric of his shirt, you forced yourself to keep your composure. To not break down the way you wanted because right now he needed you to be strong for him. You had no right to cry when this was your fault.

“I'm so sorry,” The words come out hushed at first before you're repeating louder. And then again. Until they're falling from your lips over and over again, you're worried they might lose their meaning. 

But you don't stop, because ever since you made the decision to leave him – apologizing was the only thing you wanted to do. Woke up every morning with a new way to tell him, to express to him, how sorry you were. How shitty you felt by doing this to him. And now that you had the chance, all your practice speeches were gone out the window.

All you could muster was a simple 'I'm sorry' and hope that it held as much weight as it did in your heart.

The two of you stay standing there for moments to pass, your hand soothingly rubbing his back as he let out the frustrations he had been feeling for the past years onto your shoulder.

He's pulling back only after he's calmed down, eyes glossed and cheeks flushed as he searches your features. A soft, cool hand finding the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Are you sure you're okay?” The slight crack in his voice from his crying nearly shatters your heart.

“I'm okay. I'm so sorry, Yoongi...” Again, you try to find the words, but you're at a loss. Don't know what to say, no matter how many times you’ve imagined this exact moment. Where do you start? How do you get him to see that this, him like this, was not what you wanted when you left?

“I can't believe it's really you.” Both hands sliding down the sides of your arms until he's able to reach for your hands, loosely holding them in his as he has done a thousand times before. “We have a son?”

The words that leave his lips are hushed as if he's afraid to say them out loud. Afraid to let you hear him. But you do. Loud and clear. And your eyes are widening at his words. He knew? How could he...

“Your Instagram. The pictures, that little boy. He's my son?” His ability to read your mind hasn't faltered. You can see the sadness in his eyes, clearly. And you know exactly why it's there and it's your fault. All because you were too much of a coward.

The weight starts in your chest, quickly rushing up your throat until a sob is breaking through. Eyes watering as fresh tears slide down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Yoongi. I-I should've... I didn't think-” You try to speak through your cries, but he stops your struggle; reaching to pull you into his chest again.

Gentle fingers stroke the back of your head, twisting in your short strands of hair. “Shh, it's okay. Relax, it's alright.” Except it wasn't. He knew that and you did too. Because of your stupidity, he lost the first three years of his son's life, time that he would never get back and it was all your fault.

He should be angry at you. Screaming at you. Cursing you ten times over. Not holding you and stroking your hair and telling you that it'll be okay. This was wrong. You didn't deserve his kindness, you didn't deserve him.

Lifting your hands to find his chest, you're gently pushing yourself back to create some distance between the two of you. “I'm sorry, Yoongi. I should've trusted you.” No idea that your trust in him and wavered, but Yoongi doesn't dwell on the small detail. He had a son now. He was a father. There were bigger things to focus on.

“Hey, listen. Whatever happened, happened. We can't change it, alright? Why don't we go somewhere? Get something to eat so we can talk properly?” You're nodding at the request despite the fact that you're not all that hungry. Can't eat with the guilt filling your stomach.

Yet, the last thing you want to do is stay in this studio. Haunted by the memories that the two of you made in this very lobby, every square inch of this place was covered with the two of you – and you ruined that.

Never realized how shitty being back here would make you feel and now you needed to get out.

An easy smile is spreading across his face at your agreement, a gentle hand rubbing at your shoulder. “Why don't you go wait outside? I'll call my driver.” You don't even bother to mull over the fact that he has his own driver now. One of the perks that came with his new lifestyle, you assume.

With another small nod, you're turning to exit the building to wait for him. Mind racing with how you'd be able to tell him about this without ruining everything he has now. He's accomplished so much and here you come ready to ruin everything. 

Again.

Two large men lead you into a restaurant a bit too fancy for a late lunch that neither of you is in the mood for. Ushering you to a table hidden in the back corner before stealing seats a few feet away. Yoongi orders food for the both of you when the waitress is coming with waters. 

“Water? Think we might need something a little stronger for the conversation we're about to have.” Trying to lighten the mood, but the stone-cold expression on his face as the nervous laugh dying on your lips.

Lips pulled into a tight line, you watch as he reaches for the wrapped straw at the side of the table. He takes his time with peeling the paper from it before crumpling it between his fingers, dipping the straw into the iced drink with the other hand.

“I don't drink anymore.”

Eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his quiet admission. You had always known Yoongi to be a man that valued a good glass of whiskey. Liked to have a few sips while he worked, always brought his own bottle to parties claiming 'you young-ins don't know how to drink'.

He always knew his limit, a couple of glasses here and there but he'd never push it where it became an awful habit. Made sure of it. But the sound of his voice when telling you he quit? Told you that he might've slipped in that department. And you can't help but wonder if that was your fault too.

“Tell me about my kid. What's he like?” Clearing his throat, his back straightens slightly – in an attempt to change the subject. Put a halt to all the questions he knows are bouncing around in that head of yours.

And you know him well enough to know when he doesn't want to be pushed. So you allow the shift, unwrapping your straw and dropping it into the glass.

“He's like most three-year-olds, you know? I named him Hyunki.” Another thing that you had wanted to tell him since you left. 

It had only been a few months into your relationship when Yoongi told you. The largest of smiles on his face as he went through the list he kept locked away in his head, gauging your expressions as he listed each off. As if he was checking to see if you liked any of them.

SEPTEMBER 18TH, 2015 | 21:42

“You're telling me you've never given it any thought?” The surprise is clear in your boyfriend's voice as he cranes his neck to get a better look at you. Arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you to his chest.

The movie that he had picked out has faded to background noise since he started this random conversation. If you had been paying attention to the screen rather than noting every cute thing he did, you'd know that his words weren’t as random as you thought. That they were related to the passing scene.

It was so hard to concentrate around him, you were discovering. Could never focus too long on the things that didn't involve him when he was near you. Always found yourself lost in those pretty dark eyes or mesmerized by that gummy smile of his. 

How were you supposed to focus on the plot of a movie when the world's most attractive man was behind you? Holding you to him and chuckling so close to your ear it was like surround sound made just for you. You didn't even remember the name of the damn film.

“I can honestly say I don't have the identity of my future children chosen.” You speak through a laugh as he’s rolling his eyes, hands falling low on your waist until he's able to grasp your hips.

Easily, he's lifting your body from between his legs, turning you to straddle his lap. The movie has been forgotten in his mind too. Your hands find the sides of his neck, tips of your fingers tickling his blond hair. “That's not what I mean, you can't pick who your kids are gonna be.” He speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that has a smile tugging on your lips.

Soft hands find the backs of your thighs, holding your body to his. Yoongi tilts his head back just slightly so he can get a better view of your face. Searching your features carefully before he says what he's thinking.

Can basically see the wheels turning in his head as his nibbles on his lower lip, deep in thought while he watching you. And you watch him right back, lips pursed in an attempt to mask the smile threatening to take over your features. You had always loved the way he looked at you.

“What do you think of Hyunki, then?” Different from all the outrageous names he had listed before. Hyunki. You could definitely see yourself raising a little boy with his face and that name. But it's too early to say it, relationship still too new no matter how you felt. You didn't want to scare him away.

“Hyunki's nice.”

One of the hands he had rested on your back of your leg is shifting, moving forward so he can reach your stomach. Through the fabric of your t-shirt, he traces random patterns – eyes focused on the movement of his fingers.

“My first son. I want to call him Hyunki.” Eyes slowly traveling up the length of your body until he's pinning you with such an intense stare it has a gasp falling from your lips. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, hopeful.

“Okay. I like Hyunki.” Yoongi's smile grows on his face, head tilting up to capture your lips with his. His grip tightening around your thigh to pull your body further onto his. Large hand flattening on the small of your back, guiding you until you were lying underneath him.

That was the first night you slept together.

APRIL 13TH, 2020 | 15:58

Warmth spread through his limbs with the knowledge that you had remembered your conversation all those years ago. Not only remembered it but honored him by using the name he had wanted. Just knowing that was enough to take a bit of the sting of leaving him away. Just a bit.

“So? What does he do? What does he like?” Had expected him to have more questions about you leaving, but it seemed his interest was elsewhere. And the least you could do was tell him whatever he wanted to know.

He was in charge here.

“He doesn't do much, you know?” A soft laugh falls from your lips, hand reaching up to push the hair from your face. “He's been really interested in sports lately. Plays soft basketball with Taehyung sometimes and-”

“Taehyung?” Yoongi's brow lifts at the mention of the unfamiliar name. Head tilting to the side slightly. “Who's Taehyung? One of his friends?”

“Kookie's boyfriend. He hasn't started preschool yet, so he doesn't really have any friends.” The waitress is heading toward the table, food in hand as two other women follow her.

Yoongi considers your words as the food is set down in front of you. Willing himself to keep calm as he takes in all the information that you're giving him. All of the things he missed. The fact that he has to ask questions about his own son, things that he should already know.

But he doesn't go off the way that he wants to, doesn't chastise you and place the blame exactly where it belongs. Instead, he's blowing a thick breath through his lips – leaning back against the cushion chairs.

“You moved to Busan, then?” From your countless stories about your best friend from Busan, he remembered enough to know that the 'Kookie' you were talking about was that same friend. So, the nod of your head is expected.

You watch as he blinks slowly, hand reaching for the clean utensils on the table. He clears his throat slightly, head tilting to the side in the way it does when he's thinking things over. Distracting himself by filling his personal plate with the various foods spread out in front of you two.

Silently, he gestures for you to eat and despite your hesitance, you move to fill your plate as well. Nervous. Pondering on whether or not you should just blurt it out. Ignore how he obviously doesn't want to know the ins and outs of your disappearance, if he did then he would be hitting you with questions, right?

Wished you were able to read him. Know what he was thinking right now. It had been something that you could do easily, simple gestures and facial expressions giving way to exactly what was going on in the head of his. However, it seemed that through time you've lost that ability.

“If he's three... shouldn't he be in preschool by now?” Yoongi's asking casually, shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth as he watches you. How could he eat? Why wasn't he yelling at you? Pissed out of his mind. He's being so cool and it was throwing you.

You begin to eat after the expectant stare he gives you. Taking small bites, sitting on pins and needles in front of him. “Tae stays at home with him, but we were planning to enroll him once he's settled here a bit.”

There it was again, that 'we'. The 'we' that didn't include him in decisions that he should very well be included in. Only in this case, you weren't referring to the 'we' who decided on your disappearance, just the 'we' that have been helping you raise the son he had no idea about.

Yoongi can't help but feel bitter at the small fact. But he wills himself to bury it. Can't argue with you. Not when there's now so much at stake. When you have a kid that he doesn't even know, a kid that he wants to know. Needs to.

You held all the cards and without the knowledge of why you left in the first place, he had no idea what might set you off to where you were packing up and leaving again. That was the last thing he wanted, then and now.

He had to play his cards right.

Casual conversation remains steady between the two of you as you're finishing your meal. Filling Yoongi in on all the things he's missed in the past three years has your heart growing heavy. He's missed so much and it was because of you. Because you couldn't stand your ground and be with him.

He'd only ask you for one thing. Expected just one thing from you. And you couldn't even handle that.

“Does he know about me?” The words are coming out hushed after a stretch of silence. You had just finished sharing with Yoongi the slight obsession Hyunki has with Lego sets. How he could spend hours at his play table, building. He smiled real big at that, but from the slow way it vanished you could tell something was weighing on his mind. And this was it.

It pains you to shake your head. Hurts even worse when you see the sadness that flashes through his eyes. “Why not?” He's almost afraid of the answer, but can't keep himself from asking. 

“It's always been us, you know. Me, him, Tae and Kookie. And he likes having them around. I didn't want him to feel like he was missing out on something.” So young that he hadn't started asking questions yet. Wondering why kids around him had two parents instead of one plus two respective uncles.

You thought you had been making the right decision, but as this week was set out to prove – you had no idea what the right decision was. And judging from the look on Yoongi's face, you were more than positive that you had made the wrong decision by keeping the fact that Hyunki had a father secret.

“So who does he think is his dad?” He's doing the thing where he's trying to keep himself from losing it. That hasn't changed.

The slight twitch of his brow, the flare of his nostrils as he took deep calming breaths. Desperately trying to keep his composure and not freak out on you the way he wanted to, you wished he just let go and give you what you knew you deserved.

“No one,” You're rushing out, hoping it could do something to relax him. “I don't even think he knows what that means.” Flinching at your own words, you force a breath from your lips. You try to change course. “I honestly thought it would be better for him this way.”

Hesitantly, you reach for his hand that had balled into a fist on the table. Soothing fingers running over his knuckles. “You can tell him if you want. Do you want to meet him?”

“Obviously, I'd like to meet my son. He's my son.” There's harshness in his tone that he doesn't bother to mask. That you don't miss as he's pulling his hand from your grasp, going back to the meal in front of him.

Lunch ends in silence. Yoongi quietly pays the bill, mumbles a goodbye to you as he puts you in a cab. Doesn't even bother to look back as he turns with his bodyguards to walk toward the car that had brought you here.

Yoongi is slouching in the back seat of his car, arms crossed over his knees and face pressed against his sleeve. Of all the scenarios he's imagined with seeing you again, he never thought it'd be like this. Had been so sure it would be clear where he'd stand with you if you were to ever appear in his life again.

But, it wasn't that simple. Because nothing in his life was ever that simple. Of course, he still loved you – an annoying fact that was hard to ignore. Yet, he'd be able to do it, would be able to move on despite his heart being filled with you, if it wasn't for the fact that you had a kid together now.

A human binding the two of you, of which he hadn't even met. And he wanted to. Wanted nothing more than to be apart of that kid's life, but that meant being apart of your life too. He had been too afraid to get the answer's from you today, not wanting his deepest worry to become true within your words.

Not knowing was better than knowing in his mind. Whatever it was, why you left him – took your unborn child and bolted, he didn't want to know. Afraid that it would be something so horrible that it'd crumble his already cracked heart.

“Everything alright back there, Mister Agust?” His driver speaks noticing the shake of Yoongi's back that accompanies the fresh tears that roll down his cheeks. Face hidden, he takes a moment to compose himself before lifting his head.

The back of his hand wiping at his damp eyes before he's pushing his hair back on his forehead. Eyes shifting to look out the window as he nods his head. A heavy sigh falls from his lips, dark sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose to cover his reddening eyes.

Tires skid to a complete stop in front of the building and Yoongi is stepping out of the car, hands shoved in his pockets as he takes slow steps to the front doors of the studio.

Words leave his lips as a hushed plea, a delayed answer to the question he had been asked in the car. What he had been thinking since he first scrolled through your pictures, seeing the life you had created without him.

“I just want to see my kid.”

— when the love of his life suddenly vanishes, he drives himself mad looking for her. seemingly erased from the world, he’s forced to pick up the pieces of his life and move on… fast forward three years and someone who looks a lot like the woman he lost is being spotted, holding a kid with an oddly familiar gummy smile…

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. to be added to the taglist, send me an ask !! feedback is highly !! appreciated, it’s the motivation i need to keep the fic going nd fun for you guys!!<33

[winterscaptain]

marksmanship.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: thank @quillvine for kicking my ass into gear on this one. for the record, i took artistic liberties with the differences between the beretta and the glock - nothing too crazy, but they aren’t that different in real life. (yes, hello, i live in the united states of embarrassment and i’m sorry). the first two lines of dialogue come from ncis episode 1x09 and were the original inspiration for this fic. lemme know what you think and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

words: 1.1k warnings; guns (handguns, sniper rifles), firing on human-shaped paper targets on a controlled range, questionable teaching practices, Sniper Hotch™

summary: “you know how you smoke out a sniper? you send a guy out in the open, and you see if he gets shot. they thought that one up at west point” - samuel fuller. au!april 2013

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You watch him tape your phone to the target brace, dangling right over the hostage outline. 

“Damn it, Aaron. I need that.”

He puts his headphones on and kisses your cheek, lining himself up behind you. His lips rise to your ear and you suppress a shudder. “Then don’t shoot it.”

You adjust your grip on your new Glock, not entirely accustomed to the bigger weapon. Aaron’s weight against your back and his hands on your hips doesn’t help, either. He’s always distracting, but with a firearm in your hands, there’s a little more thrill to it, a little more benign danger. 

It’s exciting. 

This wouldn’t be nearly as fun with Derek. 

You take a shot, immediately letting all your breath out in a sharp exhale when you miss entirely.

“That’s okay. It leans left. Now you know.” 

You nod and roll your shoulders out again, staring down the sight. 

This time, you remember everything you’ve learned, taking a deep breath and firing on empty lungs. You barely blink, but still miss just outside the outline of the unsub. 

Aaron kisses the curve of your neck where it meets your shoulder. “Three more, then notes.” 

To his credit, he doesn’t move, only supporting your body as you get used to the slightly heavier weapon. There’s less recoil than your old Beretta, but the excuse is always welcome. 

You fire off three more shots in quick succession, one hitting inside the lines, right at the top of the head. 

Placing the gun on the felt pad Aaron lent you, the barrel facing down-range, you press the button to bring your target toward you so you can evaluate it. Because you’re the only two in the range, you remove your hearing protection and so does he, saving you the effort of shouting. 

Aaron reaches past you, pointing at the paper, completely ignoring your phone still dangling by the tape. “The Glock releases faster than your Beretta, and will pack more of a punch,” he says. “You don’t have to cheat high because your rounds won’t arc down as much at the higher velocity.” 

You look at your groupings, finding they were almost exactly where you aimed them, instead of the centimeter below, like you expected. “Makes sense. What else?” 

“Like I said first, it cheats left. You’ll have to compensate by about an inch to get it where you want to go.” 

You snort. “So what you’re saying is, if I want a perfect shot I have to aim right at my phone.” 

When he doesn’t say anything, you look over your shoulder. He’s grinning. 

You roll your eyes and put your headphones back on, grumbling something that sounds like “fuckhead,” but Aaron isn’t sure. 

He stands back a little ways, confident that you’ve got the hang of the disparities in physics, with his headphones on and arms crossed. You roll the target out to seven yards (the average distance to an assailant) and take a deep breath. 

Thank God you backed that phone up before you left this morning. 

You fire off three shots, Aaron’s voice echoing in your head. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through. 

Front sight trigger press follow through

Frontsighttriggerpressfollowthrough

You set the gun down and pick up the scope from his disassembled sniper rifle - another item on Aaron’s to-do list for you today - and look at the target. 

With a sigh of relief, you see that your phone is intact and you’ve got a nice, tight grouping on the unsub. 

You hear Aaron’s small round of applause before you remove your ear protection, and turn around to acknowledge the praise with a gracious tip of your head. “Not so bad?” 

He shakes his head. “Not so bad.” He sniffs, holding the scope between two fingers - it’s huge, but he makes it look easily manageable. 

Nice. 

“Now - long-distance marksmanship will definitely take us the rest of the afternoon.” 

You let your head fall with a defeated groan. “We’ve been here since nine and it’s nearly one, Aaron. Can’t we do this… any other time?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “The range is deserted. Would you prefer an audience?” 

Your mouth twists. “No.” 

+++

You shove your earplugs in your ears and fold your arms right where Aaron’s shoulders flatten, resting your chin over your hands. You’re laid out entirely flat over him, lined up as best you can for posture and angle. 

He’ll take a few shots after he shows you how to adjust for wind, distance, obstacles, all of it. 

“The scope will take you where you need to go - you just have to get the reading right.”

Aaron settles his cheek against the stock of the gun, staring down the scope with his left eye. “So,” he says, his voice clouded by concentration, “we’re going about three thousand yards today. What you’ll want to do for a distance like that, with the wind as it is today from the southeast…”

How does he know that? 

You look up, trying to look at the clouds or the trees or something.

He rolls his shoulder, knocking you a little off-balance. “Hey. Focus. I’ll show you.” 

You settle back against him, very much liking his method of teaching, and listen as he walks you through all the knobs and levers and hinges on the scope. 

“...And then,” he presses his cheek against the stock again, making sure his shoulder is flush, too, “you fire.”

He takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment when all the air is gone, and fires. 

There’s a decent amount of recoil as he takes the shot and you can feel the muscles in his back ripple under you as he absorbs the energy. 

“We won't be able to see it well until we drive out to the target - it’s nearly two miles away - but you can see a decent amount through the scope.” 

You kiss the back of his neck. “Very nice.” 

The pull of his cheek is visible from where you are, but you can’t completely see his smile. “Thank you.” 

+++

By the time you get back Aaron’s car outside the BAU offices, you’re entirely beat. Your shoulders ache, your nose is full of dry dirt and gunpowder, your fingers are stiff, and you’ll need to ice your hips and knees when you get home. 

Aaron makes it look easy, but keeping your heels flat in sniper prone for two hours is awful. 

“Remind me why I went to you for marksmanship training, again?” 

He grabs your hand and kisses the back of it. “Because I’m the best.” 

+++

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[mi6-cafe]

WEEK 2 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory.

For the second week of LDWS, our true l- our writers were asked to write a drabble between 150 and 200 words, based on the word deck from the point of view of an outsider.

THEY DID SUCH A GREAT JOB!

(this is a purely illustrative gif of an outside observer of the goings on at Q’s flat, not a prompt)

READ THE DRABBLES AND VOTE!

hOW?

Read the drabbles & Pick three favourites!

Vote for them on this form!

Add some feedback for the writers!

That’s it! You have done your civic duty and voted!

Vote!

Read the drabbles below the line.

#1

Title: Eulogy for the Aston Martin Author: Misha / artsytarts Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (mainly directed at vehicles) Summary: Around 007, life and death go hand in hand.

The moment I leave solid ground and fly, pointed directly at the deck of the ship, I know my life is forfeit.

I realize now why the other machines pitied me after I was assigned to the man they call 007. I see his blue eyes blazing as he concentrates, gripping my steering wheel. They say he’s careless, but judging from the few days I’ve carried him, I know different. He’s not careless. His destruction is calculated. Only once I was obsolete, once he depleted my ammunition, blew my doors off, and pushed my motor to breaking point did he make his decision: To use me as his missile.

I count the milliseconds as the deck rushes towards me. Without a word, 007 pushes the ejector button and I fling him out into the open air, out into safety and freedom.

I am to be his sacrifice.

Before I hit the ship to perish in a blaze, I decide: I have no use for resentment. Like so many machines before me, I have granted him life.

That must count for something.

#2

Title: All In Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Bond is handy with cards, and Felix likes to watch.

There are few things as satisfying as watching James Bond clean a table in poker. Felix has learned that pretty much the moment he's met Bond, and the entertainment value hasn't changed in the years that have passed.  

On the contrary: Felix has learned some of Bond's tells. Not the kind of tells that would let him win against the insufferably unbeatable agent, but Felix recognises the spark that lights up in Bond's eyes, only seconds before he wipes the confident smirk off an opponent's face with a winning hand.  

Another thing he can see is whether Bond enjoys the game for its own sake or just really hates one of the other players. He knows it's the latter when the opponent asks for a rematch and offers the deed to a hotel in lieu of liquid funds, and Bond agrees, provided that they use a new, unopened deck of cards.  

The opponent blanches near imperceptibly, and Felix smirks into his drink. Oh, yes. Very satisfying.

#3

Title: Voyeuristic Displeasure Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: seeing everything is not so fun

Bond's hands were big and rough, stronger than they had any right to be.

He had been observing them with varying degrees of interest over the years, stuck behind his computers or out in the field - air straining in his lungs with the knowledge that the other's life depended on how fast and how smart he could be.

He watched Bond strut along the deck, hand poised low on someone's lower back, head tilted down in a way that suggested he was focusing on whatever he was being told, seemingly enraptured in them - Bond played the part well but he knew what signs to look for, to spot the seams of the almost perfect façade: he darted glances around, favoring his right side, trying to keep under the eye of the cameras that he knew to be in friendly hands.

The hand slipped lower, fingers teasingly dipping beneath the edge of the brightly colored bathing suit his companion was wearing - shameless.

Almost teasing.

He stood up with a weary sigh, empty mug held aloft: he was going to need a strongly brewed cup of tea, if he had to watch Bond flirt his way into another bed.

#4

Title: International Man Of Mystery Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: none Summary: Some players never make it to places like Casino Royale. Others... acquire nice cars on the way.

She has encountered many interesting characters in her career, some more remarkable than others. Poker tends to attract extraordinary people. It isn’t always easily definable: something about this man arrests her attention the moment he walks up to the table, asking to join the game even though she’s already cutting the deck. 

He flashes a cocky smile at everyone, reads his opponents like a professional, and pleads with her to let the unlucky Mr. Dimitrios bet his car to win his money back. She complies, amused. Such self-sufficient arrogance would be offending if not for his friendly politeness. The way he eyes the man’s wife is not mere casual interest either. Those intense ice-blue eyes have already seen every opportunity. His body language may seem relaxed, but there’s an awareness in his movements that hints at explosive potential underneath the calm surface. 

For an exhilarating moment, she revels in being a part of this man’s story. It’s as clear as day that he’s used to playing for much higher stakes. She wonders what the real prize here is.

Dimitrios has lost again even before this stranger shows his cards. Men like him bend luck to their will. 

#5

Title: Crossroads Author: Hexiva Warnings: None Summary: James Bond visits a fortune teller.

The man’s cold blue eyes look past Serenity as he steps into her fortune-telling tent, and she shivers. His aura is like ice, a vast glacier with life frozen deep down inside it. He reminds her of a mobster from some old movie, wealthy but brutal. 

“What do you want to learn?” she asks.

“The future,” he says, distractedly. She follows his eyes to a bearded man standing at the high striker, speaking in Russian. 

She shuffles her deck. “There are two paths before everyone,” she says. “This choice is yours.” She draws two. “First path - The Lovers, the Star. Companionship and connection bringing hope. Choose the Lovers' path, and you will find a new beginning. A second chance.”

“And the other?” he asks. His tone is flat and apathetic. He doesn't believe in hope.

She draws again.  “The Emperor, the Hermit, both reversed. Rigidity and repression bringing isolation and misery. Choose the Emperor's path and you will end up alone.”

But the man is looking past her at the Russian, and he stands. “Thanks." A wry little smile. "But I think I already know what path I’m on.”

She watches him go. In his shadow, she sees the Emperor.

#6

Title: Observation Deck Author: Anyawen Warnings: none Summary: Mallory and Tanner contemplate employee relations.

Mallory surveyed the scene before him, sipping his scotch and trying, fruitlessly, to tune out the horrid rendition of 'Deck the Halls' playing overhead.

"We should do something about that," Tanner said, coming to stand beside him.

"About what?"

"That," Tanner replied, gesturing in the direction of Bond and Q. "Them."

The Quartermaster, decked out in a horrible Christmas jumper, looked exasperated. Bond, naturally, looked smug. They appeared to have entirely forgotten the holiday party happening around them as they argued. Flirted. Whatever.

"Trying to stop that from happening would be an exercise in rearranging deckchairs on the Titanic," Mallory said with a bemused smile. "Utterly futile."

"I don't want to discourage them," Tanner protested as Q cracked an unwilling smile at something Bond said.

"What, then?"

"A little push? Mistletoe? Lock them in a closet?" Tanner suggested hopefully.

"That might be construed as stacking the deck in your favor," Mallory observed mildly.

"You know about the bet?" Tanner spluttered as Q stole Bond's champagne glass and drained it to Bond's mock outrage.

"Spy," Mallory explained succinctly.

Tanner nodded wry acknowledgement.

They continued their silent observations a few minutes more, then Tanner asked, "What day did you pick?"

"April first."

#7

Title: Nighttime Invasion Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: vague references to blood, swearing Summary: Q’s cat is not impressed by 3am visitors

Thunk.

A crumpled heap hit the floor. She hissed, tail bushy, ready to pounce on the intruder.

“Oof!”

Gunpowder Man was invading her space.

Again.

“Q?” Gunpowder Man whisper-shouted. He sounded different. “Are you awake?”

Something dark dripped from his nose.

She sniffed cautiously. He stank of copper and salt. Still, it was better than the strong, sour reek of last time.

A light came on in Father’s bedroom.

Gunpowder Man lifted himself up and wobbled to the sofa. Walking on two legs seemed harder for him than usual.

“Bond?” Father came traipsing up behind him, making the room light up. “What the fuck? It’s 3 in the bloody morning. You couldn’t wait?”

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Gunpowder Man used the false-happy tone Father used when he tricked her into The Basket.

Another dark drip.

“Don’t be stupid,” Father tsked, petting Gunpowder Man softly on the shoulder. That should help; Father gave the best pets. “Why don’t I put the - Christ, Bond! What happened to your nose?”

“It’s not broken. She hit me when I told her I was staying.”

“I thought psychologists were meant to keep their cool,” Father sighed. “Come on, let’s clean you up.”

#8

Title: A confession of a deck Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: James Bond would be lost without me.

I'd like to think that James and I are not just colleagues, but friends.

You know, we’ve been through a lot together. Cottages in forgotten lands, first-class casinos, important fights – I’d always been with him and helped him along the way.

But this game is different.

“That’s not fair, James,” the opponent says, watching his stack of cards.

“I’m not cheating, Q.”

The opponent snorts. “You may be the best player the MI6’s ever had, but even you can’t be THAT good, 007. Aces again? That’s not very subtle.”

“You were the one who said poker is just basic math and all about the art of reading people. So stop whinging and take off your shirt.”

Beg your pardon?

There is something disturbing in the air. I don’t think I want to give the good cards to James anymore. “Happy?”

The shirt falls to the floor.

“Immensely.”

The next round, Q loses his pants. I’m starting to think that this isn’t even about poker!

“I won.”

Finally, it’s over and I can relax again. Even though I’m not sure what this young lad can have that James Bond would be interested in… oh.

#9

Title: Camouflage Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: None Summary: A certain agent and their partner are in the field. The local perspective.

Grace's eyes were drawn to her first customers on the deck overlooking the harbor. They were as unlike as could be but Grace would have known they were together with just a glance. The subtle leaning in, the eye contact, the briefest brush of a hand. Not honeymooners but the established kind of connection that took time and patience. The younger man was dark and slender and had a tan that was honey gold. The older one was broader and blond and that one sent tingles up her spine. Her brother and his military buddies were like that, poised and watchful. She didn't see a weapon but suspected he was armed. They'd arrived three days ago in a beautifully restored vintage sailboat, walking the less traveled portions of the island.

Passing Grace, Mimi muttered “Spies posing as tourists.”

Gracie scoffed at Mimi's imagination. What were they spying on here, conch recipes? Then a new boat dropped anchor. The blond saw it first and the dark haired one checked the tablet he always seemed to have before nodding and finishing his chowder.

The pretty sailboat pulled up anchor the next dawn and the new boat was found derelict two days later.

#10

Title: Missing Him Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: Austen the cat watches as her human pines for the Blond One

From her perch on the living room sofa, Austen looks disapprovingly at her bespectacled human. He is out on the deck again, smoking and no doubt pining for the Blond One. He is a relatively new addition to the household and has been gone for several days now, as is his habit. Keats—that dummy—misses him, too, as he meows and gazes forlornly at the front door.

She herself is unsure of the Blond One, but she doesn’t like it when her human is all sad and distracted, reeking of cigarette smoke and unresponsive to feline overtures of comfort. She feels powerless to help him. How did one man become so essential to her human’s happiness?

Then a key turns, the door opens, and there he is. The Blond One dumps his bag in the foyer and heads straight for the deck, pausing only to give her a brief head scritch. She watches as he folds her human into his arms and starts grooming him in that strange way humans have, with their mouths fused.

She hears her human laugh, gladness and relief evident in his tones, and finally, she makes up her mind about the Blond One.

#11

Title: Origin of a Voyeur Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: none Summary: There was a legitimate reason to start going through all the Q Branch security footage, dammit!

After the small accidental volcano destroyed lab 7b, no one could recall who’d last checked the fire suppression system. Exasperated, R pulled up the security videos in hopes of spotting someone. The recording of Q and 007 was entirely unrelated, but she just couldn’t look away.

Q had been helping Bond dress for some formal event, tuxedo carefully tailored to conceal the equipment Q was arranging around his body. The scene resembled a squire helping his knight, except...

R bit her lip at the way Q stroked his fingertips down the front of Bond’s suit to check the drape of the fabric, evading Bond’s hungry gaze with a sly little quirk to his mouth. Then Q leaned close, reaching around to run his hands over the back of the jacket, lingering a little over Bond’s well-proportioned backside before he sank to one knee and brushed along the sides of the trousers.

“There, all decked out,” Q murmured.

Bond reached down to cradle Q’s chin in his hand and Q looked up with a provocative lick of his lips, the heat almost visibly simmering between them. Bond took a deep breath, his fingers tightening, and Q ‘s eyes widened and then slid shut as he turned to brush his lips against Bond’s thumb. When Bond made a low rough sound, both Q and Rani swallowed at the same time.

Then the outer office door slammed and she hurriedly shut her computer down, blushing. But she saved a private copy first.

#12

Title: The Bet Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: Bets are made, there will be blood.

Oh, yes. It was going to happen. The tension was palpable in the room, yes he said palpable in his interior monologue. Just fucking get closer. Do it already. He was going to win that bet today by fuck. He leaned forward in anticipation, eyes locked on target. Yes. Yes….Keep going...almost….

*AH-OOH-GA!! AH-OOH-GAH!! AH-OOH-GAH!!*

Fuck, goddammit. Not again! He narrowed his eyes. There was no way another attack by water was happening. Dammit. Fake or not they were going to have to clear the god damned building. He sighed heavily as he turned sad eyes back to where 007 and Q had been quietly eyeing each other. They were gone. “What the fuck?” Where? There! The orange of Q’s cardigan turned a corner.  He was not about to lose the 'THEY FINALLY MADE OUT DAY' be! He ignored the rest of Q’branch’s leads as they ordered the evacuation.

“Davis?”

Fuck. It was R.

“And just where are you going? Exit is that way.”

He turned with hunched shoulders to find R smiling at him. Her eyes flitted past him to where Q and 007 had disappeared to. “THAT bet will only be won when it’s officially my day.”

#13

Title: Specs and the Lady Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Louis has been a bartender for a long time, but occasionally patrons can still surprise him.

The Friday night crowd seethes around the bar in waves, laughing and calling out their orders. Louis has been a bartender a long time, which means he can keep up with the steady roll of vodka-tonic-scotch-and-soda-bottle-bottle-pint and still keep an eye on the floor for trouble.

Trouble like the man in specs and a loud jumper bumping into an over-drunk man in a worn football jersey, spilling both their drinks.

Specs’ mouth forms the word ‘sorry,’ but Jersey isn’t having it. He grabs Specs’ jumper, but before Louis can even call for Paul—their unofficial bouncer-bartender—a lady slides in between them, curly hair and cunning eyes, and pulls Jersey’s hand away.

Jersey shoves the lady, and viper-quick, she decks him. Jersey goes down.

Louis lets out a surprised laugh. The lady looks quite pleased. Specs looks exasperated, though Louis doesn’t know why; if he had someone like that in his corner, all squared shoulders and terrifying heels, he’d be delighted. Then again, from Specs’ half-laughing attempt at chastisement that carries in the surprised lull in noise (“Really, Eve?”), this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

“Just take Jersey out,” Louis bids as Paul moves in, “Specs and the lady are fine.”

#14

Title: Eyes on You Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: The Quartermaster is enjoying his afternoon and Bond is far too concerned about his garden.

She's good at her job. So good, in fact, that she's currently hidden from sight with her scope right on MI6's Quartermaster himself. He's sitting on the deck of his house, enjoying the sunny weather with a girly drink in one hand and a laptop resting on his thighs. He's typing furiously, paying no attention to his surroundings. All she has to do is take one shot.  

Then, the sprinklers turn on.  

She does her best to not make a sound even as her phone buzzes.

4:27 pm:

There are over twenty cameras on the property.

4:28 pm:

I suggest you get out of my hydrangea bush. James worked rather hard on the garden and he won't be pleased to find you there.

A click behind her — probably a gun. "You've ruined my garden."

She turns around and finds herself face to face with the legendary agent. She cringes. "I'm... very sorry?"

Bond does not look amused. "You're fixing this before you leave."

"You're not going to kill me?" she asks, heart pounding.

"Q wants you for his team." Bond sighs, looking more annoyed than anything. "Either you accept or I'll shoot you."

Well, it's not exactly a choice.

#15

Title: Over It Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: Canon-Typical language Summary: Tanner is nervous.

Ferrying through the maze of the Thames tunnels was often a nerve-wracking job. More so when his passengers were nervous. More so when it was the Chief of Staff who was sitting across from him, restless, tap-tap-tapping on his cardboard box.

Tanner gave Jack an awkward smile as they docked, climbing the narrow ladder just as the Quartermaster stormed into view.

“I’m going to skin the twat alive, Bill!“ he hissed, making Tanner stumble to a stop. “Didn’t even try to cover his tracks.”

Jack grinned. Only one man could piss Q off that much.

Tanner sighed, resigned. “I’ll inform M-”

“Already did,” Q huffed.

"Oh?"

"Not risking my career for him again, Bill."

Jack dared a peek at the couple; the conversation was taking an unexpected turn.

Tanner blinked, once, twice, before seeming to come to a decision. He shoved the cardboard box at Q.

“Thought we could share breakfast, since our dinner last night was interrupted? Bad timing, of course- ”

"Bill,” Q said, and Jack saw the silver of a smirk. "I would love to."

Pulling a crumpled cigarette from under his heavy coat, Jack couldn't help but grin to himself.

MI6 and their drama.

Go vote!

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part V

Word Count: 2,005 Warnings: PTSD. Allusions to sex (it borders on the edge of smut but we should know by now I'm shit at that). Hint of a praise kink. Bit of marking kink. Death. Ben Affleck. Author's Note: The last few chapters have taken a lot out of me, I put a lot of my own experiences with PTSD and mental health into them. I tried to make this fluffy, I needed that comfort after a hard week and I feel lighter for it. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and loving this like I do.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fuck you.” Benny stares straight into Tom’s eyes. "This is my fuck you money.” The held breaths are louder than gunshots, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come.

Cold Camp Davis grunts a laugh, “We don’t have enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.”

Benny giggles like a child as he grabs a strap, zippo clicking to ignition again.

The laughter that bubbles up is like a light, warmer than the thousands of dollars burning bright against his eyes.

Frankie, you might as well take your salary out on the front lawn and pour some kerosene on it.

He hears it so clearly in his head and in his heart, Leah teasing him for all the lights being on the first time he took her home.

Tom stands up, dumping an entire case down to tinder in the cold air.

Eight dates in and she’d already witnessed one of his attacks. It was the third date, he’d wanted to take her home that night. His body on hers for hours. Wanted to make breakfast the next morning, having already committed to memory the way she takes her coffee. Instead, she spent that night holding tightly to his hands as his panic crescendoed in the backseat of his car.

If it wasn’t then that he realized he loved her, it was in the way she turned to look at him when he quietly said,

The lights being on make me feel safe.

It wasn’t pity, like he’s used to. It wasn’t the look somebody gives a broken man with a broken mind and a broken soul. The only change he found in the already soft features was an understanding behind the dark eyes staring back at him.

This fire makes him feel safe now.

He’s always straining in the dark. It’s not just about watching his six. It’s all twelve hands on deck with two eyes and a ringing in his ears so intense he can feel it in his toes.

But here? It beats back against the edges of gloom that have continuously threatened to consume him.

He can sweep enclosed spaces in minutes, assess the situation and the danger within. It’s a lot harder in the extended wilds, nothing but the moon to guide the eye.

Before Leah—and for a while there after—he combed room for room upon his arrival home. He’d ask her to stay in the car, his conceal carry coming out as soon as the door would swing open.

He’d sheepishly grin, collecting her from the passenger side after his survey and she’d hug him. Holding tightly around his middle section, pressing her cold hands up under his shirt to that hot place where his heart beats and whisper with genuine gratitude,

Thank you for protecting me, Frankie.

It was never condescending, that’s all he ever wanted to do. Protect her. Protect himself. Protect the men giggling like schoolboys around him right now.

And he liked being told what a good job he did at that. —————

“What's Frankie short for?” Barely audible, her breath fanning across his chest as she continues to catch it. Like willing waves of normalcy in the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Francisco.”

“Francisco,” she repeats, dragging out the o. “Do you like it?”

“Used to make me feel like I was in trouble, very harsh coming from pissed off higher ups and even angrier parents but it sounds…” he thinks on that for a second, the events of the night still rippling through his body, “a lot sweeter in your mouth.”

“Watch yourself,” she hums a kiss into the flat plane of his breast before sinking her teeth into the flesh there, biting as hard as she can.

A chuckle vibrates from deep within him, “one hell of a bite too, I won’t soon forget.”

He looks down into her eyes, bright with mischief as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth now. He’d had hickeys before but never like this. He surveys the purple marks across his body, somehow burning brighter than the rest of him, and a contentedness pools in the pit of his stomach. Her stamps on him in easily hidden spaces to match the lipstick stains she’s started marking across his right cheek in the moments before they walk into the bar or the restaurant.

Little ways she says mine.

And he is hers. He knows it in the steady way his lungs rise and fall underneath her now.

He brushes a soft wave from where it tickles across her nose, “is Leah short for anything?”

Her nose scrunches, “not a goddamn thing.”

“Do you know what it means then?” His large hand is sprawled across her lower back, the weight of it an anchor.

Don’t leave me, it says.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, the slight twang coming forward in moments of exhaustion and inebriation, “just think my mama liked the sound of it is all.”

His heart is blazing underneath her cheek as she settles against him once more, her soft voice tumbles towards him, “Francisco…” as her eyelashes brush against his skin and he swears he can count them all on sensation alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

He feels a smile tug at her lips, stopped in its tracks where she’s rooted into him. It’s the first time he’s called her that.

“I have nightlights.”

The light makes her feel safe too. —————

He’s standing over Tom’s body and he hates to admit it but the feeling washing over him is one of relief.

Relief mingled with guilt.

Guilt that nobody was watching his six, his back wide open to the world behind it. Five seasoned fucking veterans and nobody watching the higher ground.

Relief at the silence he knows will engulf the group now. No more orders from a child who should’ve never been granted the lead to begin with.

Guilt because he was climbing up a fucking rock when he should’ve been doing his job as a friend and brother.

Relief that it wasn’t his brains splashed across stone.

His head is fucking pounding and it has been for days, pain dulled by consistency but never not there.

At least I can feel my fucking head.

He thinks of all the other things he can feel now, the things service beat from his body.

The ache in his limbs, heavy with exhaustion.

He’s dreading adding the dead weight of a dead body to the load.

The pang in his stomach, too used to consistently hot food.

He wants black coffee and bacon and tiny spoonfuls of sweet potato puree he airplanes into his own mouth to show Luna it won’t hurt her. Hell, he’d take the mushed peas right now.

Benny’s sobbing. The one amongst them all that never breaks is the broken one now.

He’s staring off again at everything and nothing, Santiago and Will unfurling bags for the body.

What a present to bring home.

It was always the risk they faced, they knew it.

If you were lucky, truly lucky, you came home whole. Untouched, unscathed, unmarred. The safe deployments, the technical shit, the brains behind the operations never seeing bloodshed. Everybody else though? Some were held together by duct tape and pure grit.

Others tied up in a flag with a bow.

Daddy’s not coming home but here’s a purple heart for the dress uniform he’ll never wear again.

I should’ve done more.

He’s not getting a purple heart for this.

I should’ve held on tighter.

He didn’t die in service to his country, he died in service to himself.

I should’ve made a bigger issue of the weight.

Another family he’s failed to protect.

I should’ve said no. —————

The darkness is cut through with a warm glow in every outlet as the clock tips over the edge of midnight.

Wednesday, the eleventh of October.

Nose to nose, the excitement of the day hangs over them like a wave threatening to crash. A giddiness in their bed forcing sleep to the edges of thought.

“Do you think they’re gonna know?” Her voice is soft, featherlight. Trying not to disturb the peaceful bubble they find themselves in now.

“No,” he lifts to press his lips gently into hers, “but I can’t promise I won’t shout it out on the altar.”

Panic takes her eyes, he knows it all too well and he’s gripping tighter before she can inhale. Fingers splayed across the small of her back, the weight of it a comfort to the tender bones and aching muscles.

I'm right here, it says.

“Breathe, breathe,” he’s speaking softly into her hair, “it was just a joke, baby.”

“You're not funny, Francisco Morales.” She speaks it like a fact, like she doesn’t spend hours in his arms filling his head with the music of her laughter. She says it like he isn’t watching smile lines appear in real time, falling more in love with each one.

“Would it be so bad though? If I did? If people knew?” It’s hope in his voice that she’ll say yes. That he can announce to his best friends all at once, every single one, before Santi leaves again. He doesn't want his happiness to arrive by text message. He wants to see the light of congratulation dancing around him.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” she’s scared, “besides… it’s not traditional.”

He scoffs, “what about us has ever been traditional, mi alma?”

“I'll make you a deal,” her fingers run through the stubble along his jaw, thumbs lingering over the patches, “don’t shave this tomorrow and you can tell the boys.”

“You want me to keep this malnourished shit on my face? For our wedding?”

Her giggles vibrate against him, “Yes. I have plans for it after you say I do.”

He growls, “this deal sounds pretty sweet to my lazy soul, what do you get out of it?”

“Hmm…” she brings her hand up to tap on her chin, “well, to begin, I’m getting a hot husba—”

“Debatable.”

“I'll fuck you up, Morales, take the compliment.”

He laughs a kiss into her, “what else?”

“Benny and Will will become automatic attack dogs around me, I’m fairly certain they will clear their schedules for all of April to stand guard outside the room. My own personal security team.”

He laughs again at the truth in her words, “what else?”

She pushes forward again, taking his lip between hers. A soft kiss with the burning desire for more.

“I’ll wake up on Thursday morning with a rawness between my legs that I’m usually only gifted on the weekends.”

His grip tightens, any suggestion of sleep leaving his body in a rush of blood straight through him, “I will never shave again.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, my love.”

He rolls himself into her at that, kissing down her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive skin of her breasts, low lying cotton barely above indecency. He raises the hem, the curve of her belly burning hot against his lips, two hearts now beating inside her.

He grabs the elastic around her hips and gently pulls, kisses so soft across her pelvis they feign an innocence to his true intentions. Her legs kick out to help discard the fabric tangling her ankles as he settles broad shoulders at the base of her being.

Her fingers twirl through the soft curls that have been crushed against a pillow for hours by her side.

He kisses her soft thighs, slowly dragging his rough cheek against the delicate flesh.

“Francisco,” her fingers flex tighter as he looks up to meet her eyes, “don’t be such a fucking tease.”

He smiles wide, the devilish grin splitting his face as he drops his eyes to where she wants him, the fever that’s taken over her body in the last three months beckoning him in.

His hands are heavy on her hips, clenching deep purple into her. Marks in easily hidden spaces, his little ways of saying mine.

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ 

[swiftgronmasterpost]

GRYLES!!!

Rebuilding the Gryles Timeline expertly crafted here because I’m always afraid of broken links and people going private and losing data.

Not only is there a ton of great evidence that these guys were dating such as Harry leaving Nick’s place in the morning wearing the same clothes as he’d worn the night before, I’ve also got a friend who works in the UK music industry and she did tell me these guys did date.  Nick is 100% out as gay so it really does all add up.

Gryles very obviously takes place during Haylor, debunking Harry as the 1989 muse, and if it’s not Harry you do have to wonder... who with green eyes and an obsession with Alice and Wonderland was heavily featured in Taylor’s life and then disappeared before 1989 - a breakup album about someone with green eyes who seems to relate to Alice in Wonderland drops?

You get it.

Anyway here’s Gryles:

This is a little game I like to call "let's talk about Nick/Harry dates and how they line up with Harry leaving and entering the country".

06. February 5th 2012 - Harry and Nick go to a Super Bowl party together.

One Direction in Sweden February 12th - 14th. (Came home by train on the 14th.)

07. February 14, 2012 - VALENTINE'S DAY!

08. February 18, 2012 - Stella McCartney Fashion show with Nick's mom.

09. February 21, 2012 - Brit Awards!

10. February 22, 2012 - They attend a party together. (Nick might have been DJing?)

11. February 23, 2012 - Harry spotted leaving Nick Grimshaw's flat in the same outfit he was wearing the night before.

The morning of February 23rd One Direction flies to the US for their tour and doesn't return to the UK until April 24th, 2012.

This trip is supposedly where Haylor 1.0 happens.  Harry supposedly meets Taylor at the KCA’s on March 31 and they fall for one another.  Taylor supposedly goes to NYC to be with Harry (even though she spends the whole time with Dianna) during the first week of April.  Then they supposedly enter into a long distance relationship that is broken up because Harry was seen out with another girl.

All the while the last thing Harry does before he leaves the UK is spend the night with Nick and then the first thing he does is goes back to him.

Yeah, I’m not buying Haylor 1.0 it seems pretty clear to me that Taylor wanted to pin I Knew You Were Trouble on Harry as a big pop anthem to support her transition to pop.  I think it’s even possible they faked Harry being spotted out with that girl or perhaps he and Nick had some kind of agreement.  I’m not saying Gryles was always exclusive (they may have been), but regardless I don’t see Red era Taylor being cool enough to share her boyfriend with a man.

12. April 25, 2012 - Nick and Harry out together the morning after he returned.

Harry also calls into Nick's radio show on the 25th and confirms that the first thing he did upon returning on the 24th was meet up with Nick and Matt Fincham for drinks so one can theorize he probably crashed w/ Nick that night.

Harry goes to LA by himself on May 1st and returns to the UK on the 5th.

May 5th, 2012 - Harry out with Annie Mac and Nick. (Thanks to my anon for clueing me into this little gem of information.)

13. May 7th, 2012 - Harry and Nick out with friends

One Direction goes to Sweden from May 10th to May 16th.

14. May 17, 2012 - The Sun reports Harry driving Nick to work.

Also out shopping together

15. May 19, 2012 - Nick posts a picture to his instragram from the Kanye West/Jay Z show at the O2.

Who cares right? So he went to see a show. But then.

Hey guess what happened the very next day? One Direction flew to Boston on May 20th, 2012 to start their summer tour in the U.S. They're gone from the 20th to July 3rd.

16. July 5, 2012 - Nick and Harry attend the launch of Tinie Tempah's shoes line.

There's some downtime and vacation time here where Harry disappears for a week while Louis is France w/ Eleanor, Niall goes to Spain, Liam and Danielle are on vacation, etc and then One Direction goes back to work July 11th recording and doing photo shoots.

17. July 19, 2012 - Harry goes out with Nick and Aimee and tweets this.

18. August 10, 2012 - Harry attends Nick's 28th birthday party at La Bodega Negra.

Pregaming before the party!

Outside La Bodega Negra

19. August 11, 2012 - Primrose Hill picnic

20. August 20, 2012 - One Direction visit Nick at BBCR1 to announce their headlining of the BBC Radio 1 Teen Choice Awards.

21. August 25, 2012 -

Nick and Harry go to lunch. (Would also like to point out that they are switching places and that Harry is going to the driver's side of Nick's car :333)

and then to Reading Festival

then Nick accompanies Harry to Liam's party at Funky Buddha

and then they leave together and go see Rita Ora at G.A.Y.

22. August 26, 2012 - The morning after, Nick tweets a shot of his hangover breakfast from Harry's Range Rover (Nick owns a Mercedes).

then a lunch date with several people

They spend this entire day together and this is the day the pics of them in the grocery store  are taken where Nick buys Harry a banana, etc

and then Harry drops Nick off for his nighttime show and picks him up again to take him to/stay with him while Nick DJs at Wonderland nightclub.

(Although, lbr. Given what we learn from Nick's final nighttime show about how often Harry hung around the studio, he probably never left.)

Wonderland! (the only time that fucking song has any bearing on Harry and he’s off being a MLM king)

23. August 28, 2012 - Leaving Nick's flat

spotted in the studio w/ Nick at BBCR1

24. August 30, 2012 - Harry films the Breakfast Show advert for Nick's #Team Grimmy commercial and then they go to Mahiki Club that night.

25. August 31, 2012 - Harry goes with Nick to his DJ gig at Paradise

and then to karaoke afterward

The lo and behold One Direction flies to Florida the very next day to film their Pepsi commercial. They're gone until September 11th.

on September 6, 2012 Taylor has Sushi with Ed and Harry in LA supposedly signaling the start of Haylor 2.0 as if Harry is not fully boyfriends with Nick.

26. September 12, 2012 - Nick's final nighttime show. (this was a gif of them being cute and playing around but I was too lazy to bring it over, you get it they’re touchy, flirty, and playful):

Nick and Aimee go on vacation together from the 14th to the 18th.

27. September 18, 2012 - This dude says he spotted Harry Styles waiting in arrivals at the airport while waiting for his sister's flight to arrive insinuating perhaps Harry was traveling with Nick and Aimee:

28. September 20, 2012 - iTunes Festival where One Direction was interviewed by Nick and Annie Mac

29. Harry calls into Nick's first Breakfast Show on September 25, 2012. Then they meet up after to see Perks of Being a Wallflower together. I can't find the tweets from the ladies who saw them there, but Nick and Emma Watson confirm later that Harry was indeed there.

30. September 29, 2012 - Spotted at Waitrose together and then the following morning Nick regales his listeners with the tale of a Spinach pie he made for a ~friend~.

31. October 5th (or 6th?), 2012 - Preparation for Ladz FM

But also on October 5th, Taylor is on Nick’s show:

32. October 6, 2012 - Ladz FM

Supposedly on this show Nick gives Harry hell for Taylor, the Haylor timeline I like puts it this way:

“One Direction and Harry make an appearance on Nick’s show the following day, and they talk about Taylor on-air for 4 minutes straight. Nick teases Harry by saying “Ol’ Swiftyyyy” over and over again when she is brought up in the conversation.” Yup that’s right, Nick was giving his own boyfriend shit about his fake girlfriend 😭😭😭 this is why I fuck w Nick’s energy.

then they went for lunch in notting hill (no Taylor? why not Harry aren’t you so happy to be back with her and in love w her?)

33. October 7, 2012 - BBC Teen Choice Awards

One Direction doing promotion for the new album.

Paris - October 11, 2012

Ireland - October 12, 2012

Manchester - October 16, 2012

Leeds - October 17, 2012

34. October 19, 2012 - Lunch in London

October 31 - One Direction in Spain

Early November One Direction goes to the US for Ellen, X Factor USA, and The Today Show. After The Today Show Harry flies to LA while the rest of One Direction goes back to London. Harry writes a song with the lead singer of Snow Patrol and rumors start flying about him hooking up with Taylor Swift.

Harry arrives back in London on November 16, 2012.

35. November 16, 2012 - Children in Need benefit concert

November 30th One Direction goes back to the U.S. for one off shows and MSG show. Haylor happens.

Harry returns to London on December 8th via Taylor's private jet and plays the Jingle Ball with the rest of One Direction. Harry and Taylor tour the UK together until December 15th when Taylor leaves for France.  Meanwhile Dianna heads out on a mystery 14 hour long flight on December 14th.

36. December 16, 2012 - Roast Dinner!

One Direction returns to the U.S. for the X Factor USA finale. Harry stays in the U.S. and goes on a ski vacation with Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, and Selena Gomez.

He returns to the UK on December 24th.

37. December 25, 2012 - Late night Christmas leftovers. (Yes they’re spending Christmas together, that’s boyfriend behavior!)

Harry and Nick both leave London on the 29th (Nick for Puerto Rico and Harry for NYC) Harry spends New Years with Taylor and Nick spends New Years with Pixie, Aimee, and the rest of the hipster crew. Harry and Taylor then fly to Gorda British Virgin Islands where they are supposed to vacation until the 7th. Taylor leaves on the 4th and Harry goes to Necker Island alone. Tabloids say Harry and Taylor have broken up.

And that’s it for Haylor!

Harry arrives back in the UK on January 8th

38. January 8, 2013 - Sushi lunch date! (tweet confirming nick was also there.)

and harry with the girl who tweeted it.

39. January 10, 2013 - Tinie Tempah's GQ dinner.

The party was for people on the British GQ best dressed list (Nick was on it. Harry was not.)

Jessie J puts a picture of the table cards from her table on instagram. Harry doesn't have one which, you know. I'll just be here imagining him as Nick's + 1.

One Direction fly to Ghana on the 12th or 13th and return on the 15th. On the 16th Harry calls into Grimmy’s show to talk about how Fincham DOES NOT LOOK LIKE A MEMBER OF ONE DIRECTION. Finchy asks Harry when he’s back and Harry says “in a couple of days”. (Small side note here that I don’t think Finchy and Harry are at the level of friends where they keep track of one another’s schedules so the only way Finchy could have known that Harry was heading back out of town to Japan that very day is if Nick told him.)

One Direction in Japan from January 16th to the 20th.

I'm not going to count this as a time they were together because I have no hard evidence, but the night of January 20th Harry was spotted in a grocery store buying wine and Annie Mac mentions on her show that Nick ditched coming over for dinner that evening to have a friend round to his house instead. We assume it was Harry, but w/o actual proof I don't want to say it concretely.

40. January 21, 2013 - Baking for Radio 1! (Tweet confirming the friend was Harry.)

Nick tells this story the morning of the 22nd about how he forgot he had to bake, so he got up from bed, went to the store for supplies, and forgot eggs. So, he texted his friend who was coming over to bring eggs and then Nick baked while his friend yelled at him to add more butter.

41. January 22, 2013 - Watching Great British Bake Off

Do what you will with this one. Obviously there is not definite way to tell if this is Harry or not, but given the evidence of the amount of time they spend together that has been laid forth thus far, I feel comfortable saying those are indeed Harry's legs.

42. January 31, 2013 - Out for Harry's birthday at La Bodega Negra (the same place they celebrated Nick's birthday.)

Nick also went to Groucho Club afterward with Harry and mentioned on his show this morning that he hadn't slept at all. (He was still wearing the same outfit.)

43. February 1, 2013 - Aimee tweets about being in the car with Nick en route to play Laser Quest. (Can't imagine who they might be playing with.)

Nick tweeted this :)

Never

Getting

Over

This

February 19, 2013 - PreBrit Awards Dinner Hosted by Nick!

THEIR SMILEY LITTLE FACES. :3

Legit SHARING A TAXI ON THE WAY HOME

2/20/13 - At the Brit Awards together!

Leaving an after party!

taking a cab to Nick's house so Nick can change for work

hands hands hands

At Nick's flat

 2/21/13 - On The Breakfast show the morning after the Brits!

Harry on The Breakfast Show!

2/23/2013 - Nick attends One Direction's first show at the O2 in London

THE DROUGHT IS OVER!!!

8/21/2013 - Nick interviews Harry, Zayn, and Liam for TBS

Then Nick and Harry hook up later for dinner.

September 12, 2013

Harry gets off the plane from LAX, gets on the tube and meets Nick at an Elton John concert

Harry and Nick's dad at the concert, posted to Nick's instagram.

September 13, 2013

This person says they saw nick and Harry at Apartment 58 (members only club) together

https://twitter.com/LightbownL/status/378610145271771136

But, Sadie Frost also posted a picture of her and Nick getting ready to go out for LFW with no mention of Harry, so the tweet could be false facts.

But then! September 14, 2013

Sadie posts this picture of Nick sleeping on her sofa

Followed by this picture of Harry posing with her daughter

And then Nick and Harry went to Henry Hollands show at LFW together

Then to a pub with Gemma, Kelly Osborn and others

Then to dinner with James Corden and his wife

September 15, 2013

September 17, 2013 - Fashion Show East in London

November 9, 2013 - Breakfast with Anne and Robin at the Wolseley.

So Anne tweeted this in the morning. You can see the Wolseley logo at the top of the plate.

Then this girl got a pic with Harry at the Wolseley during his breakfast with Anne and Robin.

and she confirmed that Nick was eating with them https://twitter.com/alexandra_imper/status/400204985222193152

Then off to Selfridges to shop!

At Alexa Chung's birthday party!

November 10, 2013 - Ladz instagram and Aimee Phillips birthday party!

LADZ VIDEO!

November 30, 2013

Harry playing with Puppy at Nick's house.

Poppy Delevingne's hen party!

Leaving Groucho club.

December 1, 2013

Primrose Hill lighting ceremony!

Nick with Daisy Lowe and his dad!

Then this girl met Nick

https://twitter.com/rpcheald/status/407224559687852032/photo/1

and saw Harry

https://twitter.com/rpcheald/status/407209332858552320

Class of '92 movie premiere

Nick and his dad on the red carpet

Harry meeting Beckham!

December 4, 2013 - London Fashion Awards

February 17, 2014 - Taking a random taxi ride?????

and leaving Nick's flat

March 29, 2014

Sleepover at Harry's house!

Nick posted this on instagram

http://instagram.com/p/mHpTBdPJyt/

At the time we weren't sure it was Harry's drive but...

https://twitter.com/cuppanarryx/status/481310537817399296/photo/1

Hiya, doggie.

Also Nick's tweet from the morning after just because.

https://twitter.com/grimmers/status/449814322399940609

May 24, 2014 - Radio 1's Big Weekend

May 28, 2014 - Barry's BC London

And link to post about the other tweets x

June 8, 2014

Nick attends One Directions show at Wembley Stadium.

June 12, 2014

Harry at Nick driving around London in a Ferrari.

and another tweet about the Ferarri sighting.

https://twitter.com/ItsJustMikey/status/477133631602065408

Then later that evening Harry went to Nick's for his World Cup barbecue and fans took pics with Harry outside Nick's house.

[moldisgoodforyou]

don’t tell her

wordcount: 1.4k 

____

That weekend was a whirlwind for Rafe - he packed all his things overnight and booked a flight to get back to Columbus by Saturday. Colin picked him up from the airport, greeting him with a big grin. “Welcome back, Cameron!” 

“Thanks, man. Missed you.” Rafe pulled him into a quick hug before hauling his suitcase into the car. “You’re sure your parents are still cool with me staying over?” 

“Yeah, yeah, they’re chill.” Colin waved his hand in dismissal. “April hasn’t shut up about it since I told her you were coming - and since I told her that she needs to leave you alone,” he added with a scowl. 

Rafe laughed, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine. I do, uh, have another problem though.” 

Colin just raised one eyebrow in response. 

“You remember Brooklyn? That girl I -” 

“Rafe.” 

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, wary of the tone of Colin’s voice and the glare he was receiving. “What?” 

“Do not mess up what you have with Sophie.” 

Rafe’s eyes went wide and he shook his head quickly. “No, no! Not that, god, I would never. No, it’s just, she got an internship at Jeni’s too, and I can’t tell if I should be worried about it or not.” 

“Oh.” Colin frowned, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Both he and James were not fans of Brooklyn, and tried to make that clear several times while she and Rafe were dating, but he wouldn’t listen. “She was pretty bitchy to Sophie when they met, right?” 

“It was bad, yeah. But here’s the thing, like, she knows Sophie and I are together, and she’s in a different department anyways, so it’ll be fine. Right?” Rafe offered, starting to nervously pick at the leather on his watch band. 

Colin noticed right away and reached over, swatting his hand away. “Quit. If she’s in a different department, it shouldn’t be a big deal.” 

“Okay, so what about Sophie?” 

“Don’t tell her, man.” 

Rafe furrowed his brow, unsure. “Don’t tell her? I don’t know…” 

“Look, the last thing she needs while she’s in Barcelona is to be worrying about you working with your ex. Just stay from Brooklyn and you’ll be fine.” Colin reasoned. The more Rafe thought about it, the more it sounded like solid advice - he didn’t need to stress Sophie out more than she already was when there was nothing to worry about.

_

Rafe had never been more wrong. The internship program was way more involved than just show up to work, do your job and leave like he anticipated - their schedule was full of networking events, weekly hangouts with all the interns at dinner after work or at the bar. Brooklyn also went out of her way to walk by his desk on the regular - leaving Rafe to force a somewhat-friendly grimace every time so he didn’t seem like an asshole to his coworkers. It was slowly wearing down on him day-by-day, but he was convinced by Colin that it wasn’t worth mentioning to Sophie. He’d just grin and bear it the rest of the summer - doable, right? 

Every time he FaceTimed Sophie, it got harder and harder to not spill the secret. She caught on after his first week of work, interrupting his questions all about her job and classes. “What’s going on?” 

“...What?” 

She frowned, starting to twist the ends of her hair as a nervous habit. “You haven’t told me hardly anything about your internship. Do you not like it?” 

“Oh.” He shrugged. “It’s alright? We haven’t done much.” 

“Okay, but I want to hear about it. Do you like your boss, are the other interns cool, did you get me some ice cream yet?” She teased, hoping to see his smile. 

He was more distracted, focusing on what he couldn’t say. “My boss is nice. The interns are, um, fine, we haven’t done much together. We have plans to meet up at some bar tonight. What was your last question?” 

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek, not liking his hesitancy. “Nothing, just joking. Has staying at Colin’s been okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s nice to be with him again, his parents are cool too. And I think I’m gonna see Allie and Julia later this week.” He grinned. “Julia insisted I take them out on a date night.” 

Sophie smiled fondly, loving that he could hang out with her friends so easily. “I’m sure she did. April hasn’t given you any trouble, right?” 

“Uh.” He hedged. She’d been more flirty than usual, but it was all easy to ignore for him - and honestly, he didn’t pick up on any of her more subtle cues. “Not really?” 

As if on cue, April walked into Rafe’s room unannounced, wearing a skimpy bikini and positioning herself so she was fully in Sophie’s view on the FaceTime call. “I heard my name. Who are you talking to?”

“Hi April,” Sophie said dryly, clearly annoyed.

“Oh, hi.” April’s voice immediately fell flat, then turned back to syrupy sweet when she addressed Rafe. “Rafe, are you coming out to the pool? I need help putting sunscreen on my back, I can’t reach,” she pouted. 

“Uh, yeah, maybe in a bit, if Colin goes out too.” He replied, oblivious to her scheme. Sophie could see right through it, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Will you bring me a popsicle if you do? The long red ones.” She asked, putting a subtle emphasis on long. 

“Yeah, sure.” He nodded distractedly, keeping his attention on Sophie and her now-pissed expression. April smiled, satisfied, and strolled away, and Rafe got up to close his door before talking again. “Something up, Soph?” 

“Call her back. I want to talk to her.” She told him, her nose flaring a little. 

“What? No. You don’t want to talk with me?” Rafe furrowed his brow, confused. 

“Fine, then, go find Colin and let me talk to him. And for the love of god, do not get her a damn popsicle. Is she always like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like - are you kidding me?” Sophie scoffed, shaking her head and putting on a higher-pitched voice. “Bring me a popsicle, Rafe, put some sunscreen on my back, Rafe, let me suck your dick, Rafe -” 

“Sophie!” He exclaimed, laughing. “Okay, fine, maybe I see your point, a little bit. But she’s harmless. And I’m in love with you, remember that.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, yeah, I still don’t like her coming onto you.” Sophie’s name was called again from her roommates in the living room, trying to coax her to go out, and she grumbled, leaning over to grab her things - and was well aware she was giving him a view, not wearing a bra under her loose-fitting low-cut top. “Look, I have to go, but -” 

“Did you mean to do that?” Rafe interrupted with his eyes suddenly glazed over. She resisted a giggle at how damn easy it was to switch his focus. “Do what? I don’t know what you mean.” 

He wore a slight flush on his cheeks. “You - your -” He stuttered, then shook his head. “Um, have fun. Text me when you’re home safe, alright?” 

“You got it.” She grinned and blew him a kiss, then hung up. Once his initial shock wore off, a few minutes later, he texted her:

- You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing more of that later

She laughed reading his message, and shot back a quick response:

- send me a voice message and you have yourself a deal

He cocked his head, reading the reply. 

- A voice message? 

- yes, a picture on your end doesn’t quite do the trick 

His responses came in a quick succession. 

- Oh 

- OH 

- You’re dirty

She just sent back the angel emoji in response.

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney​

[unioncolours]

Fic: CLEAR

Genre: Fluff, slice of life, this has barely a plot

Pairing: implied Shikajin

Lenght: 2,2k

Inojin notices Shikadai behaves oddly. Something is not right and Inojin is determined to find out what it is, and help him when needed.

Alternatively: This is a brainworm that has lived in my head since April 2020. You’re welcome. 

Please read down below and keep reading! 🖤

 CLEAR

They were sitting out in the meadow bordering to the Nara Forest, just talking about this and that, passing time, like they liked to do, just the two of them.

It was a beautiful day in Konoha and Inojin enjoyed this afternoon immensely. He finished the juice they had with them, swallowing the final drop of liquid, as some guests peeked out of the edge of the forest a bit away from them.

Two deer.

Inojin liked the deer. Not the same extent the Naras did, but he found them beautiful to look at. That was why he became so excited when he saw the brown animals sniffing the fresh spring air out in the open.

“Look!” Inojin whispered, looking at the deer. He didn’t dare pointing at them, in case his movement would spook them.

Shikadai looked up and stared. Just stared. He didn’t say anything, just let his gaze wander along the line of trees. Inojin looked at him, waiting for a response.

It didn’t come.

Shikadai’s wrinkle between his eyebrows let Inojin know he was confused.

“The deer,” Inojin said and pointed at them. “Over there. By the big tree.”

Shikadai stared some more before breaking out in a smile.

“Aaah,” he said. “Yes. They are brave when they come out here. Normally they hide inside.” He nudged Inojin gently. “They’ve gotten so used to you, since you come here so often as well.”

He laid down flat on his back, closing his eyes. Inojin looked at him, feeling a little but concerned by the weird reaction. Shikadai’s peaceful face was however enough to calm him down. Maybe he just had been a little bit tired. Inojin followed him down on the ground and let his eyes close as well.

  The next time Inojin noticed Shikadai was behaving oddly was when they watched TV. There was a humour show going on, where the participants had signs with funny text written on them, and even the funniest jokes didn’t immediately warrant a laugh from Shikadai. The laugh came delayed, after Inojin had laughed and after the narrator read the signs out loud and Inojin found that odd.

And after that he found a lot of different moments that only served as proof to his theory. Shikadai didn’t tell hi to friends who walked the opposite direction towards before it was almost too late and both Inojin and Chocho noticed training didn’t go as well as before. This behaviour spanned on for a couple of weeks, before Inojin finally decided to confront him.

“Can you read what it says on that sign?”

They were out on a market square and Inojin had spotted a sign for a teashop a bit away from them, golden text against black metal. It seemed like the perfect text to test Shikadai.

“Which sign?” Shikadai sounded indifferent.

“The teashop sign,” Inojin said. He followed carefully how Shikadai’s eyes darted across all the signs along the streets. He didn’t seem to find the sign. “Black and gold,” Inojin helped even more.

“I don’t know,” Shikadai finally muttered. “I can’t see the sign you’re referring to.”

Inojin grabbed Shikadai’s arm and gently dragged him with him.

“Tell me when you see it,” he said, and they walked closer and closer to the sign. Inojin waited with anticipation for the moment when Shikadai would see the golden text.

“There,” Shikadai said when they were close to the sign. “Golden Leaf – Tea Shop.”

“Yes,” Inojin said. He took a deep breath before opening his mouth. “You know, I saw this text from where we were standing at first. It was sharp and clear from the very start.”

Shikadai was quiet for a while and Inojin gave him all the room to puzzle through the reality.

“It’s not normal to not see it sharply before at this length from it,” Inojin continued softly. “You don’t see things well far away, isn’t that right?”

Shikadai stared up at the sign, clearly irritated at it.

“I guess,” he finally muttered. He sounded angry. Defeated. He turned around to walk back to where they had walked from.

“It’s easily fixed,” Inojin said, trying to level down the situation. He followed Shikadai, who had his eyes steadily fixed on something invisible in front of him. “Hey. Talk to me.”

“This is just so troublesome,” Shikadai muttered.

“But easily fixed,” Inojin continued, on purposely sounding light-hearted. Shikadai shrugged. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Dunno,” Shikadai said.

“You seem like it,” Inojin said. “It’s fine. It is nothing weird to wear glasses. Sarada does it.”

“Sarada has worn them since she was like three years old,” Shikadai retorted, as if that was the only allowed age to have decreased eyesight if one was younger than fifty.

“And it doesn’t matter,” Inojin continued. “What matters is that you don’t seem to see things like deer in your own forest. That we have managed missions so far is a miracle. What if you get hurt because you didn’t see something approaching you, or someone in camo clothing? And what if your eyesight continues worsen? What then?”

Shikadai pressed his hands down his pockets, annoyed, but he knew Inojin was right. He didn’t see faces of people standing further away from him. Animals disappeared for him among the green and brown of forests, the colours blurring together. He couldn’t always read texts in the tv if he didn’t sit closer than the sofa.

He could work around his weakness, and it had worked thus far, but it only worked so far and so long. Soon he’d begin to suffer from not seeing. The worst part was the colours blurring together. Roots in the ground weren’t as visible anymore and he had tripped a few times.

“I’ll talk to my parents,” Shikadai finally said.

“Good,” Inojin said.

   Shikadai stared out of the window while eating dinner with his parents. He saw a big lump of green from the trees, individual leaves not existing for him, only a big green cloud with blurred edges. He stared at the blurry edge, feeling angry, because why wouldn’t his eyes make them sharp again like they once had been?

“Dad,” he finally said, accepting defeat. “I don’t think I see that well anymore.”

Both Shikamaru and Temari looked up.

“What do you mean?” Temari asked.

“I can’t… see things far away,” Shikadai said. “Like the leaves outside.” Both his parents looked out of the window at the leaves in question. “They’re all blurry. I can’t see deer in our forest. I can’t read signs if they’re not close to me.”

For some reason he had expected them to be disappointed. Disappointed in him and his body for not following the perfect shinobi mould. Instead, they offered empathic glances.

“How long have you noticed this going on?” Shikamaru asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Shikadai said. “It’s not like you notice when it happens. Probably for months. All of a sudden it hits you that you can’t see. And I’ve tried to work around it, tried to ignore it and make up alternative ways of working where sharp eyesight isn’t necessary so no one would know. I thought I could defeat it on my own, you know. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

To his surprise, Shikamaru just shook his head fondly and chuckled.

“Awfully stubborn as usual,” he said. “You should have told us as soon as you noticed something was up. It’s okay, Shikadai. Let’s appoint a time for you to an eye doctor and get it checked.”

Shikadai sighed, not knowing how to feel. Partly relieved that he would get to see well again, but also annoyed at having failed making this on his own.

He was a stubborn boy, but one that finally accepted his little weakness.

    “I want to come with you to choose your glasses!” Inojin pouted in the phone when Shikadai called him after the visit to the optician.

“No, I want to choose myself without your input,” Shikadai replied, voice filled with warmth, as he sipped a bit of the milkshake he had bought himself as a reward after the weird experience of having someone shining bright lights in his eyes and having him look at letters, red and green, dots and stripes through prisms and glasses. “I’ll go back to choose frames soon after my milkshake.”

“Choose something colourful!”

“Never,” Shikadai smiled to his phone, sipping some more. “You have to wait until your eyes suck as well.”

“What if mine never sucks?” Inojin teased.

“Hah ha,” Shikadai said dryly. “My milkshake is empty now. I’ll go back and choose some frames for me. They’ll come in a couple of weeks, whichever I choose.”

“You’re going to be so cute,” Inojin said and Shikadai blushed a bit.

“Bye,” he said and his voice sounded like a sunny smile.

   The couple of weeks rushed by. Shikadai lived in the world he was used to and that had become his normal, with leaves not visible and faces he couldn’t recognise. It was what he was used to, and he was a bit nervous as he walked into the opticians’ shop to fetch his glasses. Now something was going to change, he wasn’t going to have to squint all the time or accept some information was inaccessible for him.

And something was going to change about his appearance as well. He didn’t care about that part too much and was more concerned about other hassle that came with glasses.

His first thought when he got the glasses on was disappointment when he became hyper-focused on the black frames around his eyes. So, I am going to look at this all the time, huh? He even expressed his concerns and the optician promised him he’d get used to it and he’d forget they’re there. He’d even forget to feel them on his nose and around his ears. She warned him he could be dizzy or feel nauseous, but he just had to get used to see again without straining his eyes. Seemed fair.

Everything seemed okay and Shikadai walked out of the store, only to stop and just stare.

Everything was so clear. Edges were so sharp he wasn’t even able to comprehend this was normal and this was what the world looked like with a clear eyesight, something he now realised he hadn’t had for months. The depth of his surrounding felt different as well and he walked as in a daze, just staring around him through clear glass with the right adjustments and strength.

He had learned how to recognise Inojin even with the weakened sight of him – it was hard to miss the whirlwind with blond hair and most often purple clothes, but now he could look at Inojin’s features without standing close to him.

Shikadai could see Inojin’s face and despite him feeling like walking on clouds thanks to his depth perception feeling off when he just had everything corrected, he walked faster up to him. His own face cracked up in a smile.

“Hi, handsome,” Inojin said when he was closer. “Oh, they look really good!”

Shikadai put his hand instinctively up and touched the temple pieces. It still felt very new and odd.

“Hehe, thanks,” he said. “Do I look smarter now?”

“You look gorgeous as always,” Inojin said. “Milkshakes?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai said, still feeling the glasses on the side of his face.

He spent the day marvelling at the world around him. Feeling shocked at the brightness, the everything he hadn’t known he was missing out on. The milkshake tasted extra good, despite his head feeling weird from the new perception of his surroundings. It helped also that Inojin smiled to him in that terribly sweet way all the time.

   Two deer were peacefully munching on the grass and Shikadai was sitting on the other side of the river. He observed them while aimlessly touching his face, feeling what would become his new normal and every day. He could see them sharply, every thine on their antlers clear as they’ve never been before-

His parents had taken a look at him and nodded affirmatively when he had come home with the added aid to his face, but they had not drawn any attention to it. Shikadai was grateful for it. This was nothing spectacular after all, just a new look on him and nothing more. When he had gotten used to the glasses, and he took them off before bed or a shower, he couldn’t understand he had once been satisfied with blur around him.

“How many deer do you see?” Inojin asked.

“Three,” Shikadai snorted back at him.

“Good,” Inojin said. “Was just gonna check if you’re eyes work.”

“I hate you,” Shikadai jokingly said and affectionally pushed Inojin.

“Have I told you how good you look in those?” Inojin asked, through a little laugh.

“I don’t need to look good; I need to see!” Shikadai replied, knowing well that Inojin had been staring at him nonstop since a few weeks back when he received his spectacles the first time.

“Sure thing you do, sure thing,” Inojin said and leaned against Shikadai, lacing their fingers together as the deer peacefully kept munching on.

 The End