#i wish i could take my shoes to the cobbler

[heatheniousmaterials]

Cobblers (people who make/repair shoes) are another trade tragically taken from us

Like, no, I don't WANT to buy new shoes, I want the shoes I have to be FIXED

where the fuck did the phrase ‘fits like a glove’ come from. ive never worn a glove that fit perfectly in my entire life.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat. 

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance. 

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you. 

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you. 

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times. 

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind. 

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him. 

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker. 

His texts became constant, then invasive. 

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform. 

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again. 

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things. 

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address. 

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway. 

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change. 

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits. 

Things you had never shared with anyone. 

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence. 

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence. 

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew. 

The letters were even worse. 

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets. 

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments. 

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well. 

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night. 

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know. 

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight. 

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat. 

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home. 

As with the other terrors, it began subtly. 

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look. 

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable. 

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness. 

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days. 

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known. 

It doesn’t shout or approach. 

It simply waits. 

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move. 

Always lurking just out of reach. 

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched. 

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you. 

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching. 

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps. 

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you. 

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out. 

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone. 

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe. 

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder. 

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice. 

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence. 

Just beyond the walls. 

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room. 

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest. 

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more. 

It’s not a text message. 

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach. 

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight. 

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously. 

The Targaryen summer house. 

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs. 

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure. 

You remember the day clearly. 

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros. 

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets. 

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue. 

Your stomach turns. 

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face. 

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there. 

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake. 

The message confirms your deepest fear. 

This isn’t a recent obsession. 

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories. 

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go. 

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind. 

How long have they been there? 

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers. 

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault. 

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel. 

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles. 

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts. 

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up. 

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper, 

“-you know” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”  

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye. 

Does he not believe you? 

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss. 

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?” 

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video. 

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back, 

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh” 

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that, 

“Aemond, please, I have more” 

You sound so small. So defeated. 

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry. 

So cold. 

Maybe it’s what you deserve? 

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain” 

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago. 

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you. 

“Go on then” 

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare. 

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream. 

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me” 

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless. 

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb, 

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you” 

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs. 

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly, 

“Thank you, Aemond” 

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath. 

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting. 

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.  

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within. 

Another knock. 

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear. 

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom. 

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out. 

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor. 

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it. 

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written. 

This note is different. 

Let me in. 

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you. 

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day. 

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you. 

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government. 

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply. 

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary. 

Will this be your new normal? 

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves” 

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him. 

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long. 

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa, 

“You can stay here as long as you want” 

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you” 

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him. 

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner. 

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot. 

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up. 

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening. 

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him, 

“Thank you. For everything today” 

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting. 

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe” 

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip. 

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back. 

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking. 

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear, 

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin. 

“Me too”, you sigh. 

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more. 

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand. 

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown, 

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean” 

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more. 

“I’m not. You know what I want” 

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea. 

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him. 

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it. 

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe. 

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you. 

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat. 

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you. 

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin. 

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance. 

He’s laughing. 

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock” 

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him. 

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape. 

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much. 

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks, 

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better” 

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path. 

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it. 

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night, 

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek, 

“Good girl” 

After that day, things change. 

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar. 

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully. 

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort. 

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away. 

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone. 

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read. 

He's always near. 

Always ready. 

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 26 - Divine

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

Dust and rocks crunched under the Drifter's boots as he approached Eris Morn at her station on the Moon.

Eris's lip quirked up into a smile when she heard the sound. He was making noise as he walked on purpose to let her know he was there. She knew his gait instantly.

"Drifter." She addressed him, wondering if he had waited until the last Guardian had transmatted away and, if so, how long he had been waiting. It could not have been long or she would have smelled him.

"Hey, Three-Eyes! Came as soon as I could. What’s this mysterious thing you need me to see?"

Eris stepped toward him and clasped his hand in hers warmly.

"It is in a cave in the Anchor of Light. There will be Fallen on the way. May we take your Sparrow?"

"Yeah we can do that. We’ll have to snuggle, though. And it may be a bit more bumpy than you're used to."

"I am accustomed to walking."

"Right, well, this will definitely be faster than that. Wanna ride shotgun or drive?"

"I would prefer to drive."

"Ha. You say that now, but you might regret that."

. . .

A few moments later Eris was frowning as the Drifter climbed in behind her. It was a tight fit but that was not the source of her displeasure. The Sparrow engine made a grinding noise as she tried to turn the ignition. The vehicle lurched to the side but did not move forward.

"How is this even remotely tolerable to you?"

"Well, up until now I’ve been the only one that’s had to deal with it, and I’m used to it."

"It doesn’t even start."

"It starts, you just have to jiggle it a bit, give me your hand."

He put his chin as close to her shoulder as he could without pressing it into the Hive chitin on her pauldrons and reached around her, wrapping his gloved hand around her own.

"Like this." He jiggled and then twisted the switch hard. The engine begrudgingly kicked in and began to rumble in an unstable fashion.

"It sounds as though it is about to fall apart."

"I mean, you’re not wrong. We could walk."

"No. You will shoot and I will drive."

"You got it."

She pushed the accelerator and felt the vehicle churn as it responded, only to have to course correct to avoid driving them into a rock wall.

"Why does it pull to the left?"

"Ah yeah, that." He said in her ear as they picked up speed. "I’ve been meaning to fix that but I never got around to it. I’ve just gotten used to compensating for it."

"I’ve seen you build functional machines out of garbage. You have the competency. Why have you not fixed this?

"There’s this old saying, the cobbler's children have no shoes."

"People who make footwear abuse their children?"

"Nah, it’s just you do something all day every day and then you neglect that thing for yourself. You do it too. Like a lot."

"I doubt that."

"Yeah? How much rest and self care do you do when I’m not around, unofficial therapist of the Vanguard?"

"Hmmm… Two on your left.'

"On it."

The Drifter shifted behind her and his scout rifle began to fire.

. . .

"Well this sure is a spooky cave."

"You should see the Hellmouth sometime." Eris' glowing orb hovered above her hand as the Drifter followed.

"I’ll pass. Wha-"

Eris caught him as he began to slide down a rough incline. Gravel and dust continued past where his boots had stopped. They slid into a dark pit.

"Tread carefully."

"I am treading carefully. I just can't see in the dark like you."

"Take my hand. I will guide you."

The path was winding and steep but Eris' grip was firm and he did not slip again.

After a few minutes the cave opened up into a larger chamber.

"Here. This is what I needed you to see." She held her Ahamkara bone up high. Its light was largely swallowed by the surrounding darkness.

"You may wish to add some flame to the Soulfire," she added.

The Drifter snapped his fingers and a flaming coin appeared between them. He held it in front of him.

"Moondust… am I seein' what I think I’m seein?"

"I believe so."

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked as he walked forward. "Someone pulling a prank on you?"

"Unlikely."

A large sigil was scratched into the floor. A four-lobed flower. Eris’ symbol, the Bane of the Swarm, the same one she had on all her charms and wore on her chestplate. It was several feet in diameter. The scratches were uneven and deep, as though they had been made by claws.

The Drifter walked across it to what could only be a stone altar at one end of the cavern. He held the flame in his hand up to the knee-high figure in the middle of the altar presiding over the room.

It was a rough-hewn effigy of a human figure made of stone. Crude armour made of rotting Hive chitin had been affixed to it with distinctive pointed pauldrons at the shoulders. In one hand it held a sword carved from bone with a very distinctive knife-point perpendicular to the blade affixed to the tip of it. A spherical green stone was in the other hand. In the figure's face were three finger-width holes containing small green stones.

"Huh. How’d you even find it?"

"I was led here."

"Led? By what?"

"A Thrall."

"Come again?" He looked back at her.

"It groveled to me and did not attack."

"What happened to it after you got here?"

"It left. Still groveling. Backwards out the way we came."

"You didn’t think they were trapping you in here?"

"It would not have ended well for them if they had."

"Huh. So they are worshiping you now?"

"I do not know. It is a shrine, but… Hive worship is usually some form of death: theirs or someone else’s."

"I mean, you were a god to them."

"I was."

"Have you showed this to anyone else?"

"I wanted your thoughts first."

"I mean, it’s certainly new behaviour that’s for sure. Do you think you can… control them?"

"The lesser Hive are easily controlled magically for short periods of time. They will cower to anyone with sufficient power."

"But for more than that? If they worship you, do you think they'd like… do what you want, long-term?"

"Doubtful. I have no way to receive their tithes. Their own worms would devour them."

"Wild. Has it changed since you were last here?"

"Hmmm… perhaps there is more detail? I cannot tell for certain."

"I wonder what would happen if you… leave them something here."

"I don’t know what I would leave, or why."

"Well, they wanted you to see it. Maybe something to… I don’t know… acknowledge them?"

"And what might accomplish that?"

"I mean, I’m just grasping at straws here but… nah that’s a terrible idea never mind."

"Speak."

"That’s a statue of you, right?"

"Mmhmm"

"It’s just, Hive are really into bodily fluids for some reason… usually pullin’ them outta other people, mind you… but… maybe smear some of your eye goo on the statue’s eyes maybe? Sorta like… peeing on it, without actually, you know, peeing on it? Claiming it in a way?"

"Crude, but… there is internal consistency in your logic… and it works within the principles of contagion magic. Very well."

Eris pulled her hand out from under her Ahamkara bone. It remained hovering beside her. She removed the gauntlet from her left hand and reached up to her cheek, sliding the tips of index, middle, and ring fingers through the paracausal tears flowing from below the bandage she wore around her eyes. Then she stepped forward and placed those fingers into the three eye-holes of the statue, drawing them down to leave dark streaks on the stone.

Hissing echoed through the tunnels.

"Uh." The Drifter held up his flaming coin, looking around nervously.

Louder hissing seemed to answer the call of the first.

Eris tugged her gauntlet back on and summoned her orb to her hand. "We should leave."

"Yeah."

"Stay close." She drew her sword.

"Don’t have to tell me twice, Sister." He moved behind her, his coin in one hand, his hand cannon in the other.

"Of all the things to call me." Eris began leading him back the way they had come.

"Fine, Lover."

"Hmmm…"

"Hmmm yourself," he said near her ear as the hissing seemed to swirl around them. "You’re smiling. I can hear it in your hmmm."

"Hmmm…"

They heard the sounds of claws scrabbling along stone in the distance.

"Faster," Eris said and began to move more quickly.

The Drifter matched her pace. "Can you make a portal to get us out quicker?"

"If necessary, although it would also make plain our position."

They heard more hissing coming from behind them. It was louder.

"Oh I think they already know we’re here."

"But which ones, I wonder."

"Let’s not stick around to find out."

"Agreed."

A dead Eliksni lay beside the Drifter’s sparrow when they emerged from the mouth of the cave. Its entrails had been ripped out. Its limbs were splayed in an unnatural configuration.

A wrench was still clasped tightly in one three-fingered hand. It held a wire rifle in another. The ammunition cartridge had been spent. A Marauder cloaking device had been pulled off of its belt and smashed. Bits of its other two hands were still embedded in the sparrow itself.

"Uh… " The Drifter looked down on the dead body with confusion.

"They protected your sparrow ."

"That's unfortunate," he said dryly. "It wasn't worth dying for. "

"I'm sorry. If it's any consolation we probably would have had to defend ourselves from it on our way out."

"Maybe. Still sucks."

"Yes."

The Drifter crouched down and pulled the dismembered fingers out of the vehicle. He dropped them into the hole in the middle of the corpse.

"Looks um… displayed," he said, Trust dangling from his fingers as he examined the body.

"An attempt at communication."

"Ghost!" The Drifter's ghost appeared at his shoulder. "Scan that." The ghost began to do as he asked.

"Maybe we can get them to communicate less violently?"

"Doubtful," Eris answered him. "This is the Hive."

The Drifter's eyes flickered to the empty tunnel mouth and then returned to the corpse.

"House of Devils." He muttered looking at what was left of its clothing. "That's weird. You ever seen House of Devils on the Moon?"

The Drifter's ghost emitted its single tone to announce it had completed its scan and disappeared.

"I am not certain. I do not believe so. I thought the House of Devils operated primarily on Earth"

"So did I. Never seen 'em on the Moon but you hang out here more than I do."

Hissing and scratching echoed up through the tunnel mouth. It sounded very close.

Eris mounted the sparrow and after a couple of tries, got it running.

"Are you coming?" she asked him.

The Drifter nodded. He paused to fold the dead Eliksni's four arms over its chest cavity and covered its head with what was left of the tattered cape bearing the sigil of its house.

"Best I can do." He told the corpse before standing and climbing on the back of the sparrow behind Eris. "Let's go."

The Sparrow made a grinding sound and lurched. Eris growled at the controls. The engine coughed and sputtered.

The Drifter reached down and picked up the wrench from the dead Eliksni. He gave the sparrow a sharp smack with it just in front of Eris' left knee.

The Sparrow's engine roared to life. Eris sighed and began driving them back across the lunar surface to Sanctuary.

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[vishnavishivaa]

Ch 3- Hopes and Wishes ( Kaavyam )

@vibishalakshman and I are backkk!

*****

Vishva was in a hurry to get home. His cousin, Suresh, had let slip that Jeevika would be at his house with Kaamaakshi that day, and he wanted to see her, especially after the long day he had, coupled with a bad feeling of something big coming his way, case wise.

He rushed in through the door, hastily taking off his shoes. His sister smirked at him and made an excuse to leave at that moment, exiting into the kitchen and leaving him alone with Jeevika.

*”Vishva! Hey,” she smiled softly, her sweet voice like nectar to his tensed self. He automatically relaxed, leaning into the couch next to her, just needing to be close.

"Hello, Jeevika," he said softly. He ran his eyes over her face, wondering how it was possible for any woman to look this beautiful.

“Are you okay?”

Her gentle concern filled his heart with delight, her warm gray eyes making him smile in delight almost. 

“I am… now.”

Her small smile melted his heart instantly. He would do anything for her to be his- but he'd rather he suffer without her than make her suffer with him.

“Home, hmm?��� She smiled softly. “You know, this home is like home to me too?” 

He brightened. Was it really?

"You're practically family, Jeevika." He whispered. Oh, if only he could really make her family.

“Really? Practically family? Akka and Anna have been pushing me to move in, actually,” she blushed.

Oh, he'd love it if she moved in! But could he really see her every day at home and resist the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her?

*”I don’t want to push myself into living here though, Vishva. I would be a burden for you all,” she said sadly, diverting him from his work stress with purposeful words that made him suddenly realize what she was doing.

"A burden? Why would it be a burden?" He asked, confused. When had Jeevika ever been a burden to him or his family?

“No no, I’m not saying you think of me as one. I am saying, what if I become one?” She said softly. “I love being here, but what if you three get bored of me? What then?”

"We could never get bored of you," he said firmly, "You don't get bored of family. That's not how it works."

She smiled softly. 

“I’m glad you think of me so, Vishva,” she reached out to pat his hand. “Now tell me, what’s bothering you. You can’t hide from family, right?”

He gave her a tired smile. "Just a bad feeling about work." He frowned, "I need to talk to Varun to see if he feels the same."

“He will be here soon, he said,” Jeevika responded. “He has just gone to get me chocolate ice cream. I was craving, and.."

"And Varun can never resist you." He said with a knowing smile.

“Best friend’s charm,” she giggled softly. “Hey, I am making him peach cobbler in return, so…”

"Would I like some? Absolutely." He smiled. Jeevika was, in his not so humble opinion, the absolute best at cooking. He would never turn down food from her.

“I kept you in mind before offering it for him too,” she laughed. “It will be enough for the whole group of us.”

"Good. Akka and Anna will get mad otherwise."

“Okay so, I have been thinking to do a food drive to raise money for the cancer patients at the Apollo cancer ward. What do you think?”

"I think that's a great idea." He said, smiling at her kindness.

“Will you help?” She looked at him with such beautifully hopeful eyes. How could he deny her?

"Of course I will." He said softly. More time with Jeevika and helping people in need? He would never refuse.

She smiled at him and was about to ask something, when of course someone interrupted. 

“Jeevi!”

“Yes Anna?” Jeevika turned to Aakaash, who had just come out of his room, or man cave as Vishva teased him. 

“Will you ask the designer to come for the event? I want to thank her for such a perfect suit. Really, it fits like a glove.”

Vishva laughed at his brother. "Finally decided to make an appearance?"

Jeevika smiled at him, elbowing Vishva. "I already planned to, Anna."

“You read my mind, baby sister. Vaalu, you just came home da. How was your day?” Aakaash looked at Vishva in concern, just as Kaamaakshi came out. 

“Well, dinner is almost done,” she smiled softly. “We are having peas pulao, and Jeevi’s potato karamadhu.”

"Nothing, Anna, don't worry. And I'm starving, so let's go eat!" He said cheerfully.

****

Vishva frowned, tensed as he heard the details of the case. His bad feeling had inteunsified that morning, despite seeing Jeevika’s lovely face.

He looked up as Varun walked in, sighing in relief.

"Varun!" He called him over.

Varun walked towards Vishva, frowning at his friend’s tense frame. 

“What happened? You were smiling this morning at the house?”

"Do you have...a bad feeling that something is going to come up?" He asked, rubbing his forehead. It had slowly turned into somewhat of a headache for him.

“I did, actually…” Varun said slowly. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head. "I don't know... the Commissioner wanted us to take a case and I've been feeling off about it. He just handed me the file, I've yet to look in it. Didn't want to start without you."

“I’m here, let’s do this.” 

Varun sat next to Vishva, the latter opening the file, and both reading the details, horrified.

"So our uneasiness was justified." He groaned.

"You bet it was."

“Let’s start then, Varun,” Vishva said, taking over once more, focused completely.

****

Pandimaa poured over her recent designs, crumpling the paper and throwing it away. Her room was filled with various pictures: dresses, awards, designs- all interspersed with pictures of her foster brother and Aakaash from when she was in college.

The sound of the shop opening reached her ears. She had to go and attend to a customer it seems. 

She walked out, only to hear a familiar voice say, “are we at the right place, Jeevi?”

“Yes Akka, I am sure of it,” came a sweet voice.

Her eyebrows furrowed. It almost sounded like Kaamaakshi- the girl was only a year younger than her, born three years after Aakaash. They had shared a lot of classes together.

"Welcome to Authentic Madurai, how may I help you?" She asked sweetly.

Kaamaakshi’s eyes widened. 

“Pandimaa? Is that you?”

So it was Kaamaakshi. She smiled and invited them inside. "Considering your shock, I'm going to guess your friend brought you here?"

“She did. Pandimaa, this is Jeevika. Jeevi, this is Pandimaa, you would have heard about her from Anna,” said Kaamaakshi frankly. 

“I have indeed! It’s a pleasure to meet you. Aakaash Anna loved the suit!” Jeevika said. “It was I who ordered it for him. He keeps… forgetting, apparently.”

She sounded incredibly skeptical when she said that.

Pandimaa blushed. "He might have just wanted you to do it." She said, "Do you want some tea?"

“That would be lovely,” Kaamaakshi smiled. 

“He absolutely did, so that he can make me order Vishva and Varun’s too,” Jeevika said. “He does not have an assistant, so I basically seem to have become a fusion of people for these two siblings.”

Pandimaa laughed, pouring them some green tea. "How are you both?"

“We are good. How are you? Where have you been?” Kaamaakshi said. “Anna kept searching for you. He was nearing the thought of asking Vishva to find you.”

Nandhini's heart melted. He'd searched for her? Really? She had assumed he would have moved on after a while. Hoped, really.

"An anonymous person got me in touch with my birth family in college and I moved away." She said. "I finished most of my education abroad and then moved to Madurai to start my own fashion business. I managed to get back in touch with Anna but not... not Aakaash."

“Do you want to get back in touch with Anna? Becoming the CEO made him have to shift into private numbers and emails,” Kaamaakshi said apologetically. “But he did try to find you. Jeevi even knows all about it.”

Pandimaa bit her lip softly. "I don't want to interrupt his life if it's going fine without me," she said firmly, "But if he wants me, then yes."

“He always wants you,” Jeevika said. “I have heard a lot about you from him in our late night Maggi sessions.”

So clearly he and Jeevika were close. She figured as much from the internet, which hinted at potential romances between Jeevika and someone in the family but Pandimaa had paid it no mind. People commonly speculated whom celebrities were dating.

"I'd love to reconnect with him then," she smiled, a text on her phone gaining her attention.

“Then come for our event? Let Anna meet you as a surprise from Jeevi and I?” Kaamaakshi said, pulling out the invite.

"Hm?" She said, shooting a quick reply after frowning. "Oh! Yes, I'd love to."

“Here you go. The dress code is inside,” smiled Kaamaakshi. “Let’s exchange numbers, and Jeevi and I will get going.”

Pandimaa smiled and nodded before handing over her phone. "Just type your number in. And I have Jeevika's too, from when she placed the order."

Kaamaakshi typed the digits in, saving her number and smiling. 

“Send me a text, yes?”

"Sure," she nodded, shooting her a quick 'Hi'.

“It was good to see you, Pandu,” Kaamaakshi smiled, hugging her gently. “Let��s go, Jeevi.”

Jeevika smiled and said her own goodbyes before both left, arms linked and giggling about something like best friends do.

Pandimaa smiled down at the invitation and opened up to see the dress code. Oh, she could work with this.

****

@vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @nspwriteups @whippersnappersbookworm @ragkee @chemicalmindedlotus @dr-scribbler @willkatfanfromasia @balladedutempsjadis @freeunknownwasteland @ramcharanobsessed @gemmusings @vijaysena @thirst4light @hollogramhallucination @chiyaanvikram @moon-880 @sakhiiii @thereader-radhika @ambidextrousarcher @celestesinsight @yehsahihai @thegleamingmoon @dumdaradumdaradum @rang-lo @yehsahihai @ragkee sorry to all those I forgot to tag!  Let me know your thoughts.  

[tokensofmyconfections]

Wake up

I find myself looking at a mirror again, the strange dream clawing me to consciousness. Or was it a dream? I can barely recalled it but I try to focus on making myself look presentable.

I still have a few more years before my mandated military service begins, but if I could, I wish I could delay it for much longer... not many of my friends who went before me came back and those that did returned slightly off. It scared me, but it's for the Eusan Nation and the greater good of the people. Why should I be afraid of duty?

Pulling on a warm jacket from my school uniform, leaving my room to head to the front of my home with my grandparents to help out before I go for the day, opening the door leading to the shop expecting to see the replika my grandparents hired to help with the kitchen. I see a note on the wall from my grandparents saying that they were going out to buy things for the bakery and sweetshop as well as a request for me to not forget to get my school shoes from the cobbler's as they should be finished being repaired. I smiled and go into the shop.

"Morning Maryann," I called out, being courteous so I didn't startle her again with what she called my silent gait... but I stop as a scent hit my nose.

It wasn't copper-y like gestalt blood normally is but... I rush into the room and I find Lilith on the floor, having spat up a good portion of her oxidant blue blood as she seemed to curl in on herself like how i used to as child when my stomach hurt.

"Mary? You ok? Do I need to call-" I rapidly start to ask when she pulled me down to the floor by my outstretched arm.

"H-hide," She choked out, more of her oxidant blood trying to pour past her lips.

I was about to ask her from what when her hand slipped from my arm and hit the floor just as I heard something gurgle and moan just beyond the serving counter. Despite her warning, I take a peek.

[periwinckles]

Letters from New Panem - Part 8

CHAPTER 8 - Who the hell is Mr Bingley?

Tuesdays are the worst. Rye and I have the early shift. I don't mind doing an early shift on Wednesdays or Fridays, when I do them with my Dad and Wheaton, but Tuesdays are a different story, because I have to do all the prepping AND drag my lazy brother out of bed on top of that. By the time 8 o'clock rolls around and I'm heading to school I'm already completely worn out. I make plans to nap in the afternoon after my shift, when Delly comes barreling to me. 

"We've got new letters." She blurts out in a loud voice before she even reaches me. Her eyes are wide, and I sense a hint of panic in her voice. 

"Delly, what's wrong?" I ask her "Will Miss Smoak be handing letters again in class?" 

First period is always History of Panem which is sort of a drag if you are a baker and keep odd hours. Most of the time I could only keep myself awake by leaning back on my chair a bit and pretending to look outside, when I was really just observing Katniss. 

Delly takes a red envelope from her pocket, and I notice it's already opened. 

"I bumped into Miss Smoak next to the drinking fountain and she gave me mine already. I got here early and you know how adamant I am with hydration, and I thought , oh Peeta, i really thought the letter we got yesterday was the only letter we were going to get, but apparently not, and I was happy with it, i really was, Delly Cartwright, District cobbler, what more could I wish for really? I mean being a cobbler is an underrated profession, Peeta, what would people do without shoes? They would hurt themselves walking barefoot, not to mention completely freeze themselves in the winter, I mean who wants cold feet right?" 

She takes a deep breath and I'm not sure if there was a question for me there, but I feel like it was so I just nod. 

"Oh, just read it!" she nearly screams as she shoves her letter into my hand with a surprising amount of force for such a mellow person.

Delly Cartwright, age 19

Occupation: District cobbler 

Place of residence: District 12, Mayor's Mansion

Read the rest on AO3.

Also who wants an out-take of Madge x Rye? Should I write it in Madge's POV or Rye's?

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

Oh dear Patchy, I seem to be having a villain problem, one Shigaraki Tomura, to be exact. If it's not too much trouble, could you brew me up a little something to help?

(I adore your games and am practically vibrating to see everyone's potions!)

Hello dear traveler, I am so very excited to meet with you; I always love seeing new faces around here and providing them with all the potions their heart needs.

And I do very much thank you for your kind words, I do try hard to curate the best possible outcome for those that ask for my services, and I hope I am able to provide the same for you.

You knew you weren’t suppose to like him. Knew that, as a person of your status there were certain rules that pertained to you and how you could be associated with; and especially certain rules on who you may court and unltimately marry.

And a cobbler was certainly not one of them.

Especially one that worked within darkness and shadow, and though he was incredibly skilled, he was always covered in filth from the dyes and waxes he used. And yet Shigaraki Tomura was the one your heart gravitated to.

You didn’t see him as lowly or filthy, you just saw him as a man who was passionate about his work; and how that passion overtook the need for appearances. You would admit, however, that light, being within the warmth of the sun, would do him many favours; but you understood why he lived the way he lived. And you couldn’t help but constantly partake in his services.

Over and over again you would visit his little cart, buying shoes you had no need for just for the chance of a brief interaction with him, only for said shoes to be neatly tucked away within your wardrobe - to never be worn or see the light of day - for they were too pretty, and you wished not to wreak his craftsmenship.

That being said, you had no issue tearing, bending, snapping, and overall breaking those shoes you did own - ones made by other hands - just so you could have yet another excuse to ask for his assistance in repairing them; they always did end up looking better than before when crafted by his hands.

Though you cared little about status, or money, you knew that if you truly wished to follow your heart, you had to actually act on it; you could not just rely on spending your coin on his services and prendting it meant anything more any longer.

But the problem was, he never spoke to you. Only curt nods and hums in response to your greetings, questions, and gratitude. How were you suppose to follow your heart if you did not know if where you heart led to was one of promise?

You supposed that was the structure of what love was; that oft times you would have to go through heartache and rejection in order to find where it was meant to go. But rejection you could handle, it was the unknown due to his lack of proper interaction with you that left you stumped on what to do.

And, as a last resort, you went went to a peddler.

For desperate times called for despereate measure; and though you didn’t believe potions were anything more than coloured and oddly tasting liquid that truly didn’t do much, you were willing to believe and take a chance this once if it meant it could help you with your current struggle.

She bestowed to you a bright golden liquid, a flare of sun, with the promise that one touch would allow a person to see the brightness of the world around them; and what better way to make him speak the truths in his heart over that?

You had your doubts, of course you did. Words tied together in riddles always left your skeptical over if it was truly authenticious; but there was no harm in tyring. No harm in placing a few drops on yet another slipper whose heel you had purposefully broken for him to touch and fix.

Which you did, not waitied on baited breathe when you handed over the limp and lifeless shoe his way; eyes looking fondly, as they always had, when turned the slipper over and over and inspected it.

“I like when you visit” he mumbled, hands already beginning his work as he began delicately hammer small nails in place.

“Pardon?” You retorted, head shaking to break you out of any posible stupor you might have found yourself in - clearly not believing he was speaking to you.

“I like when you visit” He mumbled again, though more clearly “I like it when you’re around, I think your company is lovely.”

He finally looked up at you, briefly, but you still managed to catch his eye; and how bright they were. His ruby eyes, normally so dull and lifeless as they regarded you, were full of life and brighter than ever before - like a shimmer jewel. You coudln’t help but admit that perhaps the peddler was right, especially at his next words.

“I would love more of it, if possible.”

I do hope you kept some of that potion, it is always useful to garner truth out of people - should you want it. Though I will advise, and allow you to advise your new partner, avoid looking at bright lights for the next day or so - you might end up temporarily blind.

[jacqueline-p-rose]

I did this exact thing last year looking for comfortable shoes to take on holiday. I never ended up wearing them and now I’m going away again in a month and still want comfy walking shoes but I’m hesitating because I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I wish there was some way I could like, I don’t know, spend a year living in a small apartment over a Parisian cobbler’s shop where instead of paying rent, I work the counter and deal with customers so Pieter (Pieter is the cobbler’s name, his mother is Dutch) can focus on his work. He’s kind of standoffish at first and doesn’t want to be distracted (that’s why he hired me), but he appreciates the extra dusting and sorting I do without being asked and softens over time. He teaches me French out of frustration, but he’s a patient teacher and I take to it like a duck to water. I teach him how to laugh at himself and not take life so seriously. He notices my ratty old pair of cheap, mass manufactured, Palladium sneaker-boots, and offers to make me a pair of “real” walking shoes in return for some of that fresh bread he smells baking upstairs every morning, and the chance to take me out to dinner some time. I accept, and that Thursday evening we share a bottle of wine over a picnic by the Seine. It’s not as romantic as it sounds, there’s people everywhere with the same idea, it’s noisy and we have no privacy to speak of. Disappointed and discouraged, Pieter walks me back to my apartment in near silence, but he needn’t be worried, it’s not the romance of Paris I’m after, it’s the romance of human connection. In the pigeon stained alleyway behind the cobbler’s shop we share a kiss more intoxicating than the wine. The next day he begins measuring me for my new shoes, taking my stockinged feet in his hands as gently as if they were priceless works of art in the Louvre. He uses the softest kangaroo leather and moulds it to my feet like papier mâché. We fall properly in love. We raise a clutch of abandoned pigeons together through the spring. My shoes are finished and fit like making tender love. We share coffee and small pastries on my apartment balcony every morning through the summer. Come autumn and my shoe’s are broken in, but Pieter is breaking up. He’s learned to love and wants more, he wants the one thing I can’t give him: children. My heart is shattered by rejection, and the end of lease is coming up. I put in my two weeks notice and bid Pieter a wrenching farewell. I return home with nothing but a kaleidoscope of beautiful and bitter memories, and my perfect, hand-crafted, comfortable walking shoes. Really that’s all I want, and is that too much to ask? Or like, a decent online sizing guide. I swear each company just makes it up as they go.

I hate shopping and always try to rush through it and basically now I have some shoes that I thought fit but now clearly don't and my feet are being crushéd. Which is bad because if anything I hate having crushéd feet more than I hate shopping. Don't be like me. Also this has happened a bunch of other times in the past

[erin-bo-berin]

Enemies Closer

MASTERLIST

Happy smutty Spencer Saturday! This fic has been hidden in the depths of my brain for way too long. I knew I wanted to do an enemies to lover fic for a while but didn’t have much more for it until recently. The title comes from the famous saying “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”.

I want to say a big thank you to all of my followers who sent in quips, jabs and bantery remarks. I tried to use them all because they were all so wonderful. Thank you to @dreatine @andiebeaword @sammy-jo1977 @redbullchick and the numerous anons who contributed. Also a big thank you to @multifandommandy for coming up with the idea of the reader interviewing the little girl, it really helped move the story along and add to it. I appreciate all your ideas and help 💕

Okay, enjoy the 10k words of sassy, smutty Spencer Reid. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 10,088

Spencer was walking back to his desk when he heard JJ’s voice.

“Really? When?”

There was a pause on her end of the phone conversation. She looked up and saw Spencer, immediately waving him over.

Spencer’s interest was piqued. He wondered what was going on, especially since there was a huge grin on her face. He approached her desk just as JJ spoke again.

“That sounds great, mom. I can’t wait.”

Spencer smiled. JJ and her mom were extremely close and he always looked forward to her visits—she made the best triple chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted. He opened his mouth to tell her to say hi from him, when she practically read his mind.

“By the way Spencer says hi.” 

JJ shot him a wink, grinning at the fact that she knew him well enough to know exactly what he was about to say. He chuckled to himself. They definitely were close enough to know what one another was thinking.

“Sounds good. See you then. Bye.”

JJ hung up her phone, turning in her chair to face him fully.

“Is your mom coming to visit?”

“She is,” JJ smiled, “And she’s bringing your favorite triple chocolate chip cookies.”

“Bless that woman,” he chuckled.

“There’s also something else,” JJ trailed off nervously, a flicker of worry in her blue eyes.

“What?”

“Y/N’s visiting too...and she’s kinda stuck with me, or well us for the next week. So if we get a case, she’s coming with us.”

Spencer groaned loudly.

“Why?”

“Mom has a business seminar in downtown D.C. and you know Will took the boys to Disney World this week. I’m not going to make her sit at home alone for a week.”

“Why? It would be for the greater good of humanity. I’ll even be willing to chip in for a hotel room for her,” Spencer said, hoping JJ would actually take him up on the offer, “Particularly one across the country.” 

“Spencer,” JJ eyed him warily, “Emily already said it was okay. She knows to stay out of the way while we work.”

“Yet she’s always in my way.”

“Spence, she’s not that bad. Why do you hate her so much?” she asked.

“Last time she visited she “accidentally” spilled an entire pot of coffee on my favorite work shirt!” Spencer protested.

“Just like you “accidentally” locked her in an interrogation room?” JJ raised a brow.

Yeah, that hadn’t been his finest moment. But she had driven him crazy that day.

“She wandered in there on her own. I was just helping the situation along,” he shrugged innocently.

“You’re lucky she didn’t burn the building down,” JJ mumbled.

“Yeah, well, she pushed me to my limit that day. Sorry.”

“What is it with you two? You fight worse than her and I ever did.”

“She’s annoying, rude and drives me crazy. I honestly can’t believe she’s your sister, let alone related to you. JJ, you know I love you, but I just can’t stand her. We’re just two completely different people that probably will never get along.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ held her hands up in defeat, “At least try to be on your best behavior?”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Hey, look at it this way. At least you get cookies,” she stood, patting his arm before walking away.

He was positive even cookies wouldn’t make up for this.

•

“Y/N while you’re here, can you please try to be nice to your sister’s coworkers?”

You suppressed a groan.

You were currently in the elevator with your mother at the FBI in Quantico, riding up the numerous floors to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, where your sister JJ worked. In your arms were a stack of containers, filled with sweets your mom had made for the team.

There were her famous triple chocolate chip cookies made with milk, dark and white chocolate chips, some apple cobbler, cupcakes and even a strawberry pie. JJ’s team were suckers for Sandy Jareau’s delicacies.

“Mom, I love the team. They’re like extended family, you know that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Your mom gave you a look that you swore only mothers could perfect. It was partly calling out your bullshit and part disciplinary all at the same time. It was amazing, really, 29 years old and you were still getting the “you better not act out” look from her. What were you, eight?

“I mean that lovely Dr. Reid. You’re always so mean to him.”

“He starts it.”

Okay, maybe you were eight.

“Y/N.”

The warning tone in her voice was all you needed to keep your mouth shut.

“All I’m saying is I don’t want another call from JJ saying you’ve gotten locked in an interrogation room and almost got arrested for assaulting a FBI agent.”

“Okay that was one time!” you said, exasperated, “Granted, it wasn’t my finest hour. But still. It’s not like I’m that bad all the time.”

“Really?” your mom looked at you, all knowingly, “What about that one time at JJ’s housewarming party?”

“I swear I didn’t glue his shoes to the floor!”

In your defense, that had been Derek Morgan, back when he was still working in the FBI, prior to his resignation. Of course though, no one believed that he had done it, apparently including your mother.

“Whether you did it or not, that’s not the point. You would’ve done it given the opportunity.”

You couldn’t deny that. 

“Just don’t stress JJ out any more than she is. She said when the two of you are fighting it’s like trying to corral two feisty chihuahuas.”

You sighed, defeated.

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior mom.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you’d arrived at your designated floor and the metal doors slid open to reveal your sister and of course, Spencer.

Spencer Reid, the biggest nemesis of your entire life.

He was absolutely infuriating. 

Tall, imposing, three PhDs, IQ of 187, Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s right, he wasn’t just Agent Reid, he was Dr. Reid. It was eye roll inducing.

He was a know-it-all, quite literally. If anyone said something even the slightest bit wrong, he didn’t hesitate to correct them. A person could breathe wrong and he’d probably correct that.

He constantly spewed facts. That was annoying enough in itself. You had no idea how JJ put up with it. But then again she was best friends with the guy. That blew your mind enough in itself.

If he wasn’t so annoying, he might actually be attractive. With a stature of over six feet, he was lean but without being a beanpole. His light brown curls always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and/or never taken a brush to his hair. His eyes were definitely interesting though. You could never tell if they were brown, green or maybe even hazel.

Not that you’d been paying that close of attention. Nor did you care.

He had significantly more facial hair than the last time you’d seen him. Not a bad look for him, you had to give him that.

JJ once told you that a college class he’d taught for two weeks was filled with nothing but young girls auditing his course. She said it had confused Spencer. It confused you too cause you didn’t see how he was that attractive. He was kinda cute, if you liked the whole snobby, genius who doesn’t brush his hair, smartass type.

Oddly enough, you’d known him for half your life, yet couldn’t recall how or when you started hating him. It just seems like it had been that way all along, when in fact, it hadn’t.

“Mom! Y/N!” JJ exclaimed, grinning wide.

You felt a burst of happiness in your chest. You’d missed your sister. Despite the 11 year age difference, you guys were close growing up.

You were still a baby when your older sister Rosalyn had committed suicide, so you didn’t remember much about her, sadly. It was really hard on JJ as she was the one to find her. But as she’d told you much later, you’d helped her grieve. Reliving memories and keeping Rosalyn’s memory alive in sharing stories with you helped her heal after such a traumatic situation. It was often that you’d wished you’d had the chance to know your oldest sister, but with her death came an impenetrable close bond between you and JJ.

JJ immediately wrapped her arms around your mother, hugging her tight. You gave a nod of your head, your arms too full to be able to hug her at the moment.

“I’ll just go put these in the briefing room,” you said.

You turned, aiming to head through the glass doors of the BAU’s entrance, but instead ran right into Spencer.

“Here, I got it,” he took several of the boxes out of your arms so you could see properly again, “If only to save you from injuring anyone else.”

“My knight in shining armor,” you muttered sarcastically.

“Watch where you’re going next time.”

“You watch where you’re going. Besides, I didn’t need your help,” you retorted.

“Obviously, you did,” Spencer mumbled, following you through the doors.

You hadn’t even made it all the way through the entrance when you heard your mom and JJ sigh in unison. You heard JJ’s words loud and clear, as well.

“They’re already bickering less than five minutes in. Must be a new record.”

It kinda was. Usually, the two of you managed to avoid each other until the inevitable crossing of paths occurred. Today, though, you both had started in, right off the bat.

You placed the numerous arrays of desserts on the round table, knowing by tomorrow they’d pretty much all be gone.

“You’re welcome for the help,” Spencer snarked, setting down the few containers he’d carried.

You couldn’t help it, you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t ask for it. So there’s no reason to thank you.”

“It’s the polite thing to do. Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t know how to be polite. My bad.”

You glared at him, the hatred stirring in your gut.

“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure to see you again, Y/N, but it hasn’t,” Spencer said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go greet your mother who actually deserves and appreciates my kindness.”

“Kindness, my ass,” you muttered as he walked away.

He turned, almost to the door.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you smiled in a fake, sweet matter.

He scoffed, turning and walking away.

Only when his back was turned did your fake demeanor drop and you stuck your tongue out at him.

This man would be the death of you yet.

•

“Penelope just got us a case. Luckily, it’s right here in our backyard so you can just sit in while we work. But please try to control your mouth.”

“JJ, I’m almost 30 years old,” you replied.

“Yes, but you still have a sharp tongue.”

“I promise not to make a scene, cause any trouble or be in the way. I know you have to work Jayj.”

After a round of greetings and hugs from the team and promises to stay longer when she returned from her business seminar, your mom had dashed off, leaving you at the BAU.

You looked up to see Emily Prentiss, JJ’s friend and boss motioning for her to join them in the briefing room.

“The team has to be debriefed about this case. Are you going to be okay here?”

You spun back and forth in her desk chair, motioning to the book you’d brought to read.

“I’ll be fine. Go work,” you shooed her.

JJ bounded off and up the stairs to the meeting and you picked up your book, ready to be entranced by the wonderful fantasy world of your book, far away from your reality.

-

“Why do people read that garbage? It does nothing but fills a person’s head with nonsense. It’s stupid and a waste of time. Although, now that I think of it, that’s probably a perfect fit for you.”

You peered up over the edge of your book.

You’d just gotten to a good part in your book. Your heroine was just getting ready to destroy the enemy and his lair, saving her love interest from the clutches of evil. It was a shame you couldn’t throw Spencer in the cage that your heroine was saving her lover from. Now that would make the book perfect.

“I’m reading. If you don’t mind.”

“Well it offends me. At least read something good. War and Peace is a good recommendation. Good story. I read it at breakfast last weekend,” Spencer said.

You turned up your nose. Leave it to Spencer to brag about his ability to read 20,000 words a minute and offer atrocious book recommendations in the same sentence. That in itself was offensive enough to you.

“This is why you don’t get dates, isn’t it?” you snipped.

He ignored the quip. 

“I’m supposed to ask you for help with the case.”

Now this was interesting. You raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“You do realize the entire world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “There’s kids that are going missing.”

That sobered you quickly. You dropped any anger you had at him, for the moment, realizing how serious the matter was.

“How? What’s happening?”

“Four kids have gone missing. We can’t figure out how or why. They haven’t shown up yet, so we’re hopeful that they’re still alive,” Spencer said, lips narrowed into a thin line.

“What do you need my help for then?”

“Because to understand what happened to them, we need to profile these kids.”

•

“Okay so we know from his parents, six year old Erik Yates was incredibly shy,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard where the pictures of the four missing children were hung.

“He wouldn’t have talked to his own school teacher, let alone a stranger,” David Rossi said.

“But his best friend, Carlos Hoffman also went missing with him. They were having a sleepover, so he’d been at Erik’s house,” Emily added.

“And Carlos was the more outgoing of the two, wasn’t he?” you asked.

“Yup,” Tara said, flipping through her notes, “According to the parents, wherever Carlos went Erik was always close behind. So if they encountered a stranger, if Carlos was willing to go, Erik would likely follow.”

“I don’t know about that,” you piped in, “I’ve seen friendships like that in my class. Even if the kid is quiet, if they know something is wrong, they either say something to their friend or they just don’t do it period. I find it hard to believe that Erik would go along with someone he wasn’t comfortable with.”

“Says the one that’s not a profiler,” Spencer mumbled from where he was standing, examining the evidence board.

JJ shot him a look, before returning to the conversation. You pretended not to hear that one and for once, bit your tongue. You wouldn’t accomplish anything by arguing with Spencer at the moment.

“So let’s go back to the top,” Matt said, “Mrs. Yates went to the door and there was someone there either selling something or had an excuse made up for the unsub to guilt trip money out of her. She leaves to get her purse. The kids are in the living room playing. Then suddenly, by the time she gets back, all three are gone.”

“That’s how her story goes,” Luke said, looking through interview notes.

“What about the other children?” you asked, “How were they taken?”

“One was kidnapped at the park, the other at the grocery store,” Spencer answered.

“What if it’s someone familiar with their routines?” you asked.

You weren’t anywhere close to being a profiler, but you knew enough from JJ to sort of get by in this conversation.

“A lot of my kids and their families have strict routines. Usually because it benefits the child and/or they have other children that they keep on a schedule too. Wouldn’t that mean that it’s someone that they know?”

“It could,” Emily said, “But unfortunately that doesn’t narrow down much because the unsub could also just be stalking these families before the kidnapping. The unsub could potentially be a complete stranger to them.”

“Have you asked the parents of the children if they could think of anyone who could do this? Is there anyone that might overlap with these families?” you inquired.

JJ had opened her mouth to answer you, but of course, Spencer had to add his two cents. 

“Are you an idiot? Of course, we did,” Spencer snapped, “That’s always the first thing we do.”

You bristled. Even when working together, he couldn’t be civil. He had the nerve to try and insult you and make you feel stupid, even though all you were trying to do was help.

“I’m not an idiot, Spencer,” you grit out.

“Oh really? You sure do act like one sometimes,” he retorted, writing something on the board.

Your defenses snapped back into place and you were ready to shoot back a remark when JJ interrupted you.

“Hey, hey, you guys. Quit it before I have to send you both into separate corners for timeout. We’re all on the same team here, trying to accomplish the same thing. Let’s just focus.”

“Matt, Dave, JJ, I want you to go and reinterview the parents. Y/N has a point. We need to make absolutely sure there’s no one in these families lives that connect with one another,” Emily ordered.

“Luke, Tara; both of you go to the schools. See if there’s been any strangers lurking around. We can’t rule out a sexual predator just yet, but it would help vastly if we could.”

“Penelope, you and I are going to work on a deep dive of these families.”

Garcia’s face scrunched at Emily’s order; she hated diving into people’s personal lives, but unfortunately it sometimes came with the job.

“We’re going to make sure that these parents aren’t holding back any secrets that could possibly help us.”

Emily turned towards you and Spencer next.

“Spence, I want you to start on a geo profile, see if we can figure out the vicinity of the unsub’s hunting grounds. Maybe we might even be able to find where he’s holding them.”

“On it.”

Spencer was already grabbing a map, spreading it across the round table.

“Y/N, I want you to help him.”

Spencer’s head snapped up.

“Hell no. Emily please-”

She held up her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. That’s an order. If you disobey, I will put you behind a desk for a month.”

He relented, but you could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Not like you were pleased at all by it either.

“Try not to burn the room down while you’re working,” she instructed, walking out to meet Garcia in her lair.

Once she left, Spencer spun towards you.

“Let’s get one thing clear. You’re not to bother me while I work. You stay out of my way. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. I can do my work just fine without you. I’ve been doing it for 15 years,” he snapped.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. Even I can tell when your IQ gets slashed to 60.”

“That’s the best you got, Y/N? I didn’t realize they let bimbos into the FBI. Oh wait...that’s right. I’m the one that’s the actual agent here. What is it you do again?”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. You know that, you dumbass or else I wouldn’t be here helping you.”

“Oh, guess there’s no sleeping to the top in that field. Although, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Your fists clenched. Spencer made you mad like no other could. Not even JJ could ever make you this mad.

“Just sit down and shut up while the adults work, okay?” he sneered at you.

“I’m not a child!”

You crossed your arms defensively. You weren’t about to let him get in all the insults. Ignoring him never worked, he was too obnoxious. So you just played it like he did, by slinging insults like dodgeballs at him.

“Well if you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like a child!” he threw back.

His eyes were blazing, his cheeks gone pink from his anger. 

“Funny because you act more immature than my kindergartners.”

“WILL YOU TWO CAN IT AND GET TO WORK?!”

You both jumped at the sound of Garcia yelling from the bullpen. She made the motion that she’d be keeping her eyes on you two. You threw one more scowl Spencer’s way before flopping down on the sofa on the other side of the room.

This week was going to last an eternity.

•

Two days passed with no luck on finding an unsub, but they’d managed to put a profile together based on what little they did know.

The entire team was worried and on edge. Of course, that made the situation between you and Spencer even more volatile.

“Are you sure you’re an actual qualified agent? All you do is stand in front of a room full of police or your team and say smart things and gesture with your hands,” you mimicked Spencer, doing exactly what he was just doing earlier while they gave the profile.

“I do not look like that! You look like a baby dinosaur who doesn’t know how to walk,” he jeered.

“Yes, you do. All I’m saying is these civil service exams must be really easy to pass nowadays, huh?” you smirked.

“You know I’d ask if you could really be any more infuriating, but I’m afraid you’d take that as a challenge,” Spencer huffed, “Besides I’m supposed to be “nice” to you, since you’ve been so helpful.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you grinned mischievously, “I’ve been what?”

“I’m just quoting what Emily said. In my opinion you’ve been more like a pain in my ass,” he mumbled, looking through one of the case files.

“Oh sure because without me, would you’ve figured out that the unsub is a woman?”

“Probably. Don’t pat yourself on the back, sweetheart. You’re no match for us real profilers, Y/N.”

“I may not be, but you’ve met your match with me, pretty boy,” the nickname falling from your lips with deep sarcasm, “You can’t help but fight with me. For some reason I get under your skin and frankly, I enjoy it. It’s nice to know you can actually squirm, Spencer Reid.”

His lips pursed and he was about to speak when the phone rang. He answered it, putting it on speaker. Garcia’s excited voice came through it.

“Reid, gather the team. You won’t believe what I’ve found.”

•

“So it turns out, one of our families did have a secret. Although, it was something we weren’t even looking for,” Penelope said.

“What’s that Garcia?” Tara asked.

“The family of the first missing child: Daisy Rowe, had a nanny once. Her name is Kali Dye.”

Garcia hit the remote button to pull up the woman’s picture on the big screen at the front of the room.

“What does she have to do with our case?” Luke asked.

She stared at him, exasperated.

“If I could finish what I was saying, you’d know,” Penelope griped.

“Okay, okay,” Luke chuckled, “Carry on.”

You lived for Luke and Penelope’s playful banter. It was like the complete opposite of you and Spencer. They liked each other at the end of the day—not to mention everyone knew deep down they were definitely attracted to one another. Their banter was flirty. Yours and Spencer’s was anything but.

“As I was saying,” Penelope continued, “Kali was the nanny to the Rowe family back in 2016 when Daisy was only two years old. There was an incident where apparently she turned her back on little Daisy playing in the backyard. Daisy got too near the pool and almost drowned. She was in the hospital for a few days afterwards. The parents were obviously furious. I’m guessing Mrs. Rowe told all her friends about it because according to my research, Kali’s nannying career was basically ruined.”

“So you think this is an act of revenge? Did she nanny for any of the other kids she kidnapped?” Emily asked.

“No, that’s where it gets weird. She seems to have no connection to these other children,” Garcia said.

“Well we know who our unsub most likely is,” JJ said, “But how are we going to find out where she and the kids are?”

“I checked for that. There’s no significant places that she would take them, her old family house isn’t even in the state and besides it’s been sold years ago,” Penelope answered.

Emily’s phone rang as the team continued to throw around ideas of where to find Kali. 

“Prentiss.”

You watched Emily’s face quickly change expressions, from neutral to shock, to worry, back to businesslike.

“Okay, bring her to Quantico. We’ll need to interview her.”

Emily hung up, turning to the team.

“The second child kidnapped, Eden Jenson just showed up at a police station in D.C. She managed to get away and ran for help. We need to interview her, but she hasn’t spoken yet. The chief of the police station is having one of his detectives drive here so we can interview her,” Emily filled the rest of the team in.

“I’ll talk to her. I’m pretty good at getting kids to talk,” Spencer said.

“Actually, I think we should let Y/N do it,” JJ said, looking at Emily.

“What?! She has no experience interviewing a witness, much less a victim!” Spencer exclaimed.

“I worked in art therapy when I was getting my degree as a teacher. I still use some in my class, plus I’m a teacher,” you said defiantly, “I know how to talk to kids.”

“I agree with JJ,” Emily said, “But Spencer, sit in with her just in case you need to intervene.”

You were sure he was going to do plenty of that.

•

An hour later, you and Spencer were sitting in front of a little, terrified Eden. Her—what you assumed were once neat—blonde pigtails were in all types of disarray. Pieces stood up everywhere while other strands came loose, hanging around her face. She was clutching her bunny stuffie, which you figured had been with her when she was kidnapped.

She had refused to talk to anyone, shrinking away frightfully at any imposing adults. You had to restrain yourself from literally pushing Spencer out the door when she shrunk even more into herself when she saw Spencer’s tall frame.

She’d been previously asked if she was hungry or thirsty in which she barely nodded. Now, she sat a bit less rigidly as she ate her Goldfish crackers and sipped on her juice box.

“Eden, my name is Y/N and this is my…friend, Spencer.”

You had to admit, you had a rough time getting that one out. 

“We just want to talk to you, okay?” you said.

The little girl just stared back at you, wide eyed.

“Do you like to color?” you asked.

Still no response.

You pulled out some paper and a pack of crayons from a bin next to the desk. You pushed them across towards her.

“Could you draw something for us?”

It took a moment of Eden staring at the items before she opened the box and picked up a crayon.

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions while you color?”

You didn’t expect an answer, so you weren’t surprised when none came.

“Are you six years old? Six is a fun age. Are you in kindergarten or first grade?”

Eden looked up at you, from underneath her lashes, just briefly, before returning to drawing.

“I’m a kindergarten teacher myself. I’m used to seeing kids your age all the time. It’s spring break though and I miss my kids terribly. Do you miss going to school?”

Spencer shifted in his seat. You knew time was a delicate thing right now, but you were trying to get her to trust you.

“Eden?” 

She looked up again. If she was surprised to hear Spencer speak for the first time, she didn’t show it.

“Could you describe the place you were at?”

Fear flashed in her eyes and she dropped her crayon, hugging tightly to her bunny.

You glared at Spencer.

“Just keep drawing, Eden. Okay? We’ll be right back,” you said, standing up, your hand a death grip on his arm.

Once the two of you had stepped out of the room and the door was closed behind you, you whirled on him.

“How can you be so stupid? I thought you were supposed to be a genius!”

“Y/N, you know we’re running on limited time to find those kids. We don’t know if Kali will hurt them or not!”

“I realize that. I’m trying to make her comfortable enough to talk about it.”

“Avoiding it doesn’t seem to be helping either,” he grimaced, hands on his hips.

“You saw what happened when you brought it up! She was terrified!”

“When dealing with a traumatized child you should tell them information about the situation they were in. It’s best they learn it from a trusted adult. Besides, it’s most likely they want to talk about it, but just don’t know how to bring it up.”

“And how would you know all of this, doctor?”

“Because contrary to your beliefs about me, I actually know how to do my job and how to do it well. I’ve dealt with things like this many times before. 60% of adults report being traumatized in childhood. 26% of children in the United States alone will witness or experience a traumatic event before the age of four.”

You blinked, unable to process so much information at once.

“Are you even human?” 

“Are you?” Spencer shot back, eyes narrowed.

“You know, with all things considered, I’d thought you’d gotten the idea that I really hate you.” you sneered.

“Really? And here I thought that was your version of flirting,” he retaliated, sarcastically.

“Moron,” you muttered under your breath.

“Now, if you’re through calling me names, I’ve got work to do,” he said, reaching behind you for the doorknob.

“Wait,” you grabbed his arm, “Just let me try again first? Please? If I get stuck or need you, I’ll let you know.”

It was some of the most civil words you’d said to him in a long time. But you didn’t want to give up on this little girl. You wanted to help her and prove to Spencer and yourself if you were being honest, that you could do it.

He must’ve noticed your serious tone and pleading eyes because he relented. He nodded and you turned to go back in.

Eden was waiting for you when you returned, back to clutching her bunny.

“Don’t you want to finish your picture?” you asked, sitting down in front of her.

She pushed it across to you.

“Oh are you done?”

She nodded.

You picked up the picture, noticing four stick figures. Two seemed to be girls, two seemed to be boys. They looked like they could represent all four missing kids.

“Are these you and your friends?” you asked gently.

She didn’t say anything for a beat, then came a soft, timid voice.

“They aren’t my friends...at least not until a few days ago.”

“My friends here, they found out that you didn’t know these other three children. Is that right?”

Eden nodded again.

“Do you know the woman who took you?”

“No,” she said, equally as quiet as before.

“You’re doing a great job, Eden,” you smiled at her, hoping to encourage her, “Just a few more questions, okay?”

Another nod.

“Can you describe where you were?”

“I...I don’t know,” her voice trembled, as if she were going to cry.

You heard the door open up behind you and you turned to see Spencer. He gave you a terse shake of his head, as if telling you now was not the time to snap at him.

“Eden?” Spencer came around to her side and crouched by her, “You remember me, right? I’m Spencer.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I want to try to help you help Miss Y/N here. To tell her what the place looked like that you were at.”

“But I don’t remember,” Eden said, frowning.

“I think you do. You know how when you’re afraid, you hide?” Spencer asked gently.

Eden nodded her answer.

“Well, that’s kinda what your brain is doing. It’s scared, so you think you can’t remember. What I want to do is have you to close your eyes and think back to before you were taken.”

“No, I’m scared,” Eden whimpered, hugging the stuffie.

“It’ll be okay. I’m right here,” he offered her his hand, which she took reluctantly, “I’ll be right here the entire time. If things get too scary, just squeeze my hand and we can stop. Alright?”

“Alright.”

She closed her eyes, listening to Spencer’s voice.

You were amazed at how soft and gentle he was with her. It was like seeing all of his razor sharp edges he displayed around you, smoothed out. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever heard him like this.

“Just focus on the sound of my voice,” Spencer whispered, “You were playing at the park. What were you doing?”

“Playing on the swing with my bunny,” she said.

“Okay, that’s good Eden, you’re doing wonderful. What do you hear?”

“Lots of kids playing. They’re very loud.”

“What happens next?”

“There’s a lady behind me. She asks if I would like to play in the sandbox with her. I told her yes but I didn’t want to get bunny dirty.”

Eden is trembling now and you eye Spencer warily. He holds his free hand up and you don’t say anything, just yet.

“Very good Eden. Did you go play in the sandbox?”

“No. She took my hand and led me away from the swings. I asked her where she’s going because the sandbox was the other way.”

“Do you want to stop, Eden?” Spencer asked.

“N-No. I a big girl like mommy always says.”

“Okay. What happened then, sweetheart?”

“She grabbed me and put her hand over my mouth. I tried screaming for my mommy, but I couldn’t. She took me to a car.”

“Can you remember what the car looked like?”

“Um, blue. It was blue. It had a lot of doors. It was long too.”

Spencer looked like he realized what she was describing.

“Did the middle door slide open and closed?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed.

“It was big inside with lots of seats. That’s all I saw before she covered my eyes.”

It sounded like an SUV or family van.

“When you were in the car, did you ride for a really long time? Or a short time?”

“A short time.”

You jotted the note down.

“One last question honey. Do you remember anything about the room you were in? What did it look like?”

“Like...like my bedroom. Only much dirtier. And old looking. There’s...there’s flowers on the wall. There’s a lot of toys, but I don’t want to play. I want to go home. Me and my friends are so scared. She’s coming back, she's coming back!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m right here.”

Eden’s eyes snapped open and he enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as she trembled.

She didn’t let go of him until her parents arrived.

•

After kicking the information over to Garcia and her being the goddess she is at finding even the most hidden information, she found the house.

The team had found her car, registered to Kali, but with a false last name. From there, Garcia looked for any run down buildings or homes for rent within 10 to 15 minutes of that park. The team agreed that Kali wouldn’t have bought a house for the simple reason of too much work. She didn’t seem to be that dedicated to a well thought out plan. That was when Garcia discovered an old house rented under the name of Kali Rowe, the same last name of the family she had been a nanny for.

You stayed behind while the team went out to rescue the children and hopefully bring Kali Dye into custody. 

They did.

All four kids were now safely reunited with their parents and Kali had been arrested and hopefully was going to get the help she needed.

Since you hadn’t been there, JJ had filled you in afterwards when everybody had gotten back. You were sitting next to one another in the briefing room, talking, while everything settled down. 

Kali Dye had been so distraught over the loss and destruction of her nannying career. Apparently at one point, she had been a wonderful nanny. What had happened with Daisy, truly was an accident. Whether she had had a mental breakdown or suffered from an unknown or untreated mental illness beforehand, they didn’t know. But she soon became desperate to prove she was a good nanny.

She kidnapped Daisy first, to prove her point. Then three other children that she’d followed, learning their schedules. 

She had taken good care of them, at least in her mind. In reality, she hadn’t hurt them or touched them one bit. She fed them, gave them all attention and all the toys they wanted, to play with.

It was a sad situation, really. But you were glad that the families had a happy ending and their children were back safely in their homes tonight.

“You did good little sis,” JJ smiled, “Keep it up and you may just have to think about switching careers.”

“No thanks,” you chuckled, “I’m happy teaching kids, not seeing them in life threatening situations. I don’t have the heart for that.”

“Spence said you did really well getting Eden to open up,” she said.

“I’m surprised he actually knows how to compliment a person, let alone me,” you scoffed.

“Y/N. Come on. What’s your deal with him? This has been going on for years now.”

“I don’t know. I just can’t stand him.”

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” JJ said, “He’s a good guy. Besides, you used to have a crush on him when you were younger.”

“Ew, did I?” 

You wrinkled your nose, trying to remember. JJ had joined the BAU when you were only 14. A lot had happened in high school, let alone the 15 years since she’d first joined. You didn’t visit her very often because of school and all of your other extracurricular activities, so you hadn’t met the team until about a year after she started.

“You don’t mean the summer after my freshman year, do you?” you asked, “Cause back then he was a cute little dweeb and it lasted like two seconds anyway. I had a case of raging hormones to the point I had a crush on just about anything male with two legs.”

You rolled your eyes, disgusted at the fact she’d even think that you’d have a crush on Spencer. Although deep down, deep, deep, deep down, a little part of you knew that she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Why do you hate him though? He’s my best friend. I love him and I want you two to get along.”

You snorted.

“Yeah, I know you love him. Remember, you told me that you told him that you’ve always loved him? That he was your first love?”

You bit your lip, trying hard to keep the jealous edge out of your tone. This is what you’d tried hard to avoid all these years. You hated that you felt like this but you’d been covering up your true feelings for him and the situation, with anger all these years. If you kept yourself at a distance, you were less likely to get hurt.

How wrong you were.

“Is that what this is about? Because I told Spence I loved him?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Y/N.”

She gave you the same look that your mother had given you in the elevator just days before.

“Jeez, you’ve got mom’s “look” down pat,” you mumbled.

“Please tell me the truth. Is my confession why you hate him?”

Her eyes pleaded with you and you couldn’t help but cave. She was your sister and your best friend and you knew she cared.

“No. I don’t know, maybe partially. But I disliked him way before that anyway. He’s just a know-it-all smartass, that annoys the shit out of me and is just like every other guy to fall head over heels in love with Jennifer Jareau.”

You grimaced, “For a guy that has an IQ of 187, he sure doesn’t know how to be different from other guys.”

“Okay hold up,” JJ held up her hands, “First of all, he is not head over heels in love with me.”

“JJ, please. You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m serious. He may have been once, but he’s not anymore. We’re best friends and that’s it. Besides, we worked out that mess over a year ago. He’s even dated since then.”

“The kid actually dates? I’m shocked,” you said, putting a hand on your chest in mock surprise.

JJ ignored your antics, continuing on.

“Second. He’s actually a really great guy, Y/N. He’s a real sweetheart, really. It’s just a side of him that you don’t see.”

“Yeah like the dark side of the moon,” you muttered.

“Just give him a chance and try to be nice? You know what mom always said. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Besides, if you want to go for him, that’s fine.”

You laughed outright at that. As if that would happen.

“On that note, I think I’m gonna head back to your place,” you said standing.

“I have to stay a little later to finish up some work. Can you get home okay on your own?”

You assured her you could and you grabbed your purse. 

“Y/N?” she called, as you were about to the glass doors.

“Yeah?” 

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

•

If you thought you were gonna get a reprieve after that uncomfortable conversation, you were sorely mistaken.

The moment you stepped out of the BAU, you saw Spencer standing, waiting for the elevator, his hands clutching the strap of his tan satchel as he waited.

“Ah, there she is. The woman who saved the day,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Fuck off Reid. I’m not in the mood.”

“You know, I’m actually shocked that you’re good at something besides bitching.”

You ignored him, your teeth clenching.

“I’m surprised you held your tongue as long as you did earlier. Bet that’s a record for you.”

The elevator doors opened and you got on without a word, Spencer following you.

“What? No comebacks? Amazing. Has Spencer Reid actually won for once?”

You whirled on him, dropping your purse to the elevator floor in the process.

“No because you’re full of shit. You’re the most annoying, stubborn ass, infuriating, egocentric, smart aleck in a fancy suit I’ve ever met!”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. He pulled his satchel over his head, dropping it too, to the floor. He pushed the emergency button of the elevator with such anger, it was amazing that he didn’t break it. The elevator suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you screeched.

Your body was thrumming with anger. You could and likely would pummel him at any second.

“You’re not leaving this elevator until you tell me what the fuck your problem is,” Spencer glared.

“My problem?” you huffed.

“Yes because I have to deal with you jumping down my throat every single time I see you. You’re the most stuck up, spoiled, self centered, bitchy little brat I’ve had to deal with!”

“Ha! You sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

“You know what I think your problem is?” he challenged.

“Go ahead, try me. I’d love to hear.”

“I think, you don’t know how to deal with how you’re really feeling. So you hide it under anger. You lash out every time your feelings threaten to surface. It’s become a defense mechanism. It’s all you know. You fight with me because it’s the only way to protect yourself; you throw words as your daggers. Simply because you can’t get me out of your mind. I push you to limits you don’t want to think about. You may swear and declare that you hate me but in reality, you’d be thrilled if I took you right up against this elevator wall.”

His voice grew deeper with every word that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Are you profiling me? Cause that’s one hell of a reach.”

“Is it though? You wanna know how I figure that? You told me the other day that I met my match. That I can’t help but fight with you because you get under my skin. Well you were right. I do enjoy it and I think you do too. Because it turns you on. It does the same thing to me. You get under my skin yet at the same time all I can think about is how I want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

“You think I’m gonna fall for that shit from just another guy who’s crazy about JJ?” you sneered.

For the first time, he actually looked just the tiniest bit surprised.

“You think I have feelings for JJ? If I had feelings for her, do you honestly think I’d spend all my time and attention on you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“JJ isn’t the one that occupies my brain, no matter what I try to do, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth.

His face was mere inches away from yours now. Close enough to see an array of scattered freckles on his face. A few under one eye, a tiny one on the side of his nose, one on his forehead.

His stubble had gotten heavier in the last few days, becoming more scruff than stubble. His lips were naturally plump, an asset that would be the envy of any woman. They were also a natural shade of dark pink, maybe even leaning towards red. 

Anger heated his eyes. Or was it desire? You wondered if you looked the same way. Right now, they looked more green in the brighter light in the elevator, but you could still see rings of brown around the edges of his eyes. They were also filled with mischief as if he were up for a challenge.

“You really think you’re going to distract me by putting your tongue in my mouth and getting my panties wet?” you hissed.

“Is that what you want?” 

A smirk formed on his lips. He was definitely challenging you.

Your legs were trembling now. Although if you were to admit it, you weren’t entirely sure if it was from anger or arousal.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to say anything, almost afraid what would come out of your mouth. He had you cornered up against the wall now.

“Maybe I should just find out for myself,” he said, propping his hands on either side of the wall by your head, “Make you moan in my mouth while I finger you.”

The anger that was coursing your veins earlier had definitely now turned into desire. Your stomach churned with it. You could feel his body mere inches from yours and the heat from it was making your entire body temperature feel that much higher.

“It’s not like I haven’t imagined making you moan my name,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, his tongue moving out over his lips in a quick swipe.

Your breathing had become shallow and you were throbbing with need. Before you could think of what you were doing, you were already unbuttoning your jeans.

“For once in your life I wish you’d shut up and just do it,” you grunted.

He grabbed your face roughly with both hands, his lips colliding with yours. They were hot and rough against yours, this kiss so hungry and animalistic that it was unreal.

His body was pressed against yours as he pressed you against the cool, metal wall. You could feel his arousal pressed against your thigh and you unwittingly moaned into his mouth. You had a difficult time wrapping your head around the fact that you’d gotten him so hard.

Then again, you were having a hard time wrapping your mind around anything that didn’t involve him.

His tongue moved with yours, ironically increasing your desire, making you wetter. Just like you’d voiced earlier. Damn, the guy sure knew what he was doing.

He pulled your jeans roughly down your legs until they were enough out of the way that he was satisfied. His lips attacked your jaw, then neck, being anything but gentle, but it was working you up more than anything.

Your hands gripped his arms, your teeth bearing down into your bottom lip, resisting the urge to give in to what he wanted: hearing you moan.

He pulled away from you making you suddenly desperate for his lips on your skin again. He pried your hands away from him and held them against the wall, his hips pressing into yours.

His suit pants were a lot thinner than your jeans, so you could feel his erection pressing into you, dangerously close to your throbbing core where all of a sudden, you wanted him the most.

Spencer’s fingers ghosted over the fabric of your underwear, causing you to inhale sharply. It felt good and you wanted more.

You reached for his hand, trying to push it against your core, but he pulled it away, shaking his head.

“No. This is all you’re getting until you admit it.”

His finger trailed up the center of your panties, having just enough pressure to slightly feel his touch. You groaned at his teasing. If your past years of banter had been foreplay then you were more than ready for him to have you.

“Admit what?”

“That you want this,” Spencer stated simply.

His fingertip swirled lightly over the fabric, just above your clit. Light enough that you didn’t get any real friction from the touch and you bucked your hips, desperate to feel it.

“I think it’s fucking obvious,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”

His smirk was wolfish. You knew he wasn’t going to give in unless you did what he said.

“I want this,” you groaned.

“What’s that?” he tipped his head to the side, “Can’t hear you.”

“I want this,” you said, a notch louder, gripping his wrist.

“This?”

His fingers dipped into your underwear and his thumb pressed hard against your clit.

“Ah, fuck yes,” you moaned.

He grinned, his finger dipping into your wet warmth.

“Seems like my tongue in your mouth did indeed make you wet,” he chuckled lowly, pulling your underwear off with his other hand.

His fingers teased you as you writhed and moaned, clawing at the elevator wall behind you. He had this amazing way of rubbing his knuckles against your walls as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

“Holy shit, fuck Spencer,” you whined.

You were so turned on, you hardly had any recognition of what was tumbling out of your mouth. It sure seemed to please Spencer, though.

He kept you on your toes though, slowing his fingers just when you thought you were reaching the brink of your orgasm, twisting them so gradually, it was almost painfully pleasant. You swore your eyes almost rolled back in your head when his fingers curled inward in his direction, catching that sweet spot at just the right angle.

He was kissing you as you moaned appreciatively in his mouth. His hands were quite literally magical.

His fingers finally sped up, his thumb focusing all its attention on your clit. You could feel your release quickly approaching and you were ready to succumb to it. You wanted Spencer Reid to make you cum so hard you’d be begging for more.

He did just that.

Your high hit you as you released on his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut, your head banging against the wall. You actually think you stopped breathing for a short second before air rushed back into your lungs and you released a long moan.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you groaned, reaching for the waistband of his pants.

He’d given you one hell of an orgasm and here you were, ready to beg for more. Especially if they came while he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“That was hot as hell,” he muttered, kissing you again, “It’s sexy seeing you spend all your energy on an orgasm instead of yelling at me. It’s healthier for your body, too.”

He smirked, his teeth pulling on your lower lip gently before pulling away. His hands were working with yours to push his pants down and his boxers too.

“Are you willing to admit you want me to fuck you against this wall now?” he growled.

“Yes, yes. Fuck yes, please.”

Man, if he wanted you to be his bitch ages ago, he probably should’ve just fucked you. One orgasm at his hands and you had turned into a writhing, begging and moaning heap.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if he could make you feel so good with his hands, that it would most likely be ten times as amazing with his dick.

He lifted you up, holding you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed into you. You felt yourself stretching in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time and you couldn’t hold it back; a long, low moan of gratification left your lips.You hated to admit it, but he felt fucking fantastic inside of you.

By his own confirming groan, you could tell he felt the same way as you. At the back of your mind you couldn’t help but wonder why this hadn’t happened years ago. 

His hips rocked against yours, slowly at first as his mouth found yours. He was as ravenous for you as you were for him. 

Your fingers dug into his back as his thrusts became faster and harder. He was quite literally fucking you into this metal wall and you were loving every second of it.

Your emitted moans were coming every few seconds with every slap of your skin against his. His own grunts and groans came from deep in his throat, making you even hotter.

“S-Spencer,” you stuttered, pulling his face back to yours.

You have him a brief kiss before smirking up at him.

“I’m the spoiled little brat that’s got you moaning like a little bitch,” you panted.

Your words made him groan as he gripped your sides. He must have excellent control because he managed to get a hold of himself, slowing his hips to where he was tantalizingly pulling out of you and pushing back in.

“Still hate me, Y/N?”

“Right now, yes,” you groaned, trying to pull him deeper within you, wanting the previous speed and depth back.

“Now?”

“Ye- ahhh,” a breathy moan came from you as he resumed his harsher and faster thrusts.

“I don’t hate you,” you groaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

Maybe voiced thoughts during sex were the truth because you actually didn’t hate him. Especially right now.

“Fuck, Y/N, yes baby,” he groaned.

He was close to his peak, you could tell. His fingers were on your clit, circling furiously. He was going to make sure you got your orgasm, before he got his. Who knew he was actually so decent?

Your whimpers, moans and groans were rising in pitch. You halfway hoped no one could hear, but at the same time didn’t care. Let the whole building hear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Spencer, I’m coming, I’m-”

With that, the coil of pleasure that had been building up snapped like a broken rubber band, shooting through your entire body. 

You may have screeched too, you’re not entirely sure. You were completely lost to the bliss of your orgasm and even more so when he came apart not long after you. If you had thought he was attractive before, he was a hundred times more sexy when he was orgasming above you, all caused by you.

Your movements slowed, your chests both heaving. He held onto you carefully, as if he was afraid to set you down just yet. Probably a good idea considering you felt like you’d lost all function in your legs.

You laughed incredulously, unable to believe what had just happened. That had simultaneously been the craziest yet hottest thing you’d ever done.

Spencer’s smirk was replaced with a more shy, happy smile. It was a better look than the scowl he’d worn for you for so long.

It was like the moment that first orgasm hit you, all the anger, all the hatred, all the negative feelings you’d felt towards him drained from your body. You didn’t have the willpower or the desire to hate him anymore. Not that you ever really had.

“I meant what I said,” you said quietly.

“What’s that? You said a lot of things,” he chuckled.

“That I don’t hate you.”

He took a few moments in silence, parting from you and gently setting your feet on the floor again. He took his time getting decent again, as well. You worried at your bottom lip as you did the same, nervous that you’d said the wrong thing.

“So I was right? About the defensive mechanism and everything?”

“Yeah,” you nodded somberly, “I horribly misjudged you; thinking you were stuck up, full of yourself, better than anyone else, the kind of guy that was like all the others and in love with my sister.”

“If anything, I would think what just happened would prove more than anything that my sights are set on you.”

He had a point.

“Why did you hate me though?”

“I was thrown off by your reaction to me. I thought you were a self entitled, spoiled brat and that you thought you were better than me. Seems like we both vastly misjudged one another.”

“It’s kinda a good thing though,” you said.

Spencer looked at you, baffled.

“It is?”

“Well yeah, cause if none of that happened then that wouldn’t have happened either,” you gestured to the place where moments before the two of you had been a tangle of limbs.

“Good point,” he chuckled.

“Uh, Spencer?”

“Hmm?” he looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“You might want to get the elevator moving again.”

“Oh! Right.”

He laughed, hitting the emergency button to restart the elevator.

“I apologize for giving you so much grief though. I’d do anything to make it up to you,” you said.

“How about letting me take you out then? You’re still here for a few more days, aren’t you?” he asked.

You smiled.

“I think I can make all the time in my schedule for you, Spencer.”

His answering smile was enough to make you smile in return.

Oddly enough, the elevator had gone down and back up without stopping, returning to the floor the BAU was on.

“That’s weird,” Spencer mumbled.

The doors parted to JJ waiting to get on.

“Hey, what are you guys still doing here? I thought you left an hour ago.”

Huh, so it’d been an hour. 

She got on the elevator, standing between the two of you.

“Elevator issues,” Spencer answered, before you could think of what to say.

“So you’ve been stuck in the elevator together this entire time?” JJ asked.

“Yup,” you answered.

“I guess it’s a miracle you two didn’t tear each other apart then,” she muttered, hitting the button for the ground floor.

Yeah, there might’ve been some tearing involved.

Behind her back, you and Spencer shared a secret smile.

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[roseworth]

'cause i know you won't

word count: 6.8k

description: “As much as I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my family…" the King said. "We can’t have a criminal living in the castle. Even a reformed criminal.”

Eugene and Rapunzel are separated by circumstance, and they need to learn how to live their new lives without each other.

(title inspired by One More Weekend by Maude Latour)

AO3

“Mr… Fitzherbert,” King Frederic said, his face stoic. “My daughter has told me you played a substantial role in her return home.”

“Oh, well, she did most of the work,” Eugene responded, nervously fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I, uh, I just wanted to keep her safe.”

The King hummed in approval, scanning his face. “She certainly cares a lot about you.”

“And I care about her, too.”

“I see,” he said simply, then cast his gaze away. “As much as I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my family… we can’t have a criminal living in the castle. Even a reformed criminal.”

Eugene nodded. “I understand, Your Majesty.” He kept his eyes glued to the floor in front of him. He wasn’t sure he could trust his own face if he looked up at the King.

“However, I have pardoned all your previous crimes in Corona. As of now, you are a free man in the kingdom,” he said as he handed Eugene a small stack of papers. Records that he had been pardoned. “And as promised, you will receive a reward for the return of the Princess.”

He didn’t want a reward.

“Thank you, Sir.”

The King examined him for a moment, then sighed. “I understand that you and Rapunzel are… close. But there’s no room for you in her new life, and I hope you can both accept that.”

Eugene forced a smile. “Yes, I understand, Your Majesty. Trust me, this pardon is more than I could ever ask for.”

Frederic nodded curtly, then extended his hand for Eugene to shake. Eugene shook it quickly and stood up, praying his legs wouldn’t collapse under him. He quietly walked out of the room before the King could change his mind and throw him in a prison cell.

He was a free man for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. He was running from guards for as long as he could remember. It felt wrong to walk past them now without fear of being arrested.

What would he do now? He honestly didn’t think he was going to make it this far. He was half-expecting to be strung up as soon as Rapunzel was safe. Yet he had still let himself hope that he could stay with her. That was his mistake.

As he walked down the hall of the castle on his way out, he glanced over at the door leading to Rapunzel’s new room. Her mother had brought her there to show her around and spend more time with her as the King talked to Eugene. She was probably still in there if he wanted to say goodbye.

He stopped in his tracks and stared at the door for a long time. Should he say goodbye? He wasn’t sure when he would see her again, and he did care about her. He wanted to make sure she was okay.

But maybe it would be better if he didn’t. It would be easier for her to let him go if he just left. It was like the King said, there was no room for him in her new life. She had her parents now, and a whole kingdom. She didn’t need him to cause problems when she’s finally happy.

Then again, maybe it would be better for closure if he said goodbye. So she could see that she didn’t need him, and she could easily transition into life without him. But that was selfish, wasn’t it? He just wanted to see her one last time even though it would hurt worse to see her again knowing that he could never be with her.

In the end, anything he could say to her would make it worse. He wanted to see her, but it would be better in the long run if he would just leave now without causing problems. That was what she needed, right? A life without problems. A life without people that would care more about themselves than about her. A life without him.

He took a deep breath and turned around, walking away from her room and out of the castle.

*

With the reward he received for rescuing the Lost Princess, he was able to buy himself a place to live in the kingdom. It certainly felt weird; having his own house and his own bed was all new to him. This life of not-crime was going to take some getting used to.

He had started talking to himself to cover the silence pretty quickly. Silence didn’t sit right with him now that he wasn’t hiding from anyone.

“Alright, straight-and-narrow day one!” he said cheerily, clapping his hands together. “Step one: make amends.” He figured if he was going to be living among the people of Corona, he couldn’t have them thinking of him as Flynn Rider anymore. He wanted them to know him as Eugene, and that started with fixing the mistakes Flynn Rider made.

Besides, making amends would be easy! Or it would be the hardest thing he’s ever done, he still wasn’t sure. Could go either way.

He opened the door and walked into the street, taking a deep breath and looking around. He would have to take it one by one, finding a way to make amends individually with everyone he had stolen from. That might take a while.

He didn’t steal anything too big from citizens. Most of his heists were taking from royalty and the elite, but he would often steal money or other essentials from normal people. It was enough to disrupt their lives, and they deserved some kind of restitution for that.

His first stop on his apology tour was the local shoemaker. Eugene had stolen a crate of boots from him a few years back, so he figured that was a good place to start. It wasn’t big enough that it was unforgivable, but it still might be memorable.

When he walked into the shop, he saw a familiar-looking mousy man with red hair standing behind the counter. The man looked up at him as he entered. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I don’t know if you recognize me but-”

“You’re Flynn Rider!” the man interrupted, his eyes widening.

Eugene laughed uncomfortably. “Yes, but I recently had my crimes pardoned and I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, starting with making amends for the things I’ve done wrong.”

The man eyed him suspiciously. “I heard you saved the Princess, is that right?”

“Well, kind of. I didn’t really do much to save her, just happened to climb a tower where the Princess happened to be,” he admitted. The cobbler chuckled.

“Well, Flynn, what can I do for you?”

“Actually, it’s more what I can do for you,” he said. “I stole some shoes from here a few years ago, and while I can’t un-steal them, I’d like to make it up to you somehow.”

The man paused in thought, looking Eugene up and down to try to distinguish whether or not he was lying. “Alright then, how much do you know about making shoes?”

Eugene grinned. “I’ve actually been repairing my own shoes for years!” he said proudly. He lifted his foot and pointed to his boot. “This shoe has fallen apart more times than I can count, but look at it now! Perfectly intact!”

The shoemaker inspected the shoe and hummed his approval. “Impressive cobblering!” he said. “How would you like to do some work to repay me for the shoes, Flynn?”

“That sounds perfect,” he replied with a grin. “And my real name is actually Eugene, not Flynn.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I get why you went by Flynn for so long,” he said with a shrug. “I’m Feldspar.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Feldspar,” he said. “And I’m sorry for stealing from you all those years ago.”

Feldspar waved a hand dismissively. “Well, Eugene , if you’ve really changed like you say you have, it’s glue under the sole,” he said. “That’s a cobbler phrase. It’s like ‘water under the bridge,’ but better, because it’s about shoes.”

Eugene laughed. “Got it.”

.

Over the next few days, Eugene learned more about shoes than he ever thought he would know. He learned that the things he had been calling “that thingy” and “that other thingy” for years actually had their own names (it was the “welt” and the “outsole,” Who knew?).

He had made more shoes than he had stolen, and he was honestly pretty proud of himself. He had done a job and not a “job.” Honest labor was a new concept to him, but it was very welcome.

“I think you’ve more than paid off your debts,” Feldspar said at the end of the day, polishing his equipment. “But if you ever wanted to work here permanently, I’d be more than happy to hire you.”

“Really?”

“Of course! You’ve got some real skill here.”

Eugene grinned proudly, looking at the shoes he made. “I would love to. I just need to finish making amends to everyone else first,” he said. “But if the offer still stands once I do that, that would be great.”

“You’re a good kid, Eugene,” Feldspar said, patting his shoulder. “I can put in a good word with the rest of the town. I’m sure they’d all love to hear you out.”

“I sure hope so,” he said. His tone was lighthearted, but they both knew he wasn’t really kidding. He truly did want the rest of the kingdom to realize that he had moved past his old life, and he wanted to make it up to them.

He arrived back at his house later that night and breathed a small sigh of relief. “One forgiveness down, a thousand more to go,” he said to himself. “But that wasn’t so bad! I could have done this years ago!”

And maybe if I had done this years ago, the King wouldn’t have seen me as just a thief, and I could-

He closed his eyes and waved his arms in front of himself as if he could swat away the thought. He couldn’t dwell on Rapunzel. He had to move on. Even if she had changed his life for the better and brightened his entire outlook on life, and she was maybe the only person he had ever truly cared about.

Yeah, he had to forget about what he had lost, and stay focused on what was ahead of him. He sighed, running his hands over his face. He wondered if she was doing okay. She had been home for over a week now, and he hoped she was adapting alright.

He wished he could be there. He wanted to help her as best he could and make sure she was okay. She had other people now, a real family that loved her. He couldn’t provide her with anything.

But he missed her. He was constantly thinking about what it would be like if he didn’t have to leave her. He could be with the love of his life, and they would be happy. Maybe that was selfish. She deserved better than him, and he knew that. He was trying to move past the selfishness that he had held onto in his past.

He took another deep breath, trying to stop drowning himself in thoughts that would just hurt him. Instead, he chose to think about his forgiveness mission again. He still had a long way to go before he repaid all the debts he could, but he was proud of the small amount he had accomplished.

He knew he changed; he wasn’t who he was just a couple weeks ago. Himself from a month ago wouldn’t even recognize him now. He wanted to believe he really could be a better person than he was before. Abandoning the “Flynn Rider” persona might be the best thing he ever did.

.

He spent a lot of time the coming weeks meeting Coronans and doing what he could to make amends. Most of them just asked that he work to repay what he had stolen, which he was more than happy to do. Even though he wasn’t exactly the best at many of the jobs (apparently you can’t speed up baking by turning the oven to 600 degrees), he did his best to help out where he could.

His next stop was the blacksmith. He had been told that the blacksmith was kind, so hopefully, it wouldn’t be hard to get on his good side.

He approached the shop carefully, then waved to the man standing there. He looked tall and intimidating (especially since he was holding a huge hammer), so Eugene hoped the rumors about him being a gentle giant were true.

“Hi, uh, Xavier, right? My name is Eugene, but I used to go by Flynn Rider, and I stole some stuff from you. And I want to make amends for what I did,” he said. He had tried to get his opening statement down over time, but he never knew how to phrase the words ‘I stole from you and I can’t get your stuff back but I would really like it if you forgave me!’

Xavier smiled at him. “I appreciate the gesture, Eugene, but I do not believe you ever stole anything from me. So you don’t need to make up for anything!”

Eugene grimaced. “See, you don’t think I stole from you, but I know I did. Whenever weapons or gold would randomly disappear from here, that was usually me.”

“Oh,” the blacksmith said simply. He paused for what seemed like forever (but was really only a couple seconds), then chuckled. “I don’t know what you could do to make it up, but I do not mind that you took from me. I am sure you needed it.”

Eugene chewed on his lip. True, he definitely wouldn’t have survived without the weapons he stole, but that didn’t make it okay that he stole them. “Is there any work that you would need me to do? Or anything to just make your life a little easier? I want to make it up to you somehow.”

Xavier smiled. “You know what, I do have something. You’re an adventurer, right? Give me a good story, and I’ll consider your debts paid.”

He was taken aback, but smiled back anyway. “A story? Like what?”

“You saved the Lost Princess, right? How did that go?”

Eugene paused. He wasn’t sure how to tell a story like that. In all honesty, he was still grappling with everything that had happened, and he was pretty sure the story was going to sound insane. But the man asked for a story, and so as weird as it was, he was going to tell it as best he could.

“This is the story of how I died,” he said dramatically, then smiled. “Though, it’s not really my story. It’s Rapunzel’s.”

He launched into the story of the girl in the tower who only dreamed of seeing the lanterns, and the guy who only had a crown on his mind. There were quite a few holes in his story where he had no clue what happened. He had never figured out why her hair was magical in the first place, much less how Gothel found out about it.

Throughout the whole story, Xavier looked intrigued. He wasn’t sure how the man wasn’t at all phased by talk of magic healing hair and swordfighting horses, but he didn’t bother dwelling on it.

“And so, once I was brought back to life and she told me she was the Lost Princess, we went back to the kingdom. Now she’s with her family, and it’s the happy ending everyone wanted,” he finished. He looked at Xavier, trying to decipher what he was thinking.

“Wow,” he said. “That must have been quite a lot to go through.”

Eugene chuckled. “Oh, yeah. I know it sounds a little crazy, with all the magic and whatnot-”

“Trust me, I have heard all about that magic. The story of the magic healing flower has been passed down through generations.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, there have been myths about the Sundrop for millennia. It’s impressive that you got to see it in action.”

Eugene pressed his thumb into the palm of his left hand, rubbing it thoughtfully. The Sundrop’s powers were nothing compared to the way Rapunzel made him feel like his heart was bursting whenever she smiled, but that was neither here nor there.

“So, you are in love with the Princess, right?”

Eugene choked on his breath, then let out a shaky laugh. “Th-the Princess? Who? In love? Pfft, I don’t- I wouldn’t- I’ve never even met- I mean, I uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his hands fidgeting uncomfortably. Nice one, Fitzherbert, that was really convincing . Apparently, he completely lost his ability to lie when he stopped thieving. Fantastic .

Xavier simply smiled lightly. “The way you talk about her, it is easy to tell.”

Eugene sighed and shrugged halfheartedly. “It doesn’t matter, she’s with her family now. I couldn’t come in the way of her happiness.”

“Maybe her happiness is you, too.”

“Even then, a princess can’t be with a criminal. That’s just… that’s how it is.”

“Would a ‘criminal’ go around to everyone in town just to atone for every crime he once committed?”

Eugene’s gaze fell to the ground. He was trying to fix his past mistakes, but that doesn’t mean his mistakes didn’t happen. No matter how much he wanted to be a better person, he couldn’t undo what he had done.

After a brief silence, Xavier rested his hand on Eugene’s shoulder. “Well, Eugene, I’m glad you’re focusing on doing the right thing these days. And thank you for the story.”

*

Eugene had gone to all the townspeople and made amends within 3 months. Everyone was surprisingly receptive to his apologies, which made it easier. He still got the occasional glare as he walked down the street, but he did his best to ignore it. He had done what he could. He didn’t need everyone to like him, he just wanted to right his wrongs.

After he finished making his amends, he went back to the cobbler shop and took the job that Feldspar had offered him. He never would have guessed it, but he had a knack for making shoes. Having an honest job was new to him, but it was a welcome change.

.

6 months after he and Rapunzel had first returned to Corona and his crimes were pardoned, he had a steady job and was getting along the best he could with the others in the kingdom. Life was going pretty well for him, all things considered.

He was walking to work one day when a group of kids ran up to him with excited smiles on their faces. “Eugene!” Seth called out, waving his arm as he ran up to the man.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Can you tell them the story you told me last week?” the boy asked, gesturing to the other kids following him. “They don’t believe me.”

He smiled and sat down on the edge of the fountain in the street. He had a little bit of time before he had to get to work, right? “Alright, just a quick story,” he said. “This is the story of how I died,” he recited, sweeping an arm in front of himself. He stuck with that introduction whenever he told the story; he liked the way people reacted to the line. The kids’ eyes widened, and they sat on the ground in front of him, already completely engaged in what he was saying. “Well, don’t worry, it’s actually a very fun story, and the truth is it’s not even mine. This is the story of a girl named Rapunzel, and it starts with the sun…”

The kids hung onto his every word as he recounted the tale of the weirdest and best days of his life. He chose his words carefully, though, and made sure to keep out the part where he fell in love with Rapunzel. That small detail made the story seem more like a tale of lost love than the fun and rousing adventure that it was.

When he finished the story, his audience of children (and a few adults nearby that were pretending not to listen) looked stunned. “Whoa,” one kid said. “What happened to the chameleon?”

Eugene couldn’t help but smile at how the frog was the kid’s most important takeaway from the story. “Well, that little guy is still with the Princess,” he said. “And he’s living it up in the castle, blending into things just like he loves to do.”

Seth smiled excitedly. “You know, the Princess is coming into town today! Maybe you two can reunite now!”

“She— what?”

“Yeah! They announced that she’ll have a day in town before her coronation celebration!”

Eugene plastered on a smile but felt his stomach plummet. He didn’t know if he could see her without becoming a complete mess. He had been avoiding his feelings for months, but he was positive his resolve would break the second he saw her.

Besides, she wouldn’t want to see him. She had a whole new life, she must have moved on. He wasn’t going to hold her back, that wouldn’t be fair to her. She’d been living outside her tower for months, she probably didn’t think about him the way he constantly thought about her.

“Well, I should get to work, but it was great talking to you guys,” he said, standing up. The kids bid him goodbye, and he made his way to the cobbler shop. Making shoes would help distract him from thinking about Rapunzel. He just needed to focus on his work, everything would be fine.

.

“Did you hear the Princess is supposed to be in town today?” Feldspar said later that day. “I’ve heard you used to be friends with her,” he added with an eyebrow wiggle.

Eugene did his best to grin casually. “I heard, but I think I’m going to stay back. I’ve got a lot of shoes to finish.”

“Good on you! You know what we say in the shoe business: stitches before bi-”

“Whoa whoa whoa, you really shouldn’t call a princess that. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“I’m not just saying it about the Princess, it’s just an expression. All I’m saying is that in general, shoes should come first!”

Eugene didn’t bother arguing. He turned his attention back to the shoe he was working on. He didn’t have any interest in romance right now, given that he was still deeply in love with a girl he could never be with. That put a bit of a damper on his romantic life.

Later that day, a crowd gathered near the shop as it was announced that the Princess would be passing by. “Are you sure you don’t want to see her?” Feldspar asked. Eugene shook his head.

“I’m alright here,” he insisted.

Feldspar shrugged. “Well, I’m going. I’ve got to see what kind of shoes the Princess likes so I can make plenty of them.” He walked confidently out the door, and Eugene didn’t have the heart to tell him that the Princess didn’t wear shoes at all.

He immersed himself back into the work he was doing, shoving away the thoughts of Rapunzel clouding his head. That wouldn’t help anyone.

And still, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing out the window in the front of the store to see if he could spot her. As much as he tried not to care, his heart stopped when he caught a glimpse of her in the street. She was surrounded by guards, and she looked… sad. She had a smile on her face, but something about it seemed distant.

When they had been in town on her birthday, she had found so much joy in talking to everyone around town. Now, with guards on every side of her, all she could do was smile and wave at the citizens. No wonder she seemed so sad.

He noticed something in her expression change, and he couldn’t figure out why until he realized what she saw. She was looking directly at him through the window. Oh.

His heart quickened. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Should he wave? Should he pretend he didn’t see her? They both stared at each other through the window for a moment, neither of them moving, until she was pulled away by the guards.

When she was out of his line of vision, he sighed heavily and leaned against the table in front of him, trying to steady his breath. He wouldn’t let one moment of eye contact ruin him.

“You’re never going to believe this,” Feldspar yelled as he threw open the door of the shop. “She doesn’t even wear shoes!”

.

As it turns out, just a moment of seeing her was, in fact, all he needed to be completely wrecked. He didn’t think about how much he missed her until he saw her in person again.

Eugene was lying awake in bed that night, unable to stop thoughts of her from infiltrating his head. He couldn’t fall asleep just because he had seen her for maybe 10 seconds that day. He couldn’t even be surprised, he had always known this was exactly what would happen when he let himself think about her.

What hurt most was how unhappy she looked. Before, he was able to convince himself that she was happy in the castle, so he couldn’t keep her from that happiness. But she wasn’t happy. She was trapped again. She was being kept from what made her happy, and to make matters worse, there was nothing he could do about it.

A soft knock at the door momentarily pulled him out of his hole of wallowing in self-pity. He furrowed his brow and sat up. Who would be at his house this late? It was the middle of the night, who could possibly need him right now?

He got up and walked to the door, grabbing his sword on the way (he wasn’t sure why, it’s not like an intruder was going to knock on the door first). When he opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw who was waiting there. “Rapunzel?”

“Hi,” she greeted softly.

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” Instinctively, he reached out to touch her face, tossing his sword to the side. She smiled softly and leaned into his hand.

“My friend Cass helped me sneak out,” she said. That didn’t answer either of his questions, but he moved on anyway.

“Why did you sneak out?”

“Being a princess is… great , but it- it’s just a lot. And I needed time away from the castle.”

Eugene paused, his eyebrows creasing with concern. He wished he had been there to help her. He had been afraid she was going to struggle assimilating into the life of a princess, and he should have been there.

And now she’s standing in front of him, looking scared and tired and excited all at the same time. She had a dark hood over her head, covering her face in shadows. He knew the King would have him killed if he found out that Rapunzel had run away to his house in the middle of the night, but at that moment he couldn’t even pretend to care. “Do you want to come in?”

She smiled and nodded, and he stepped aside to let her in. She looked around as she walked in, taking in every detail of the room. “This is a nice place,” she remarked.

Eugene shrugged. “It’s not very exciting, but it’s much nicer than anywhere I’ve lived before,” he said with a grin, then added, “I’m sure the castle is much fancier than this, though. And probably complete with lots of beautiful paintings by Princess Rapunzel herself.”

Rapunzel blushed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’ve had a lot of new space to paint in my room,” she said. “I could probably paint a little in here if you’d like!”

“As much as I’d love that, I don’t think you want to spend your one night out of the castle painting my house,” he responded with a slight chuckle.

Her eyes fell to the floor as she rocked back and forth on her feet. “Oh, yeah,” she said under her breath.

“So, speaking of that,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Where are you going now that you’ve run away?”

She paused for a moment, then let out a small laugh. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just knew I had to come here, I didn’t think of what I’d do after that.”

“Well, if you don’t have any plans,” Eugene said with a grin. “How about I take you on a quick trip out of the kingdom?”

Her eyes widened. “Out of the kingdom? Like, past the wall?”

The King would absolutely kill him for this. And yet, he still could not care less. “Yeah, we can get out for tonight, then back in before anyone notices. What do you say?”

The bright smile he got in return could rival the sun itself. “I would love to.”

Eugene quickly pulled his boots on, and they headed out the door. Once they were out in the open, a familiar horse came into view. Maximus snorted as he met Eugene’s eye. “Hey, Max! Didja miss me?”

Max closed his eyes and shook his head aggressively. Eugene patted his head. “I missed you, too.”

“Max helped me leave the castle without being seen,” Rapunzel said, scratching the horse’s chin. “And he agreed to bring me here.”

“So then where’s the frog?”

“Pascal and Cass are both at the castle making sure no one knows I’m gone.”

“Wow, Blondie, you’ve got quite a network for your scheme,” he teased lightly. She giggled softly, her eyes lighting up at his nickname for her. “Well, we can’t have that all be for nothing! Let’s get going,” he said, sticking his arm out for her.

She grabbed it happily, and they climbed onto Max’s back to quickly and quietly make their way to the border wall. Max stayed ducked in shadows and trotted carefully to make sure his hooves didn’t make too much noise when guards would pass nearby.

They climbed over the wall, collectively heaving a sigh of relief once they made it out of Corona. They were past the guards and the wall, and now they had the rest of the night to explore the world outside of Corona.

Rapunzel’s smile grew with every step she took, looking around at the forest around her. The stars were hanging in the sky, shining down on her. Fireflies dotted the trees around them. The river next to her was flowing smoothly, the rushing adding peaceful background noise to the scene. “Wow,” she whispered, completely enamored by her surroundings. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

“Yes, I have,” Eugene answered without thinking, staring at the girl in front of him. Her green eyes were full of the same joy they had when she first left her tower. He could feel his heart doing cartwheels in his chest every time she smiled. The gentle breeze was hitting her face and letting her short hair wave back and forth.

She turned back to him and beamed at him. “Come on, we have so much more to see!” She grabbed his hand and rushed forward, and he was more than happy to be dragged along in her journey.

She stopped to study every new plant or tree she saw, and she made sure to greet every animal that came into her path. She skipped excitedly through the forest, constantly making note of things that she would need to paint next time she got the chance.

After a few hours, she found a soft section of grass and sat down, her legs stretched out as she leaned back on her arms so she could get a good view of the stars in the sky. She patted the ground next to her, gesturing for Eugene to lie down next to her. He did, but he was paying more attention to Rapunzel than he was to the stars.

“There are so many of them,” she whispered. “I learned the other day that they’re all distant piles of gas, far away from here. I guess it puts everything into perspective, thinking about how on that star, no one even knows who we are.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. From the perspective of a star millions of lightyears away, they were just specks. Not a princess and a criminal, but just… people. People that were sharing one moment together, just like millions of other people in the world.

She looked over at him and grabbed his hand. He smiled and leaned in closer to her. Her eyes fell shut as they drew closer to each other.

Then without warning, her eyes shot open and she moved away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, standing up and wrapping her arms around herself.

Eugene took a quick breath in, standing up and taking a step backward to give her a distance. “I- I’m so sorry, Rapunzel, I shouldn’t have tried to-”

“You left,” she interrupted quickly, her eyes gradually filling with tears.

“What?” His eyes flitted over her face, trying to decipher how she was feeling. She didn’t seem scared or mad, just... hurt. He felt a pang in his chest knowing that he was the reason she was feeling like that.

“You left, and you didn’t say goodbye. And they told me you were gone, and I didn’t believe them because I was sure that you would tell me when you left. But you didn’t,” she said quietly, her voice breaking with every word.

He didn’t answer for a moment, trying to remember how to speak. He should have known that she would have felt abandoned when he left without a word. He had been so sure he had made the right choice when he left, but looking at her now, he realized he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Looking back on it, his choice to not tell her when he was leaving the castle was entirely selfish. He couldn’t handle seeing her again, couldn’t trust himself to not run to her. So he had slipped away, hoping that he wouldn’t have to deal with his own heartbreak seeing her face one last time before he went.

And here she was. He had left her behind without a word, yet she still came to him. After he abandoned her and completely cut himself off from her, she came back. That was what hurt most. He knew she deserved better than him. She deserved someone that would have the guts to see her one last time despite the world pushing them apart. It hurt that she was willing to come back to him after he hurt her.

And still, he loved her. He wanted to go back and fix all his mistakes and find a way to be with her. Ever since he had left months ago, there was not a day that went by where he didn’t think of her. It killed him that he had hurt her when all he wanted to do was sweep her up in his arms and hold her so nothing could ever hurt her again.

She was looking at him with wide eyes as his throat dried up. His mind was swirling with all the thoughts and feelings he had tried to keep buried for months. He loved her. He wouldn’t blame her if she hated him and never felt the same way about him, but he loved her with his entire being. And he had no idea how to tell her that.

“Rapunzel, I’m so sorry I never said goodbye when I left. I had to leave to let you start your new life, but I thought it would be easier for both of us if I could just leave-”

“It wasn’t,” she said. “It wasn’t easier. I had no idea what I was doing, and all I did was wish you were there beside me.”

He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Trust me, Blondie, I felt the same way. I wanted to be by your side, and it hurt that I couldn’t be there with you.”

“It hurt me, too.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s… it’s not your fault that you had to leave,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip nervously. She stepped towards him and grabbed his hand hesitantly. “But I missed you so much.” She took another step closer, and he could almost feel her breath on his face. She was just inches away, and he tried to ignore his heart pounding out of his chest.

“I missed you, too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we should-”

The rest of his sentence was completely lost as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. His eyes widened, then immediately fell shut as he let his composure completely fall away. He pulled her closer, wishing he could live in this moment for the rest of his life.

He knew they shouldn’t be doing this. The King had tried to keep them apart for a reason, and they would have to leave each other behind again after tonight. But at that moment, he didn’t care about any logic. All he cared about was trying to communicate everything he felt about her through one kiss. Feeling her lips pressed against his was all that mattered to him. They had both been wishing they could be just like this for months, and being able to hold her felt like a dream.

They softly broke apart from the kiss, but their faces remained close together as they tried to catch their breath. She smiled at him, and he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything when I left, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay,” she whispered, casting her eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I had to be the princess and separate us-”

“No, hey, don’t apologize for finding a new life, your real life,” he said, putting his fingers under her chin and softly tilting her head up to look into her eyes. “All that matters to me is that you’re safe and happy with your family.”

“But you’re part of my family. I’m happy with you,” she said, her eyes starting to water. He reached up to wipe a stray tear off her face.

“And I’ll always be here for you, Blondie. Princess or not, I’m always supporting you, even if it’s from afar.”

She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him. They stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying each other’s presence while they could. They were acutely aware that the night would end sooner than they wanted it to, and they would have to go their separate ways yet again. It would be the same as before, but it hurt even worse now that they had gotten a taste of what they were missing.

But he would still love her no matter what. Even if they were apart for the rest of their lives, he still loved her more than he ever thought possible.

The night would end soon, and so would their time together. She would go back to the castle, he would go back to his house. He couldn’t do anything to change their situation, all he could do was hold her tighter and hope that the memories of her would keep him grounded.

Rapunzel looked up at the sky, her brow crinkling when she realized how soon the sun would rise. “We still have time tonight,” she said quietly. She didn’t know what would happen to them when the night ended, but she could only hope this wasn’t the end.

“Then let’s make the most of it,” Eugene replied, grabbing her hand and squeezing it gently.

Their eyes met, and he smiled at her. Every glance at her twisted his heart more, but he wouldn’t dare look away.

Despite everything, she was the love of his life, and he was hers. And even if he couldn’t be by her side, he wouldn’t trade that love for anything.

[dirtyoatmeall]

Blueberries (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

A/N: :0 I know what you're thinking, another fic so soon?? I'm trying to go through my WIP's before starting anything else, and I have about 38 ideas and about 15 wips, so... yeah. Hopefully I'll get more out soon!! I wanted to say thanks in advance, this blog is a few followers away from 100, which is insane to think about. I really appreciate all of you for reading my work and liking it enough to follow. I hope you enjoy what the future holds!

Pairing: Kaminari Denki x Reader (gn but refences to makeup, so probably fem leaning?), Established Kiribaku

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Language, I think that's it

__

“I don’t know Kiri, finals are coming up soon, and my anthro professor has been up my ass-“

“It’s one fucking date, it’s not like it’s a week long excursion in the mountains, Jesus” You rolled your eyes at Bakugo’s interruption, sticking your tongue out at the angry blonde. Before you could argue with him, Kirishima spoke.

“Katsuki is right (Y/N), it's just one night! If you don’t enjoy it, then that’s that! He’s not the type to make things awkward if they don’t work out, I think you’ll have a really good time.” You sigh, you could never say no to the red head. “I guess it is just one night.”

He smiles, big and excited while Bakugo just rolls his eyes. Kirishima whips out his phone, furiously typing. “Great, I’ll let him know, you guys are having dinner at 6, I’ll text you the location, you two will meet there, just in case. There’s already a reservation, so when you get there just tell them your name and they’ll take you there.” Your eyes widen, you only have a few hours to get ready and psych yourself up for the date. You pack up, grabbing your drink as you get ready to leave the café. Kirishima wishes you luck and you head back to your apartment.

You met Kirishima Eijiro in your first year of college. You were in the same intro to history course, which was required for all freshmen to take. The two of you were paired together for a group project and became quick friends. You learned you both lived in the same dorm building (the only gender neutral dorm building on campus) and soon enough the two of you were inseparable. Though you hadn’t been able to meet his friends besides his boyfriend, Bakugo Katsuki, due to your busy schedule. The following year the three of you got an apartment together close to campus. You were a student full time and also worked full time at one of the coffee shops on campus, so even though you’ve known the two of them for two years now, you still had yet to meet all of their friends. A few had come over during your weekly movie nights, but there were still one or two you haven't met yet due to conflicting work schedules. One of them being your date for the evening.

You sighed as you stared at your closet, wishing the duo had returned to the apartment with you to help than staying at the café to study. You looked up the restaurant you were meeting your date at. It wasn’t fancy, thank god, and you pulled out your favorite outfit that fit the dress code and quickly got changed. You finished your hair and makeup with a few minutes left until you had to leave, spending them sending pictures to the group chat for approval, making sure your shoes matched your outfit and your socks weren’t pulled up too high. Kirishima sent a thumbs up emoji and a compliment and you were out the door, triple checking the stove was off even though you hadn’t used it today, gripping your keys nervously as you locked the door and made your way to your car.

The drive was short, and you spent it listening to your favorite songs of the week that hyped you up, turning the volume up and singing along as you tried to calm your nerves. It’ll be fine, its just one dinner. The date is what you make of it, go in with a positive attitude and an open mind. You repeated your thoughts like a mantra, thoughtlessly mouthing along to the song playing as you pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

It wasn’t dark yet, the summer sky just turning a soft orange, but the streetlights were on nonetheless, illuminating the almost empty lot. You pulled into a spot next to a seemingly empty car, checking your phone once you parked.

It was 5-till, and you flipped down the mirror to check your makeup, applying lipstick and double checking the contents of your purse. Wallet, keys, lipstick, pepper spray, makeup wipe, EpiPen, breath mints, tampon, condom. You nodded as you ticked off each item in your mind, you had everything you needed, your phone was fully charged, and you looked good. You exhaled, you got this, you smiled to yourself as you got out of your car, double checking it was locked before turning to walk towards the restaurant, only to stop when you noticed the man standing in front of you, smiling nervously when your eyes met.

Your eyes widened slightly and your hand instinctively sought out the pepper spray in your purse, keeping it hidden for now as you took a half-step back. Noticing your wariness, the blonde’s eyes widen frantically, holding his hands up defensively as he takes a few steps back, widening the space between you. “Ah, sorry! You’re (Y/N) right? Kirishima showed me a picture of you a few days ago, I’m Kaminari!”

You relax immediately, your lips curling into a sheepish smile as the apprehension leaves your features. He relaxed as well, bringing his hands back to his side as he took a step forward, making sure to still give you room. “Oh! Sorry, you just startled me there. Kirishima did not do me the favor of letting me know what you looked like beforehand.” He nodded in understanding as you approached, joining him on the sidewalk, much closer this time. You noticed a faint tint to his cheeks as you head into the restaurant, and you were already glad you agreed to go on this date.

_

You laugh, only to choke on your drink, coughing and hitting your chest before laughing even harder. You took another sip, grinning at the blonde sitting across from you. The two of you got along great, you had a similar sense of humor and plenty of shared tastes. It had been over an hour, but it felt like you just got there. You roll your eyes playfully at his joke about ‘giving you something else to choke on’ replying that an inch or two isn’t enough to choke you. You snort at the mock-offense on his features when you excuse yourself to the restroom.

When you return your empty plates are gone and Kaminari is smiling smugly. You raise an eyebrow and narrow your eyes jokingly. “What did you do now?” He scoffs, “You act like I did something bad! How you wound me so!” You roll your eyes at his dramatic cry, still waiting for an answer. “Well, I’ll have you know I took the liberty of ordering your favorite for dessert.” The smug look returns and your eyebrow joins the other in surprise, you lean forward, resting your chin in your hand as you watch the blonde.

“Oh? And what might that be?” Kaminari smirks and says with unwavering confidence, “Blueberry cobbler, duh.” You have to cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing too loudly. His eyebrows pinch slightly, not sure of your reaction. “Who told you that? Bakugo?” You say it jokingly, but his silence is enough of an answer. You wince slightly, not expecting it to be true. You sigh and smile amusedly at the blonde across from you. “I’m allergic to blueberries Kaminari.”

He blanched at your words, a mix of embarrassment and mortification crossing his face. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” You smiled sympathetically and pulled your EpiPen out of your purse. “’friad not. But don’t worry about it! It’s sweet that you asked them about what I liked, really. I can bring my share of the cobbler back with me, I’m sure they’ll eat it.” To make matters worse, the waiter brought the dessert out as you comforted him, and smiled apologetically at the waiter when Kaminari asked for two boxes and the bill. You were worrying that he was too embarrassed to continue the date, thinking of ways to get back at your roommate when his hand touched yours gently, bringing you out of your thoughts. “I figured we could get some ice cream? Non-toxic this time I promise.” You grin and nod, shoving your card toward the waiter when he comes back, much to your dates dismay. “You can get the bill next time.” You say with a wink, as if you weren’t about to go to another location.

After dropping leftovers off in your cars, the two of you walk a few blocks to a creamery, getting your respective ice cream cones and then walking to the nearby park, sitting on the swings. You gently swing as the two of you talk about random things, almost dropping your cone multiple times from laughing. After treats had been consumed and wrappers discarded, you head back to your cars, walking closer than before.

You brush shoulders a few times before you loop your arm through his, hugging it to your chest as you tangle your fingers with his, glancing at him to make sure it was okay. You flush slightly when you catch him looking at you with an adoration filled gaze, he clears his throat and looks ahead, squeezing your hand in reassurance.

You arrive at your cars all too quickly, and you untangle yourself from him, kissing his cheek gently as you thanked him for tonight. You happily exchange numbers before parting ways, and you sigh when you close the car door, starting your car. You glance at the box in the passenger seat, grateful for the otherwise deadly blue fruit.

[cali-holland]

Kiss the Chef- Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Prompt: Harrison needs help with cooking & baking… will he turn to his ex for help or just fail miserably at making his mum a nice meal?

Word Count: 3400

Masterlist   Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

Harrison let out a sigh, running a hand through his blond hair as he read over the recipe again on his laptop. Adjusting the glasses perched on his nose, he looked up and scanned the various ingredients on the kitchen counter. Why did he tell his mum he’d make her dinner for her birthday? Why did he commit to such a big thing? He couldn’t even cook without the added stress of his whole family eating it.

His sight shifted over from the dinner ingredients to the dessert ingredients. Yes, he had committed to also presenting his mother with a nice dessert because that’s what a good son does, right? It’s only now that he wishes he hadn’t just gone with the first appetizing thing he saw on the website; maybe it wasn’t a good idea to try to make a classic lemon tart, but could you blame him? Mary Berry’s website just made it look so good, he didn’t think it could be this hard.

He anxiously pulled out his phone, unlocking it and bringing up his contacts. His finger hovered over your contact, but he didn’t know if he had the strength to actually go through with it. He needed help, he needed your help. You used to cook and bake all the time together; he just wished he had paid more attention to the actual cooking and baking part, but he was far too focused on you.

“Haz, watch the stove!” You scolded him as you caught his blue eyes intently following your hands cutting up the peaches.

“My bad.” He laughed, turning back to the stove immediately. You wanted to try out a new recipe you had found online, which called for steak to be cooked on the stove for a few minutes each side. You thought it was a simple enough task to have him watch the meat- a.k.a. not burn the meat, but he was distracted. You stopped cutting the peaches that would be used for a Mary Berry certified peach cobbler later (which needed to be started now if you two wanted to eat it later) and stepped across the kitchen to inspect the steaks.

“They’re not bad.” Harrison said while he took the slightly charred steak out of the pan. You turned off the stove and pressed a kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek.

“It’s okay, it’s edible.” You paused, looking around the kitchen for the brussel sprouts you had put in the oven ages ago- the brussel sprouts he was supposed to take out. “Where are the vegetables?”

“I can’t cook anything.” He whined, hurrying to take them out of the oven.

“Haz!” You shouted, but it was too late- he’d grabbed the hot stoneware already. He dropped it, retracting his burned hand almost immediately. The brussel sprouts spilled out of the oven and all over the floor. You closed the oven door and took Harrison’s hand, bringing him over to sink to cool off the burn mark with cold water.

“This is a disaster.” Harrison groaned, looking at his red hand and then the vegetables littering your kitchen floor. “The brussel sprouts are gone.”

“I’m more concerned about your hand than the brussel sprouts.” You smiled softly at him, “I’m going to grab some burn cream, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded, keeping his hand under the running water. You rushed off to find the ointment in the bathroom and came back to rub it gently over his hand. You kissed his hand lightly once you were done, careful not to hurt him. He smiled, “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you, too, Chef Osterfield.”

“You gonna kiss the chef?” He asked with a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes at him playfully, but you kissed your boyfriend happily anyway.

No, he couldn’t call you. He couldn’t call his ex-girlfriend after having not spoken to her for a month. He just had to suck it up and attempt these two recipes. They couldn’t be that hard. I mean, they’re just cooking and baking two dishes. He had plenty of time to attempt them, mess up, and then just call for takeout. He groaned, knowing he couldn’t disappoint his mum by getting her takeout for her birthday dinner, not when he promised her something special that he’d made.

Defeated, Harrison pressed the small call button beside your name. Holding his phone up to his ear, he tried to prepare himself for the two outcomes of this- you send him straight to voicemail or you’d pick up. Since his call didn’t immediately go to voicemail, he knew he wasn’t blocked at least, but he didn’t know if he was ready to hear your voice again.

“Hello,” You answered the phone. He wasn’t ready to hear your voice again. His heart raced and his hand began to shake. He didn’t realize how long it was taking him to respond until you spoke up again, “Harrison? Is everything alright?” “N-No.” He said. His mother’s birthday dinner was on the line and you weren’t there cooking with him, so, no, everything wasn’t alright.

“Harrison, what is it?” Your voice softened.

“I need your help.” He admitted, shaking his head. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t take the heartache on top of this stress. “No, I shouldn’t have called you. Sorry, just never mind.”

Before you could say anything else, he hung up the phone and set it aside. It was just him and these damn recipes that started to sound more and more foreign to him. Tightening the red apron around his waist, he read over the marinara recipe again. He didn’t know what a decent amount of the terms meant- sweat the onions, that couldn’t sound more unappetizing.

Just as he was googling what the hell “julienned onions” were, he heard a series of soft, yet rapid knocks on his door. Setting the onion and his phone down, he made his way over to the door. His heart stopped in his chest as he opened the door and you stood there before him.

“You sounded worried on the phone.” You said, your eyes filled with concern.

“I- um,” He froze, not knowing what to say. He’d just called his ex-girlfriend to help him make dinner and dessert for his family; it just didn’t seem like a justifiable reason to reach out to you, even if he wanted to desperately to have you in his life again.

“Are you cooking?” You asked, staring at the ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron he wore, the apron you had gotten for him back when you were dating.

“I told my mum I’d make her dinner for her birthday, and I just don’t know what a fucking julienned onion is.” He said. The frustration was clear in his voice, but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“It’s thin strips.” You laughed lightly. “Let me in, I’ll help you.” Harrison wordlessly stepped aside, making room for you to go in. You took off your shoes and set your purse aside before following him into the kitchen.

“This is the only other apron I have.” Harrison held out a small stained apron to you, your matching apron to his, reading ‘I AM the chef’. 

“Thanks.” You put on the apron and made yourself comfortable in his kitchen. He hadn’t changed a thing in the room, even though you had moved most of the things in his kitchen to suit your preferences because if he ever used his kitchen appliances, you were with him (and it made so much more sense to have oven mitts in the drawer right next to the stove, not in the bottom drawer hidden by the island). Your eyes scanned over the ingredients in front of you, “What are we making?”

“Marinara for dinner and tart for dessert.” He replied, and you nodded. You pushed the dinner ingredients out of the way and pulled the dessert ingredients closer to the two of you.

“Marinara doesn’t take too long, so we should do the tart first.” You said and he pulled up the dessert recipe from Mary Berry’s website. You laughed when you spotted the URL.

“I like her desserts.” Harrison insisted, not even trying to hide his smile from hearing your laugh again.

“I didn’t say anything.” You began to gather the pastry ingredients. You used to tease Harrison all the time for his love of Mary Berry’s recipes, though he could never do them properly. He tried to make a sponge cake once from her website without you, and it definitely didn’t turn out how he expected it to, but you were still delighted that he tried for you and it still tasted fine (once you got over the odd saltiness because he forgot he’d already added salt at the beginning). Whenever you two would bake together, it’d always be one of her recipes. He even got you one of her cookbooks that you still used. Your eyes scanned over the recipe, “So lemon tart?”

“Yeah, my mum loves lemons.” He stated.

“I know.” You answered softly, remembering how you’d helped him bake a lemon meringue pie with him for her birthday last year. Maybe that’s why his mum had hope for him this year, because he’d already impressed her with one amazing meal last year. “Can you get me the butter and an egg please?”

“Sure.” He replied, heading over to the fridge to get the ingredients. He placed the butter and the egg next to the mixing bowl as you started to measure out the flour and sugar. As you started to mix together the pastry ingredients, Harrison felt a sudden wave of sadness wash over him- a couple months ago, he would wrap his arms around you, pressing kisses to your neck as you would mix together the ingredients. He knew that old habit was long gone, but that didn’t mean he knew what to do with himself now.

“How’s work been?” He asked. He didn’t know what to do besides attempt to make small talk with you.

“Busy, but it’s not bad. And you?” You added the eggs and water while he got out a tart tin and a roller.

“Been good. Got home a couple weeks ago.” He answered, immediately hating his reply. You broke up because of his work, because he was away too much, and the breakup wasn’t even in person. You couldn’t wait for him to come home; it hurt you too much to just wait for him every day, so you ended things over the phone, and it hurt you to do it, too. You didn’t want your relationship to end, you loved Harrison and you still do, but it was too much for you to just keep wondering when the next time he’d come home- it all just felt too unreliable. And Harrison knew that, he knew you didn’t want to leave him, but he knew it killed you that he was gone, and hell, it hurt him too to be away from you. But it was his job, and he couldn’t help it.

“It’s nice that you’re doing this for your mum.” You said, rolling the pastry dough into a ball. You handed it to him, allowing him to roll it out just like he used to (he always had to roll out the dough so you could admire his arm muscles, which you were definitely doing now).

“It was a good idea, but you know how I am in a kitchen.” He laughed, making you smile.

“Chef Osterfield the kitchen klutz.” You teased. His bashful smile and the blush that spread across his cheeks at the old nickname didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“We both know who was the real chef in the relationship.” He joked, nodding down to your apron.

“The apron doesn’t lie.” You laughed. You looked down, watching him roll out the dough. You placed a hand on his to stop his movements, and Harrison’s heart soared at the feeling of just your gentle hand on his. “You’re rolling it a bit too thin.”

“Is it good then?” He tooks his hands away from the dough and you nodded.

“Yeah, it needs to chill now.” You said, delicately picking up the thin dough and placing it in the tin, setting up so the extra dough hung over the edges. You placed it in the fridge and turned back to face Harrison.

As the pastry dough rested in the fridge, you helped Harrison prepare the lemon filling for the tart. When the pastry finally made it into the oven for its initial blind bake, you started on the marinara.

“Am I julienning it right?” Harrison asked, once he had cut a couple slices of the onion.

“Thinner.” You placed your hand over his on the knife and you cut a thin slice of the onion off, a perfect julienned onion. Harrison sniffed and you looked over at him with a small laugh.

“Onions.” His eyes watered up.

“You’d know that they make you cry if you ever actually cut them.” You teased, taking over cutting the onion as he stepped back, blinking his eyes.

“You always did such a good job cutting them, though. I didn’t want to interfere with that.” His sarcastic voice was drowned out by his sniffles, trying to hold back the onion-induced tears.

“Can you tear the basil leaves?” You asked, and he nodded, focusing his attention on that while you continued your work. “And I have to say, I agree, I do cut onions better than you, but that’s just because you didn’t realize you had to peel an onion before cutting it.”

“Hey now,” He faked offense at your truthful comment, “I didn’t cook with actual onions until you came along. Why cry over real onions when you can use onion powder and shit?”

“You didn’t cook before I came along. I don’t even know how you survived without me.” You laughed.

“I didn’t.” Though his tone was playful just like yours, you both knew there was more truth behind his words than either of you would like to admit. He passed a small bowl of torn basil leaves over to you on the counter. “They’re done.”

“I think the pastry’s done, too.” You said, “Make sure you-”

“Use oven mitts.” He cut you off with a smile, already knowing you were concerned he’d burn himself again. With an oven mitt covering his hand, Harrison took out the pastry and held it out to you for approval. You nodded and so he set it to the side. You put some oil into the stockpot before adding the onions to sweat them.

“Here, watch this for a bit. I’ll put the filling in.” You instructed, stepping back from the marinara to focus back on the tart. Harrison did as you had said, stirring the onions occasionally until you had the filling in the tart and the tart back in the oven. You added the rest of the ingredients to the marinara mix, letting it steam for a while. Harrison made his way to the fridge as you sat down at the island bar.

“Do you want some wine? I think have- aha,” He smiled proudly, pulling out an unopened bottle of your favorite wine. He was happy to still have it, but you both knew that he had it from before you broke up.

“I’d love some.” You replied and he poured you a glass. He got himself a beer from the fridge and opened it; leaning against the counter casually, he faced you.

“Remember when you made me that raspberry tart?” Harrison asked, remembering fondly to that day, just a month before you had broken up.

“It shipped so poorly. I’m still mad.” You said before taking a sip of your wine.

“But it was still amazing. A raspberry tart with pistachio crust, it was the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Maybe I’ll make it for you again sometime.” It was a small offer, but it held so much weight to it. Sometime meaning that there was potentially a next time and Harrison wasn’t sure if he wanted to fully hope for that. He’d alright let you walk out of his life once, he wasn’t sure he could handle it again, although he felt fairly certain that, after tonight, you’d leave again. He looked at his watch and his eyes went wide when he realized how late it was getting.

“I need to get cleaned up, my family will be here in half a hour. Do you mind watching the food?” He asked, and you smiled with a nod.

“Go on, you’re fine.” You reassured him, looking down at your phone to make sure your timers for the tart and the marinara were right. Harrison walked towards his bedroom, but turned at the last moment to look at you again. He sighed. He really missed you this past month, and you were right there in front of him now, so why couldn’t just say those three words he wanted to say? Thinking about it, he didn’t know which three words he wanted to say more: I miss you or I love you.

After a few minutes, you got to work on the pasta, timing it out to be ready at approximately the same time as the marinara sauce. As you finished taking the tart out of the oven, there was a knock at the door, and you knew it had to be his family. You froze, not knowing what to do. Harrison was still in his room getting ready, and his family was twenty minutes early. You were once close with the Osterfield clan, though you weren’t sure anymore. You’d date Harrison for nearly two years, but you were still the girl that broke his heart last month. Sighing, you knew it was best to let them in and play off the awkwardness as best you could, so you went to the door and opened it with a smile.

“Y/N?” His mom asked, surprised to see you.

“It’s me.” You smiled. You felt your heart soar as she pulled you in for a hug; though you and Harrison may not be together anymore, you still wanted his mother to like you.

“Let me guess, he didn’t make all this on his own then.” His sister joked and you nodded your head sheepishly. You all made your way back into the kitchen, where the smell of marinara filled the air.

“Yeah, he needed some help. I think he’s-“ You stopped yourself as Harrison stepped out of his room. His glasses were off and he had slipped into a comfy sweater, one that you would steal from him all too often. His damp curls were pushed back and away from his face, and they made your heart flutter inside. You wanted nothing more than to steal that sweater again and to run your fingers through his hair just one more time.

“Happy birthday, mum.” He smiled, pulling her in for an affectionate hug.

“Y/N was just telling us you needed help in the kitchen.” She teased.

“Why don’t you tell ‘em what’s on the menu, Chef Osterfield?” You playfully nudged him with your elbow, before you turned to take care of the pasta and marinara sauce.

“We have marinara pasta for dinner and lemon tart as the dessert. Mainly made by Y/N.” He added, his smile still bright as ever as he spoke to his family.

As his family got distracted with their own conversation, you started to feel out of place, knowing that you shouldn’t stay. You turned off the stove as the pasta and sauce finished and quietly turned to Harrison.

“I think I’m going to head out.” You said, catching the frown that crossed his face. You took off your apron and put it aside on the counter.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? The only reason we’re not having takeout is because of you.” Harrison spoke softly, not wanting his family to completely overhear the conversation, though he knew they were listening in as they talked.

“I shouldn’t stay.” You insisted. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, before heading to the entryway to get your shoes and your bag.

“Harrison.” His mum said, drawing his attention away from you as you left. When he looked at his family, his mother shook her head at him, “Go after her.”

Without another word, he rushed out of the kitchen and out of his house. He caught your wrist just before you reached your car, turning you to face him. Before you could say anything, he kissed you passionately.

After a moment, he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours, smiling softly at you. “I miss your raspberry tart with pistachio crust.”

“Maybe I could be persuaded to make more.” You teased.

“I missed you, so much.”

“I missed you, too, Chef Osterfield.”

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Sunshine

Baby’s first stucky fic! A/B/O based on a post from awhile back about omegas being soft and smelling good after laying in the sun. If I find it again I will link it!

Written because of prompting from @the1918 and @howdoyousleep3. It’s not my usual poetic musings but sometimes you just need some unadulterated fluff. 

Warnings: The lightest, barest amount of angst if you squint. This work is also left ambiguous as to the history prior to this so it can be as close or as far from canon as you would like it to be!

Sunlight, unfettered and sweet filtered through the window. Cast a long glowing shadow across the light wooden flooring. The light traced the imperfection in the wood, every scratch and gorge on display. It was a sight, one made homely by the nest pooling across the floor. It was small, temporary, one built by an omega for comfort than by an alpha for home. A lump made warm and honeyed by the light rested in it’s center. Long strands of hair stuck out wildly from it, messy in a sleepy way. A way that made Steve’s heart melt into a molten, sticky mess. 

He slowly made his way over, taking in the sight of his omega in a state of sound and utter peace. Bucky had burrowed face down, hiding his eyes from the light while his skin absorbed the vibrant smell that came from it. To Steve it was the smell of a happy omega. He’d never once known an omega to be sour after a sun bath, especially not Buck. Bucky always smelled like peaches, the sun ripened him till he smelled like cobbler. It was addictive, Steve’s favorite smell on earth. 

He’d been watching for awhile now. Morning coffee in one hand, newspaper forgotten in the other. He watched Bucky build the nest, had offered to help but was politely ignored. Steve may have a tendency to go overboard with nests. When he’d been a skinny slip of a thing he’d committed himself to perfecting the art. It was the one alpha role he could fulfill and do truly well. He’d rent books from the library and spend hours memorizing the best techniques. It felt silly looking back but it had been one of the only providing roles he’s ever thought he could meet. Ultimately, it had been a good time investment if the nest in their bedroom was any indicator. Bucky had once joked the only thing it was missing was Steve going apeshit with a baddazler. 

A massive sigh came from the Bucky shaped lump on their living room floor. The kind that only comes from complete and utter contentment. Steve couldn’t resist anymore. He set his coffee and newspaper on the dining table, never looking away from the sundrenched spot. His footsteps didn’t seem to alert Bucky in the slightest, a trust built in the space of their life together. Their home provided them both safety, safety they needed after so much of their lives spent constantly in and out of war. It was nice to finally have a physical space to call home, even if that was Bucky’s title before the four plaster walls surrounding them. He carefully stepped into the nest, straddling the space over Bucky before folding down on top of him. 

Bucky jumped but settled as Steve’s nose burrowed into his neck. His skin was warm and sweet, Steve couldn’t help but get a few openmouthed kisses in so he could get a taste. Couldn’t ever get enough of Bucky, especially like this. Nearly liquid under him, Bucky’s purrs were gentle and sleepy. He worried his own rumbling would be too much, but he received no complaints as the sun warmed his back as his sun sweetened omega heated his front. It was blissful, he wished they could stay there, unmoving, for the rest of their natural lives. 

The shifting beneath him seemed like it would end that wish, but Bucky had simply turned onto his back, tucking his face into Steve’s neck and getting his fill of his beloved alpha’s scent. He’d told Steve once that he smelled like pines, he wondered if the sun changed that the way it did Bucky’s. Their joined scent, something sharp and fresh with a homely edge to soften it, flooded the space around them. The sun mellowed it into a hazy cloud. 

“Steve?”

“Mhm?”

“Are we still supposed to go to that charity event Tony is putting on?”

Well, that killed the mood a bit. He sighed, “Yes, we do.”

“How many rounds do you think we can get in before we have to be ready?”

The scents in the room suddenly turned deeper, mustier, Bucky shuddered beneath him. “Why don’t we find out, sugar?”

_____

The smell of sun didn’t leave. Even after fucking like they were dying, the vibrant smell lingered in unexpected places, most notably, Bucky’s hair. It made getting ready difficult on Bucky’s part. 

“Steve I swear to god-”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Get your nose out of my hair for five seconds so I can get shit put together!” Bucky hip checked him hard enough that Steve let up. Made puppy eyes at his mate’s back even as his very name was cursed to the heavens. The clacking of hangers across the rack followed him as he sat down on a chair by the closet, watched as Bucky tried to find them both outfits. 

“You know Buck, you don’t have to dress me. I’m fine doing it on my own.” If looks could kill Steve may have ended up with two knives in his ribs with the way Bucky was glaring. 

“Steve, there are a lot of things society expects out of me, most of which they can shove right up their asses, but I will not be the omega that lets his mate leave the house dressed like a doormat.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you dress yourself like a cardboard box, Steve.” 

“I’m wounded Buck, I really am.” The pout he put on was usually successful but rarely a trick he pulled. Something about the dinner had to be stressing his poor baby out if he was this snippy after most of the day in bed. 

Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair, still drying from the shower. “I’m sorry Stevie, it’s not your fault. There is a lot of press coverage at this event and I don’t want to give them ammunition against you.”

Oh, oh. Things were clicking now. The press had been a problem for a while now. Steve knew what Bucky meant but wasn’t saying. For some reason, a magazine company had started running slander campaigns against Bucky. In a way it was to be expected, Bucky wasn’t a traditionalist, and neither was Steve when it came down to it. They’d both dumped enough expectations for their roles in the garbage to be on equal ground but Bucky got the worst of it. Everything he did was picked apart. Most of it was laughable, but there were things that got to him, mainly those which targeted Steve. Bucky could handle more than anyone he’d ever met, but Steve had never seen him more devastated than the day four articles had come out about Steve wearing mismatched shoes. All the blame had been pinned to his poor omega. The gossip circles had labeled Bucky as neglectful. One of the few “omega specific” tasks he was known to partake in was dressing Steve. When they had been nothing more than two starving Brooklyn kids, Bucky had been determined to take care of Steve when his body shit out on him. One of the few things he’d let Bucky truly do was dress him. They had a rhythm, tops always went on first. Unless he was too weak to lift his arms Bucky would simply pass shirts, jackets, and coats for Steve to do himself. Most days Bucky only put his feet through the legs of his pants for him, letting Steve pull them up when he stood. There were plenty of times on the other hand, where Buck had needed to vault Steve into standing by his belt loops so they could get him up long enough to get his pants on. 

Steve knew all of this, very well in fact, but the media didn't. They hadn’t seen Bucky, eighteen with only a few dollars to his name, beaten and worn down. Hadn’t seen the exhaustion skittering across every nerve. Didn’t know that despite being dead on his feet, Bucky would always make sure Steve was taken care of first. No one deserved the level of disrespect going on, but Bucky shouldn’t have even been on the radar. The shoe mix up had been his own fault. Bucky had been sick, throwing up at even the slightest suggestion of light. He had gotten dressed in the dark and ran to the store, hadn’t even thought about what he might look like, laser focused on his task instead. Bucky needed medicine and Steve needed Bucky well. That was all he had thought at the time.

“Buck, we don’t have to go.”

Eyes fluttered to the side, Bucky wouldn’t look at him. “I want to go, and it wouldn’t be fair to Tony to leave him to the dogs like that.”

Steve nearly snorted, Tony wouldn’t notice them failing to pop in, and even if he did it wouldn’t be remembered the next morning. 

“Sweetheart,” He stood up, went and placed both his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky peaked at him from the corner of his eyes. “You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable to make others comfortable. We can stay home, watch a movie, order some take-out.” 

Bucky looked over his shoulder at their closet. He held himself like he was expecting something to jump out at him, like a timer was set to go off any second to spell some horrible doom. Steve wanted to call it right then and there, force them to stay home, but Bucky would fight him on it and go out of spite. He cupped the side of his darling mate’s face and coaxed him into eye contact. Blue and grey met and blended, met and crashed, met and free fell backwards into each other. There was trust, so much trust. It bellied his own concerns, left him hovering there waiting for an answer. Bucky would make the choice he needed too, even if it wasn’t the one Steve would have made for him. From day one he had sworn to be an alpha Bucky could respect, one that he would be proud to stand by. Part of that was letting go in moments like this. He looked into those eyes, the ones that belonged to his heart, and sent a silent message. It’s your choice. Your call. I will follow you wherever you take me, us. It was intense even for such a simple choice, but that was always how it was between them. 

Bucky’s nose turned into his wrist, silent puffs of air sliding over his skin as Bucky drew in his scent. He closed his eyes for a few time-stopping seconds before those haunting grey eyes peaked beneath fluttering lashes. 

“...Let’s stay home.” A smile turned the corner of his lips, an expression Steve would never stop loving. “But I get to pick the movie. You’re still on a two week probation after making me watch Baby Driver.” 

Steve couldn’t resist dipping down, stealing a kiss across slightly chapped lips. The kiss stolen at the end of his love’s sentence was sweet. The traces of sunlight only made it sweeter.

[lesboaliceswan]

now ’til forever it’s all of me, all of you, just take my hand (Bella x Rosalie) 

request: Bella and Rosalie? (Either clean or nsfw works) For Anon

warnings: femslash pairing, a little talk of rape

word count: 1,869

a/n: hey anon! this was just run through grammarly, i apologize for mistakes. this is probably crappy but i like it, so here goes...

“How would you like to go on a date with me?” Rosalie blurted out one day in the parking lot. She glanced over at her family, and was met with shocked faces. Up until now, she had pretended that she hated the annoying teenager, but it was all a façade. She knew Bella was her mate from the beginning, but she didn’t want to have to put her family in danger. She just couldn’t stay away from her anymore. Her inner musings were interrupted by a shocked Bella stammering, trying to get her words out. She couldn’t form a complete word, and at that moment Rosalie knew she had to step in. She lightly grabbed the human girl’s hands and squeezed them ever so slightly.

“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to, I won’t pressure you into anything,” Rosalie explained and Bella furiously shook her head. That was not the answer Rosalie was expecting. The mate bond is felt by humans as well, but normally it isn’t nearly as strong. She was assuming that Bella would refuse and Rosalie would have to try again later. That wasn’t the case, as Bella squeezed Rosalie’s hands back and smiled.

“I would love to, Rosalie, you just caught me off guard.” Rosalie cringed at the slight hurt in Bella’s voice. She felt bad for making Bella feel like she didn’t like her. Rosalie just wasn’t good with emotions.

”How about this Saturday? I can pick you up if you’d like? Or not if you’d rather use your truck, although I’d rather you not drive that rust bucket back and forth-“ Bella cut Rosalie off from her rambling and smiled at her. Bella thought she was cute when she was nervous.

”Rose, you can pick me up if that makes you feel better. Just breathe.” The taller girl smiled at her shorter mate. She always knew how to make her feel better. Rosalie nodded and began to walk back to her family. When she got there, no one said a word, but everyone’s eyes were on her.

”What the hell was that?” Edward screeched. Rosalie winced at the volume of it. Super sensitive vampire ears don’t go well with an annoyed brother. Rosalie just shrugged.

”Asking out my mate, I guess.” All her family members gasped, including Edward and Alice. Edward quickly calmed down when he heard those words, but still seemed confused.

”Why did you let me try to get close to her if you knew she was your mate? Also, how didn’t I know this?” Alice echoed his last sentence, although she looked even more confused than Edward.

”I didn’t want her to be my mate. I didn’t want to ask her, but I couldn’t help myself.” Edward sighed and Alice squealed at the love-struck grin on Rose’s face.

”Understandable. I just wish I’d have know before I went through all that pain-“ Rosalie snarled at the other vampire.

”Put a sock in it drama queen, we all understand how terrible it must’ve been to be near her, even though I killed all my rapists without drinking a single drop of their blood. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to plan” With that, Rosalie hopped in her car with Alice and sped off.

Needless to say, Edward didn’t say a word to Rosalie for the rest of the day.

Saturday...

“Okay, I think it’s all set,” Rosalie whispered to herself as she looked at the picnic area she had set up. It wasn’t Edward’s meadow, it was ten times as good. It was a little hike away from the road, but not too far away.

Rosalie smiled to herself and ran back home to get in her car and drive to Bella’s house. She just hoped she would get this right.

Meanwhile...

”Bella, stop freaking out, it’s just Rosalie” Bella internally scoffed at herself for saying that. That’s the whole reason she was freaking out, because it’s Rosalie. She would never look as good as the other girl, not in a million years.

As Bella looked in the mirror, she was slightly taken aback at what she saw. Her hair was lightly curled and fell just below her shoulder. She had on an oversized flannel shirt that she stole from her dad, a black, tight-fitted crop-top, and light blue skinny jeans. She looked hot. She smiled to herself as she took in her appearance once more. It was casual, but she made it look good. She just hoped Rosalie would like it.

Just then, her doorbell rang. Her heart rate sped up and she heard a light chuckle from outside the door. Apparently, Rosalie had heard the change. Bella raced down the stairs, tripping twice but catching herself on the railing, and finally opened the door.

”Hi” Bella meekly said, which earned another chuckle from the blonde vampiress. Rosalie smirked at the younger girl, but it was wiped off her face as she took in her appearance. Bella smiled to herself at the look in the vampire’s eyes. Apparently, the outfit was acceptable.

”You look amazing, Bella” Rosalie said, and there was not a trace of doubt in her tone. She truly believed Bella looked flawless.

Bella raked her eyes over Rosalie’s form and her mouth instantly went dry. She had a light brown blazer overtop a black turtleneck. Her bottoms were plaid dress pants, and her shoes were short heels. It was normal of Rosalie to leave people speechless, but never to this extent before. Bella physically couldn’t speak for what felt like forever, but in reality was just a few seconds.

”Wow.�� Bella mentally smacked herself at her lack of filter. Luckily, Rosalie understood what she was trying to say and giggled before responding with a soft “Thank you.”

”You ready to go?” Rosalie asked and Bella nodded. They both couldn’t wait for this night. Rosalie hoped Bella would enjoy, as this could make or break their relationship.

It didn’t take long to get there, and soon enough, Rosalie was pulling into a little abandoned driveway. Bella looked confused, but Rosalie smiled in reassurance and got out of her car. Of course, she opened Bella’s door for her, she always would.

”Hop on” Rosalie said and motioned to her back. Bella looked hesitant, but obliged. Rosalie took off as soon as Bella was secured into her back, and Bella let out a small shriek. Rosalie laughed, a loud boisterous sound. She was free out here, there was no one to hear her other than the woman on her back. Bella chuckled too, mainly at herself, but also at how a loud sound like that came out of a prim and proper lady from the 1930s.

Bella gasped at the sight as Rosalie screeched to a halt. The meadow was beautiful, even more so than Edward’s. There was a large lake in the middle, but the thing that caught her eye first was the picnic table Rosalie had set up. Bella grinned to herself, and then towards Rosalie. The blonde sighed in relief as she saw the look on her face. Apparently she had done good.

”Wait, what are you gonna have?” Bella frowned as she realized that Rosalie didn’t eat.

”I’ve already got that covered. Well, c’mon, let’s go sit.” Rosalie grabbed Bella’s hand and brought her to the table. As they sat down, Alice walked out of the woods and brought them their food in a picnic basket. Alice insisted she help, so Rosalie gave her this job to keep her happy.

”Thank you, Alice” Bella chuckled at the pixie-like girl and glanced at Rosalie. Rosalie just winked in response earning a blush from Bella.

Rosalie grabbed the basket and pulled out the food. She had bought a garden burger from the diner along with a berry cobbler and a coke. Bella smile grew at the selection which made Rosalie’s grin grow in response.

”How did you know?” Bella asked and Rosalie smirked.

”A little birdie looked into the future and told me what you’d react best to” Bella laughed and grabbed Rosalie’s hand from across the table. Rosalie faltered at the contact, but regained her composure before Bella could notice.

”It’s perfect” It was funny how two words could make someone so happy. It might’ve been the fact that her mate approved of their first date, but it also might’ve been the high from Bella’s touch.

The rest of the night was spent talking and laughing. Rosalie didn’t mind when Bella asked about her past, she just steered clear of anything about those bastards that took her innocence. That wasn’t first date material. Rosalie was mainly focused on Bella, but she also liked talking about herself. Not in a vain way, she just enjoyed Bella’s reactions.

”What was your most cringe-worthy moment?” Rosalie asked Bella after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

”The fact that when I’m around you, I don’t know how to speak. You never fail to take my breath away when you’re near me.” Bella said seriously. Rosalie was at a loss for words. What Bella had said was so raw, so filled with emotion, that she didn’t know how to response.

”Well I’m glad you’re the same way as me when I’m around you. You’re the most beautiful, most breathtaking woman I’ve met in my entire life.” Rosalie said, and for a moment she couldn’t believe she’d said that. Then, she realized that every word she’d said was true.

”You really mean that?” Bella was giddy that the other woman felt the same.

”I really do” Rosalie smiled and grabbed Bella’s hand. Bella smiled back and brought Rosalie’s hand to her mouth. It was only a small peck, but it sent electricity through every inch of Rosalie’s body. Rosalie looked at the sky and noticed that it was already getting too dark to stay there much longer.

”I’d better get you home before your father comes looking for you.” Bella frowned, but eventually nodded and hopped on Rosalie’s back so she could take her back home.

Later, at the house...

”I had a great time tonight.” Bella smiled as they both stood on the front porch of Bella’s house.

”Likewise, one might even say it was the best date they’ve ever been on.” Rosalie thought back to all her human and vampire years to confirm that it was the best. It was, indeed.

They both stared in each other’s eyes for the longest time. It wasn’t awkward, it was intimate. Bella slowly leaned in, giving time for Rosalie to back out, then gently pressed her warm lips to Rosalie’s cold ones. Electricity crackled through every inch of Bella’s body as their mouths moved in sync. Bella slowly pulled back, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop if she went any longer.

”Goodnight, Rosalie.” Bella ran her thumb across Rosalie’s cheekbone, then across her jaw and bottom lip before placing a chaste kiss onto her lips.

”Goodnight, my beautiful Bella.” Rosalie watched her mate retreat into the comfort of her home before climbing in the car and sitting in the driver’s seat.

For the first time in a very long time, Rosalie felt hope.

[gigi-sinclair]

Cendrillon (crossover with “Versailles”, Guillaume/Thomas Jopson, rated G)

Blame it on @rubysharkruby, and specifically this gifset. Also, I believe it was @oochilka who said “a Thomas Jopson for every Matthew McNulty character”, and I can thoroughly get behind that. 

If you haven’t seen “Versailles”, I would say Guillaume is more or less a 17th century French Edward Little. The poor guy just wants to do his job. 

For the @theterrorbingo Free Space, and my third Bingo!!!

“I hear you are cobbler to the King.”

Guillaume looks up from the tannery workbench. In front of him stands the most beautiful man he's ever seen, tall and dark-haired. He's dressed simply, as a servant, but he is as lovely as any aristocratic flower Guillaume has glimpsed at Versailles.  

“We work for all sorts of people,” Jeanne calls across the workshop. The man glances at her. “None of our clients have ever been dissatisfied.”

“But you are correct,” Guillaume says, bringing the man's startling blue gaze back to him. “We are fortunate enough to have a position at court.” At least until the King catches wind of Jeanne's disloyal sentiments.

“My master is in sore need of new shoes.” He has an accent, Guillaume remarks. English, although his French is very good. “But I am afraid he dislikes leaving home. I would be most grateful if somebody could go to him.”

Guillaume is far too busy with the King and the orders from court these days to take on such errands himself, but he finds himself strangely loath to assign the task to someone else.

“Where do you live?”

“My master's home is outside Menuls-lès-Saint-Cloud.” A fair ride from the workshop. A trip out there would certainly take more time than Guillaume has to spend.

“I can come tomorrow afternoon.” He can sense Jeanne's eyebrows go up, but ignores her. It's easy enough to do when the man bestows upon him a smile dazzling enough to put butterflies in Guillaume's stomach and palpitations in his heart. He even has dimples, Guillaume notes, with simultaneous despair and elation. He has always been inordinately fond of dimples.

“Thank you, monsieur. He is a very particular gentleman, he only wants the best.” The man gives Guillaume a look that can only be described as meaningful. Even after his experiences at court, where volumes are spoken with looks and gestures, Guillaume does not possess the skills to discern that meaning. He takes the address, and bids the man a farewell which is ridiculously forlorn, given they are complete strangers.

As soon as he is gone, Guillaume hears Jeanne scoff.

“You have something to say, dear sister?”

“Merely that I am pleased to see you taking work for someone other than His Majesty. And that your familiarity with the Duc d'Orléans seems to have affected you in more ways than one.” This meaning could not be clearer, and she could not be more wrong.

Guillaume knows of Philippe's proclivities, naturally. Those same proclivities lived in Guillaume long before he met Philippe. He wonders, at times, if that was what encouraged friendship to blossom between them, even more than their shared experiences in the war.

“If you are short of work, Jeanne, I'm certain I can find you something to do.” His tone is less imperious than he would like, but she says no more.

***

The mysterious gentleman's home is a moderately sized villa, tidy with a well-kept garden. It is not the home of an aristocrat, but nor is it a place for a pauper. The handsome servant himself greets Guillaume at the door.

Overnight, Guillaume almost managed to convince himself he had exaggerated the man's appearance. He, who had seemed an angel on Earth in the tannery, would no doubt appear ordinary or even plain in the light of day.

Guillaume was wrong. The man is as lovely now as he was yesterday. As he greets Guillaume with another of those astonishing smiles, Guillaume hears himself ask, “What is your name?”

 “Jopson, monsieur. Thomas.” He says it the English way. Tom-mass. It is utterly delightful.

“I am Guillaume,” Guillaume tells him, as Thomas leads him into the house.

“Yes,” Thomas replies. Amusement colours his voice. “I know.”

A man awaits them in the drawing room. Although the weather is mild, he sits before the fire. Like the house itself, this room is well-kept without being extravagant, with tall bookshelves against several of the walls, and paintings of seascapes on the others. The gentleman is not elderly, but Guillaume recognizes the ravages of drink on his face.

“Captain Crozier,” Thomas says, in English. Guillaume can understand a little, although he would never attempt to speak it. “We are honoured with a visit from the King's shoemaker.”

Crozier casts his eyes across Guillaume's person, then snorts. “All right, then. Let's get on with it.”

Captain Crozier—given the seascapes, Guillaume assumes he is a naval captain, or was one, rather than an army captain—suffers from severe bunions. He winces as Guillaume measures his feet, although Guillaume is as gentle as possible. After marching for years with his own troops, this is a condition with which Guillaume has great sympathy.

“Tell him,” Guillaume says to Thomas, as he wraps up his measuring tape, “I will make him the most comfortable shoes he has ever owned.”

His words make Thomas' eyes light up. At once, Guillaume wishes to do that again, and again. “Oh, that would be very much appreciated.” Thomas repeats the sentence in English to the captain, who laughs derisively.

“He wouldn’t be the first to say that. But I welcome his attempt.” The captain's gaze goes to Thomas. “Why don't you have a pair made yourself, as well, Thomas?”

“Me, sir?”

“If his shoes are as good as he claims, then you surely deserve some of your own. You're on your feet far more than I.”

A fetching blush comes to Thomas' cheeks. “That's very kind, sir.” He turns to Guillaume. “My master has kindly offered me a pair of my own. If you don't mind...”

“Not at all.”

Thomas sits on the nearest chair, and removes his current shoes. They are of very poor quality, badly made to begin with and crudely patched on top of that. Guillaume wishes he had brought a pair of completed shoes for Thomas to wear while his are being made.

Guillaume has seen a lot of feet in his time. In and of themselves, they have never interested him, but Thomas' feet are strangely fascinating.

Guillaume bites his lip, striving to maintain the highest level of professionalism. The level that has kept him at court, even if Philippe's influence was obviously what first opened the door. He takes Thomas' measurements as briskly and efficiently as he did his master's, until he arrives at Thomas' left instep.

It is high. Before he can consider what he's doing, Guillaume traces it with his index finger. Even through Thomas' stocking, Guillaume can feel the heat of his body. He twitches, but does not pull his foot away. Rather, he pushes back, just a little, then raises his gaze to meet Guillaume's.

Guillaume feels his own face heat to match the blush darkening Thomas'. He pulls his hand away.

“I shall deliver the shoes myself, once completed.” The vow is rash. He might be called to Versailles at any time.

“I look forward to it, monsieur,” Thomas replies, in a low voice that does not quite suit a conversation about shoes.

***

As promised, the shoes Guillaume makes for Thomas and his master are among the finest he's created. The leather is richly tanned, supple beneath his fingers, and the stitching is exquisite, if he does say so himself. For all his sins, Guillaume is not usually a prideful man. He is proud of these shoes, and excited to present them to their new owners.

To one of their new owners in particular. He smiles to himself on the ride up to Menuls-lès-Saint-Cloud. He would say he feels as giddy as a schoolboy, but Guillaume was always a serious child.

“Good afternoon, monsieur!” Guillaume did not write ahead to announce his arrival, but Thomas greets him as if he was expected. “I'm afraid Captain Crozier has taken ill.”

“I hope it is nothing serious.”

A delicate frowns settles upon Thomas' forehead. “No,” he says, sounding tired. “It is quite usual.”

There is nothing to be said to that. “I have your shoes.” Guillaume holds up the bag in his hand. It seems an idiotic statement—why else would he have come?—but Thomas brightens, the frown disappearing.

“Please, do come in. I'm so eager to see them.”  

He takes Guillaume to the same room they were in before. Guillaume sets aside the shoes made for the captain, and unveils Thomas' pair. “They're wonderful!” Thomas exclaims. “Might I try them?”

“Of course.” The prudent course of action would be to hand the shoes to Thomas, to let him put them on himself. Instead, Guillaume says, “Please, sit.”

Guillaume has spent a great deal of his life as a supplicant. Before God, before the King. It feels just as natural to go to his knees before Thomas, to take one of his stocking-clad feet in hand and slide it into the shoe. The fit, of course, is exact.  

“My goodness.” Guillaume looks up. Thomas' cheeks are rosy, his lips parted in a way that makes Guillaume feel quite warm. “That's lovely.” He clears his throat, as Guillaume sets down that foot and takes up his other one. “In Italy, the captain and I heard a story about a lady who flees from a royal ball, and is found again by the perfect fit of a slipper she left behind. Do you know the tale?”

“I have heard a similar one at court.” Guillaume remembers Philippe recounting it to him, thinking, no doubt, that the subject matter would appeal.  

Thomas holds his gaze. “Then you will know that the one who returns her slipper is a charming prince. Like you, Guillaume.”

Guillaume swallows. “I am far from a prince.”

“Perhaps.” He reaches out to rest his hand on Guillaume's shoulder. His touch is light. Still, it makes Guillaume's heart beat faster. “But I find you very charming indeed.”

He moves slowly. Guillaume has ample opportunity to shift away, to get up and leave, to reject what Thomas is clearly offering. He does none of that. Instead, he allows Thomas to sit on the floor beside him, to take Guillaume in his arms, and, finally, to press a kiss, soft and tentative, against Guillaume's lips.

Despite the circles he now moves in, despite his close friendship with the King's only brother, Guillaume is a simple man. He is not ashamed of that. There is a natural hierarchy to the world, and Guillaume is well aware of his place within it.

And my place at the moment, he thinks, wrapping his arms about Thomas and returning kiss with ardour, is exactly where I am now.  

[atths--twice]

Okay... here is the continuation of the funeral of Maggie. I love these three chapters so very much, as sad as they are. I hope you enjoy them too. 

Chapter Twenty Seven

Sharing the Grief 

Mulder has arrived to take care of Scully and share in the grief of losing her mother.

February 2016

Mulder held Scully in the foyer of her mother's home, as she sobbed in his arms. “Breathe, Scully,” he whispered into her hair as he stroked her back. “There you go, deep breaths, it’s okay.” He could feel her breathing deeper and relaxing against him.  

He closed his eyes as he felt her shudder, her hands clinging to him tightly. “You’re okay, Scully. That’s it.” Stroking her hair, he waited as she finally was able to breathe easily. Pulling back, he looked at her, wiping her eyes, and holding her face in his hands.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Do you want to go? I could take you home-”

“No!” she said forcefully. “I want to stay.”

“Okay,” he smiled softly. “Okay.”

He turned and led her up the stairs to the room they usually stayed in whenever they slept over in the past. Turning on the light, he guided her to the bed, knelt down in front of her and took off her shoes, setting them to the side. Looking up at her, he reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“I don’t … I don’t have any clothes to change into, and I don’t want to sleep in this dress,” she said, looking at him with tears in her eyes. “I can’t wear my mother’s clothes, Mulder, and I have nothing else to change into.” She started to cry, and he held her again before pulling back and giving her a small smile.

He took off his coat and then his suit jacket, laying them on the bed with his tie following shortly thereafter. Unbuttoning his shirt, he took it off and laid it down. He took off his undershirt and handed it to her, staring into her eyes. She took it with a nod, tears falling down her cheeks. She gripped his hand for a second before she walked into the bathroom to change.

He watched her and sighed, his heart hurting for her. He picked up his dress shirt and put it back on, buttoning it up, except a few at the top. He moved his jackets and his tie, folding them and putting them on top of the dresser. His shoes were taken off and placed beside hers as he looked at the bathroom door, waiting for her to come back in the room.

Hearing a sob, he walked toward the door and knocked. “Scully? You okay?” She cried again and he turned the doorknob, not waiting for an answer.

She was sitting on the side of the tub, her dress in a puddle on the floor. His shirt was on her knees and her face was in her hands as she cried. He sighed as he walked over to her and moved her dress out of the way, laying it across the towel rack. He knelt down in front of her and gently tugged at his shirt. She moved her arms as he took it, shook it out, and readied it to go over her head.

Seeing she still had her bra on, he stopped what he was doing, laid his shirt on the tub, and reached to unhook it for her. It slid down her shoulders and he moved it down to her elbow, gently pulling her hand from her face to pull the strap down completely.

She raised her face to his, and he smiled softly at her. Once one strap was removed, he went to the other one, sliding it down and off, holding her bra in his hands. Setting it on the floor beside him, he reached for his shirt and readied it again. He placed it over her head and waited for her to put her arms inside the holes before he pulled it down, covering her chest. Not once did his eyes stray anywhere but her face.

“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. He nodded and smiled softly again, picking up her bra as he stood up. Reaching for her hand, he helped her stand up, his shirt falling into place at her thighs. He added her bra to her dress and stepped aside to let her walk out of the bathroom.

Following her out, he watched her pull the covers back on the bed and then look back at him, silently asking him to join her. He turned off the bedroom light, leaving the door open and the hall light on, as he walked to the other side of the bed and pulled the covers back. They laid down, covered up, and as soon as they did, she turned onto her side and reached for him.

He held her with her face buried in his neck as she began to cry again. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” she sobbed. “I need her, Mulder.”

“I know, Scully,” he whispered, stroking her hair and closing his eyes. He took a breath and then he was crying. All day he had been strong for her, but now, here in this house, holding her in his arms, he could not hold back anymore.

The woman he loved like his own mother was gone. The one who cared for and loved him like a son. He would no longer see her smile at one of his dumb jokes, hear her laugh, watch her victory dance, or eat another one of her delicious peach cobblers. Her voice would not be the one he heard when the phone rang, letting him know she was on her way over, or making sure he was okay.

Why? Why did it have to be her? Someone so loved and needed? Scully pulled him closer and they cried together as he held her tighter to him. No words were said, just tears shared, as they mourned their loss together.

As Scully’s tears subsided, Mulder felt her grow heavy against him. Soon her soft breathing could be heard in place of her tears. An occasional sob still escaped, but he knew she was asleep. As tired as he was, he would not let sleep claim him yet. He wanted to be sure she stayed asleep and was as emotionally comfortable as possible before he did.

He kept a hold of her as he thought of the past few days. The sadness he saw in Scully, after they left the hospital and continued working on their case. Work had distracted her, but as soon as they slowed down, he saw her falter. When the case was wrapped up, she came over to the house in tears, and he held her on the couch as she cried.

In the morning, as she sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, he had made her toast and eggs, bringing it over to her. She was unable to eat more than five bites before looking at him with sad eyes. She left shortly after that, but called him later and talked to him until she fell asleep.

Showing up at the funeral home, he knew he had surprised her, but he could not let her do that on her own. He handled his mother’s estate largely on his own and remembered wishing that he had leaned on Scully more when she had offered to help him. No chance would he leave her to face those decisions and sadness alone. He owed her and Mrs. Scully that, and so much more.

He sighed, Scully sleeping soundly against him, as he thought of earlier that morning. When he woke, it had felt as if the day itself was heavy. As if it knew there were people waking up with broken hearts. He had taken a shower and gotten ready, taking special care with his grooming. His suit was fresh from the dry cleaners and his tie was the one he had purchased for his recent birthday dinner with Mrs. Scully. He tied it carefully, showing his respect in all the small ways he could.

As he had gotten ready, he thought of one of the last times she had been out to the house, the day after Christmas, just a few weeks ago. After visiting and giving him his Christmas gifts, she turned to him with a smile. “Merry Christmas again, Fox,” she said, buttoning up her coat. “I hope you enjoy your gifts.” She winked at him, and he laughed, the gifts she gave him sitting on the dining room table: a plush alien and a four pack set of Sasquatch drinking glasses and plates. He could not wait to use them.

“Yes, I will definitely get a lot of use from the gifts you’ve given me this year. Thank you,” he said with a grin. Bending to kiss her cheek, she chuckled, patting his face as he did.

“Thank you for my gifts as well, Fox,” she said, touching the scarf he gave her. It was pale blue and seemed like a ‘Mrs. Scully’ type color to him.

He also gave her an Apollo 11 key chain. A frantic and long search online, had finally led him to where he could purchase one, and it almost did not make it on time. He told her he gave one to Scully for her birthday years ago. The confused expression on Mrs. Scully’s face made him laugh as he explained the history of it.

“It was just a key chain at first, and also a bit of a silly joke that went back to a case we worked on years ago,” he shrugged as she smiled curiously. “I was overly excited about this case as it involved space and Scully was nearly bored to tears. But, once again, she respected the journey and didn’t laugh too hard at my silly boyish happiness.” Mrs. Scully laughed and he smiled. “But, from a simple hokey gift, Scully found so much more meaning and symbolism, it was hard to argue once I really thought about it.”

He took the key chain from Mrs. Scully, and stared at it, smiling as he remembered finding the one he had given Scully when he was searching for John Doggett, and how he accused her of re-gifting.

“Scully gave hers to Agent Doggett. You remember him? Of course you do,” he said when Mrs. Scully nodded. “I felt … weird to say the least, but she was right to have given it to him. As I thought about it, her words from so long ago echoed in my mind: ‘That you must dare to dream, but that there's no substitute for perseverance and hard work. And teamwork, because no one gets there alone.’  No one gets there alone,” he repeated, handing it back to her and she had tears in her eyes. “I’m here today, in large part because of your care. I wouldn’t have gotten here alone, so I’m giving this to you to commemorate an achievement that could be deemed as impossible as putting a man on the moon.” She laughed and pulled him in for a hug.

“Thank you, Fox,” she whispered and he chuckled.

She left not long after and the last time he spoke to her was the night she brought over pie and they discussed he and Scully going back to the bureau. He was thankful for that night. Thankful he had that memory of her, the happiness he saw on her face, knowing he and Scully were possibly moving forward, back where they belonged.

He exhaled, shook his head, and shifted in the bed. Scully was holding tight to him, not wanting to let him go too far, even in her sleep. That was fine with him as he wished he never had to let her go again. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent and let his exhausted body finally fall asleep.

He woke to the sun just beginning to rise, Scully pressed against him, her back to his front. He had his arms wrapped around her and her leg was draped over his, a familiar position they slept in many times. He pulled her closer, hoping to fall back to sleep.

She moved and stretched, before she turned over and faced him, her eyes so blue and beautiful. She put a hand on his face and breathed his name, looking into his eyes. He bent his forehead to hers and whispered her name, as she sighed shakily.

“Thank you for staying with me. For coming back,” she whispered, her hand still on his face.

“I didn’t leave,” he said quietly, putting a hand on her hip. Pulling her head back, she stared at him. He shrugged and smiled slightly. “I waited until you went back inside and turned around. I wasn’t going to leave you like that, Scully.” She came back into his embrace and he felt her tears on his neck.

They lay in the warm bed, holding each other for a while longer, before she moved and stared at him. She sighed as she pulled back and left the bed, heading into the bathroom. He lay back and closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He got out of bed, turned off the hall light, and headed downstairs. Using the bathroom down there, he then headed to the kitchen. Filling the coffee pot with water, he added the coffee and turned it on. Taking out mugs for each of them, he opened the fridge to see if there was any milk or cream.

Vanilla coffee cream was all he found, but looking at the food in there, he knew they would need to clean it out before they left today. He looked up as he heard Scully come into the room. She had changed from his shirt back into her dress, though she was barefoot.

She smiled softly as she glanced toward the coffee. “That smells good. I don’t know if there is much food in the fridge, but maybe there’s something in the freezer.” She walked over to check and found waffles inside and syrup in the fridge.

Their simple meal eaten, he suggested they clean out the fridge and she nodded. “We should do the pantry too. I’ll go get some boxes,” he said, standing up and going to get his jacket and shoes.

He drove to the closest moving company and bought some boxes. Heading back, he felt better going to the house today than he did yesterday, but it still felt weird to walk in and not find Mrs. Scully there waiting for him.

Scully had cleared most of the pantry by the time he walked back in the house. He got the boxes ready and started to load them up. “Separate them out between the two of us, I’ll never eat all this food,” she said and he nodded.

They worked in silence, getting the job done, before he loaded the car with the boxes, while she went upstairs to grab her shoes. She came down the stairs with his coat, tie, and undershirt on her arm, her shoes hanging on her fingers.

He took his things from her, planning on adding his shirt to one of the boxes she would take home, giving her something for comfort. He helped her with her coat and with a last look around, they headed out the door, Scully locking it behind them.

It was a quiet drive to her place, but a few minutes in, she reached for his hand and held it for the rest of the journey. She kept her head turned toward the window and said nothing, but occasionally squeezed his hand gently.

Pulling into her complex, he parked in the visitor spot and they unloaded the car. On the second trip up, he put his undershirt in the box and hid it under some boxes of crackers. He brought the box up and set it on her kitchen counter. She came out of her room, holding envelopes.

“This is yours and … this one is for William,” she said, holding out both letters. “I can’t have that one here for him. I … it’s too tempting to know what she had to say to him. What she might tell him … about me, you … I can’t have it here or I’ll read it.”

“I don’t think she’d-”

“No. I want to save it for him,” she said, staring at him. “Just … just in case.” She sighed and he nodded. “Could you take it home and keep it there? Put it in the safe?”

“For safekeeping?” he asked, trying to make her smile, as he took both letters from her. She exhaled, but did not smile. “Yes, Scully, I will put it in the safe.” She nodded and smiled at him.

“You want me to help you put this stuff away?” he asked, putting the letters in his inside jacket pocket and gesturing toward the food.

“No, that’s okay, I can get it done. Thank you for your help and for everything else,” she said, looking at him and he nodded. He sighed and knew he had to tell her now.

“Scully, I need to tell you something,” he sighed again and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, she was watching and waiting for him to continue. “After you left … about a week after, your mom came over to the house. I was in the shower and I missed her, but she left a basket of food- lasagna and that lemon cake she made that was so good.” He paused as he thought of that day and how broken he felt. “That first basket of food was just the beginning. She came back the next day with more, fed me, went out and bought groceries … hugged me and then came back the next week. And the week after. For almost two years.” She stood staring at him with her mouth open and tears on her cheeks.

“Never, not once did she make me feel anything but loved by her. She was there to help, not shame. I was to blame for what happened between us, Scully-”

“Mulder-”

“Scully,” he said, shaking his head. “We can argue about it, but the majority of the problems rested on my shoulders. Your mom … she never placed blame, but encouraged me to get better, found projects to fill the day, and suggested I see a therapist. She pushed me, but also allowed me to heal at my own pace. I owe her so much. You Scully women ... you don’t back down from a challenge and you love fiercely. The world needs more women like you.” He smiled at her and she wiped her eyes before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him.

“I had no idea she was doing that, not once did she say anything about it,” she whispered into his chest. “I’m happy she was there for you. Of course she would be, she loved you so much. Mulder, I’m so sorry-”

“Scully, it was the right thing to do, it was,” he said, hugging her tightly. They fell silent as they stood there holding onto one another. She tipped her head back and smiled, tears still on her face. He moved his hands and held her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs. She closed her eyes and he kissed her forehead.

“I should get going,” he whispered, his forehead now resting against hers. “I’ve got a car full of perishables that I don’t want to spoil.” She laughed softly as she stepped back and took a deep breath. He smiled at her and nodded before picking up his keys and heading for the door.

“If you need anything, Scully, anything at all,” he said and she nodded.

“I’ll call, I promise. But, I think I’ll be okay,” she smiled and he returned it. Opening the door, he walked out, turning to wave goodbye before she closed the door.

When he arrived home, he brought in his loose clothing and laid it on a dining room chair. He took off his jacket and added it to the pile before he began to bring in the boxes of food and put them away. The cupboards were fairly bursting and he shook his head, thinking that even after she died, Mrs. Scully was still seeing to it that he was fed.

Sighing, he reached for his jacket and the letters held within. He sat down at the table, looking at the familiar handwriting, and his eyes filled with tears. He set William’s aside and opened his own, knowing this letter was going to hurt.

Fox,

I’ve sat here for ten minutes trying to figure out how to write this letter to you. It seems so odd to be writing a goodbye when I saw you just a few days ago.

I hope beyond hope that this letter is not read for years, but life is uncertain and so I would rather be prepared than leave this earth with worries on my mind.

Fox, right now, I know things seem like they are stuck and you don’t know if they will move forward, but I pray that is not the case. I have been praying for it. You two belong together, in this life and the next.

The night Dana brought you to dinner all those years ago, I knew. I saw the love you two had for one another, even if it would take years for you to realize it. You are the only person I would trust to keep my daughter safe.

We’ve had discussions about the past and you said you wouldn’t change anything that’s happened, because it’s led to the now. Even if it hurts, even if there is pain that feels never ending, I know you would still knowingly choose the path you are on now. One slight deviation and who knows where either of you would have been? This was the plan, the path chosen, and you will continue down it, believing the end will be worth it.

I know it will be. I have faith.

Fox, I love you. I’ve told you before, but I want it said here so you can look back on it anytime you need to see it. You are my son, my family. I love you.

Family is what matters. They are the people who hold you accountable, the ones who have your back, and the ones who show up when you need them. It’s what family does.

Fox, thank you for being my family and being the man worthy of my girl.

I love you.

Maggie (Mrs. Scully)

He laughed through his tears at her closing, knowing she must have had a good chuckle over that when she wrote it. He could see the sly look on her face, making a joke at his expense.

Reading her letter again, he shook his head and wiped his eyes. Taking a shaky breath, he folded it up and put it back in the envelope. He touched his name written on the outside and shook his head again. Standing up from the table, he picked up William’s letter and walked to the safe in the office.

Opening it, he found their passports, birth certificates, and other important papers. He added William’s letter and closed the safe. He hoped one day William would have a chance to read what his grandmother had written for him.

Walking back to the table, he stared at the seat Mrs. Scully always sat in, and he closed his eyes briefly. He picked up his tie from his pile of clothing and walked to her chair. Draping his tie across it, his fingers grazed the back of the chair.

“Thank you, for everything,” he whispered, before picking up his letter and his phone, and heading upstairs.

It was still early, but he was exhausted. The days had merged together and had been emotionally draining. Going to bed early felt like a great idea.

He stripped, took a shower, and put on some pajama bottoms. He made sure his phone was plugged in and the volume up high in case Scully called. Pulling back the blankets, he laid down in a bed that smelled of sunshine and held the memory of the feel of Mrs. Scully’s arm around his waist as they stood together and watched the sheets blowing in the wind.

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Jesus ... I’m not gonna lie that these three particular chapters are some of my favorites. It might sound odd, but they have helped me find closure with things I didn’t know needed closing. Things in my life I have no control over seemed to leave me as I wrote this, knowing we cannot control others, only ourselves.

I hope that while incredibly sad, these chapters may have helped you as well. If so, let me know. It would make me feel so good, knowing a piece of you has been healed in some way. ❤️

Group hug!