#it’s not even connected to my main AO3 since I heard such bad things when I got into this fandom!

[poorlittleyaoyao]

Now that the immediate things for my Actual Job are done, I need people to yell at me to write when I get home so I think the due date I set for myself (tomorrow) is real and not a thing I invented (which it is).

[heartofmortis]

✶ Evenstar

. *. ⋆ CHAPTER 14

gif by @houseofamidala

pairing: anakin skywalker x oc

word count: 5.1k

✶ . *. ⋆ read on ao3 & wattpad

Anakin sat slouched on the sofa. He watched Oberyn pace across his room, working on one of his datapads while also talking with his brother. It amused Anakin that his brother could not stay put in one place — perhaps it was a Skywalker thing: always on the move. Oberyn was trying to set Anakin on another task to follow Elia around. This time she had to go North to Aphelion’s second largest city, Nolwenn, which lay protected in a carefully designed dome to protect all of the planet’s history. If the thought of exploring did not intrigue him so much, Anakin would be putting up a far greater fight.

“Why aren’t you going?” Anakin asked when Oberyn set his datapad down at last and collapsed into the armchair across from his brother.

“It’s a wedding thing,” Oberyn answered. “I’m not allowed to go. It’s supposed to be a bad omen or something.”

Suddenly, Anakin wanted to stick out his bottom lip and ask to stay with his brother. If he was to be in this wedding, he wanted to be by his brother’s side. Especially not when he was trying to avoid the Princess after he confessed his fears about his mother to her. But equally, he also did not want to sound like a silly little kid.

“And besides, I would really appreciate it if you accompanied El and Lilith.” Oberyn leaned forward as he spoke. “Nolwenn is very anti-war. And even though El opposes it too, I can’t let her be caught in the middle of something.”

Anakin gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

So now Anakin was stuck on a very long train journey with dozens of other passengers travelling North. The worst part of the journey was that the train could only travel underground. Elia had explained it to him as they boarded the isolated first class. The North was inhospitable and was constantly ravaged by violent snowstorms and freezing temperatures. It was the antithesis of Tatooine in Anakin’s eyes, and he was intrigued to see it. Therefore, to keep Aphelion connected, underground tunnels had been dug out — stretching all the way around the planet, as well as from Alora to Nolwenn. Anakin knew that mining used to be one of Aphelion’s main trades, but now he could see the degree to which they worked.

To pass the time, and to avoid the Princess and her friend, Anakin sat quietly by himself and meditated. (Obi-Wan would be proud.) Beneath the surface realigning his focus to the Force, Anakin could not explain it but the Force felt very strong here. Anakin realised he had not dwelled on it since they arrived, his head being preoccupied with a dozen other things that felt more important at the time.

Suddenly, Anakin felt a bumping against his knee. “Artoo!” He heard Elia scold as he opened his eyes to see that the Princess’ astromech had come to inspect him.

Anakin knew this blue-and-white R2 unit. They had met on Tatooine nine years ago — R2-D2 had never been far from Fallon Uttara’s heels. Anakin had met many astromechs and R-series droids, but never had he encountered a droid with Artoo’s personality and modifications. The young Jedi enjoyed talking with fellow mechanics and wondered what he could learn from this droid’s creator. Anakin thought of his own droid he had made as a boy — C-3PO, unfinished in Anakin’s eagerness to run away to Coruscant with his brother and new friends, abandoned to the always unforgiving sands of Tatooine. (He thought about his mother again and almost wished he could stop.)

“Hey, buddy,” Anakin said to the droid with a smile. He found himself chuckling as Artoo recounted his favourite — and least favourite — memories from Tatooine. (Most droids had their memories wiped often, especially those involved with politics or a Crown, so Anakin was quite surprised when Artoo beeped along about events like they were yesterday.)

Took hours to clean the sand out of all my gears. The droid ended with a trill, still not amused by the Tatooine climate.

Anakin laughed, truly. There were scarce beings who understood what Tatooine was like. While most of him wanted to forget his past, Anakin found it refreshing to confide in someone — or something — that had a slight understanding of what hardships he used to face. Even if it was only the weather. “You could pay me a million credits and I wouldn’t go back there willingly. I still don’t like sand.”

Don’t blame you. If droids could laugh, Artoo was doing it. Anakin grinned.

“Aphelion’s beaches are far softer and prettier than desert sands,” Lilith commented, peering over the top of her sketchbook. Anakin looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Lei, you should show him.”

Anakin watched a smile grow across the Princess’ face, light spilling into her soft brown eyes. The glow faltered when Elia looked at him. Whatever she was trying to hide, she did it well. (Anakin wasn’t sure why he noticed the way her expression changed.) “Neptune is wonderful,” she told him. “The villages are really pretty and the ocean is especially beautiful on a clear day.”

Anakin nodded without more of a reply. He trusted Elia’s opinion far more than Lilith’s. He didn’t think Athena had ever mentioned her planet’s beaches before — perhaps that was because Rhea was from Hemera and their beaches were famous galaxy-wide for being near perfect, or perhaps it was because Athena had always preferred Naboo to her homeworld. Anakin realised that Athena’s distance from the location was likely rather to do with her accident taking place there (Anakin still did not entirely know what happened that day — besides knowing that Elia was at the centre of why Queen Ianthe had made the decision to take her daughter out of the Jedi Order with Chancellor Palpatine’s support.) Elia caught his eye and the same dots connected in her head. She looked away from him and did not look back at him for the rest of the journey.

Despite knowing that Nolwenn was a city enclosed in a protective dome, Anakin still expected the city to merge into the surrounding landscape and be covered in a pretty layer of snow. Instead, the city was dominated by tall and sleek skyscrapers, reaching towards the sun, and many smaller districts that felt more familiar to the rest of Aphelion’s infrastructure that Anakin had seen. It was an interesting mix of metal and brick across the city, but Anakin didn’t think they clashed uncomfortably. The core of the city contained the highest concentration of high rise buildings — Anakin assumed the massive data vaults were either stored in them, or underneath. When he looked up, Anakin could see the raging snowstorm through the clear bubble. Its howls were muted by the gentle hum of the bustling city, but Anakin could imagine what it sounded like.

“We’re going to my Mum’s first,” Lilith informed Anakin as she and Elia linked arms and began walking down one of the neat cobbled streets outside the train station. Artoo gave the young Jedi a nudge to follow close behind the girls.

Lilith’s mother lived in a modest building. A small, two-storey home, tucked away in the artist’s corner of the city. Caught between two identical houses on a street of sameness, all that made each house stand apart was their painted exterior walls: some were one shade of pastel, others had intricate forest landscapes or constellations. Lilith’s mother’s house was on the simpler side: the brick wall was painted in a pale pink with delicate white and blue flowers drawn on vines looping around the windows.

Verena Stark looked just like her daughter: the same dark curls and snowy complexion. They even shared paint splatters across their fingers. Anakin’s mother was desert-warm, roughened by sand and hard work. Verena had the same maternal warmth that Anakin recognised in other women, but she bore more resemblance to a soft, crackling fire, her hands marked by splinters from old paintbrushes and her eyes tired from staring at colourful canvases. If Anakin looked at Lilith, he would have seen a similar fire — only burning more fitfully; weakened by snowstorms but bright against the sun’s glow.

Verena welcomed her daughter and Elia with tight hugs and admittance to soft prayers that they would arrive safely. When her gaze fell to Anakin, she gave him a pleasant smile — a flicker of silent remarks passed between her and the girls. Years of knowing and quiet secrets that Anakin was not privy to. But he did not care — especially when Verena brought them into her kitchen, bags abandoned at the door, and offered them a plate of warm cookies. Anakin wondered where Lilith’s loyalty had been led astray for her to leave Elia alone the other night when the young Jedi got the impression that Verena would not have imparted cheap abandon to her only daughter. It wasn’t really Anakin’s business (but it felt like it).

“How long are you guys staying for?” Verena asked as she and her visitors took seats in her living room.

“Not as long as I would like,” Elia admitted. “We’re here on ‘official business’,” she added with a roll of her eyes.

Anakin’s attention was caught by the number of paintings that adorned the walls — most were incredible, but there were a number of crude illustrations made by a child. Every piece was dated and named. Anakin noticed that while most of the works were obviously Lilith’s, there were some with Elia’s name attached. He knew nothing about what good artwork technically was, but he thought Elia’s was very good — he recognised the lakes of Naboo and the city of Theed, as well as purple Apheli moorland and mountain ranges.

His obvious distraction caused a shift in conversation as the women around him slipped into whispered conversation. Anakin tried not to eavesdrop, even though he was in the same room as them. He only paid attention when Elia offered to help Verena bring their empty cookie plates into the kitchen. Lilith did not look sideways at him, and Anakin didn’t particularly care. He didn’t mean to listen in to Elia and Verena’s conversation in the next room, but he was intrigued when they mentioned him. They spoke in hushed whispers, all too aware of their company, but Anakin caught snippets.

“Is he the one you used to talk about all the time?” Anakin overheard Verena ask. He did not catch Elia’s response, but she tumbled back into the living room a moment later. Anakin wasn’t sure why he cared, but he wanted to know what Elia said about him. Her cheeks were tinged pink. For all Anakin’s power in the Force, the Princess was still a mystery to him. He didn’t know how to read her.

“We should get going,” Elia told Anakin as she lingered in the doorway. There was a distance kept between them with Lilith in between. “We have another short journey to go.”

R2-D2 stayed behind at the house with Verena while Elia and Anakin set off for the caves. Elia could not wait to get this over with. Lilith had an art show on the other side of the artist’s district and Elia was bitter that she could not also attend. Their art-related hobbies were what bound Elia and Lilith together at fourteen years old, and Elia still wished she was free to create whatever she wanted like Lilith could.

The route to the mineral caves was simple. Nolwenn was a well-connected city with most of its traffic sitting at ground level to keep the sky clear. Three streets away from Lilith’s house was a taxi hub, where Elia hailed a droid-driven speeder for her and Anakin. The speeder took them to the other side of the city. Like the royal palace and Alora, Nolwenn was built close to a mountain range — the second biggest on the planet. Another mile-long tunnel ran deep below the city into one of the mountains. There laid the caves.

Elia explained the ritual to Anakin on the walk into the mountain. It was a silly old thing that came about before Aphelion became a matriarchy, all about female purity. Oberyn also thought it was a stupid thing as he did not have to undergo any such ritual. There was a silver lining that Elia found worthwhile was that the caves were laced with minerals that had a dozen healing properties that she could not name. Her scientific knowledge was limited to her school education; Zara Palpatine, Elia’s sister on a few technicalities, had tried teaching her some things, but Elia had less interest in learning why the galaxy worked in the way it did. Elia did not share the vast majority of Aphelion’s superstitions and she was hardly religious, so all she really cared for was the caves being pretty.

And the mineral caves were pretty. Even deep underground, the caverns were lit brightly by light beams bouncing off crystals lodged in the walls of stone, and the air still felt fresh with the calming scent of petrichor and not of damp, like she had been expecting. Elia walked towards the water and crouched down, dipping her fingers beneath the surface. Supposedly, the mineral pools were still warmed by dragonfire. She set down her bag of dry clothes next to the pool and slipped out of her shoes. Anakin stood somewhere behind her. When Elia stepped into the water, the fabric of her dress rose to float and stuck to her legs when she submerged up to her waist. She took a few more steps to see where the water deepened before reaching out and letting the water pull her under.

She felt weightless, floating in the water, and dove deeper. There were gaps of light in the bottom of the pool that poured water into the deeper ponds. The mineral pools all fed each other, using the melting snow as their birth point and fell through crevices through the mined out insides of the mountains. The water would eventually feed into Nolwenn’s water filtration system and be used by everyone in the city. The water cleansing reduced many of the mountain’s minerals, which was why girls travelled into the high points of the caves where the water was most healing.

When she came back up for air, she pushed her hair out of her face so it was slicked back against her head. Elia found her gaze reaching towards Anakin. “You can come in too,” she said. “It’s only husbands that aren’t supposed to come in with their future wives. The water is quite nice actually.”

“Do I need to wear a white dress as well?” Elia liked the way he laughed.

Elia rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushed pink from the warm water, and rose to stand where the water only met her waist. The bodice and skirt of her dress had transformed and was now stained lilac. “It represents a transformation: leaving an old life behind. Traditionally men visit Neptune to bathe in the salt water to shed layers of their past. But I know Oberyn wanted to follow more Naboo traditions, so I don’t know what he’ll be getting up to.”

Anakin huffed a little. “He was always better at looking to the future and letting go of the past than me.”

Elia nodded. She had gotten that impression from Oberyn early on. She waded back, deeper into the water. “It’s never too late to try, if you want to.”

She watched as Anakin stared at the ripples in the water before he confessed shyly, “I don’t know how to swim.”

For a moment, Elia wondered if she had forgotten that the Skywalker boys grew up on a desert planet, but Oberyn loved to swim with her in the lakes on Naboo. Was a Jedi’s life simply that restricted? She gave him an honest smile. “Don’t worry. I can show you.”

Anakin looked very uncertain, but he complied and shrugged off the outer layers of his Jedi robes and let them pool next to Elia’s bag. He moved tentatively, unsure. Elia offered a hand to guide him but he did not take it. She half-expected him to panic when in the water, but he watched and copied her instructions calmly. Elia showed him the way to float and move his arms to cut through the water. But she kept distance between them — they were already in close quarters, he wouldn’t want her any closer (not when the last time she was alone and secluded with a Jedi, Athena almost died). Anakin was a quick learner, a natural. She was ready to teach him another stroke when they were interrupted by a great tremble in the ground.

The shallow water in the pool sloshed over the edge and ripples broke the previously undisturbed surfaces of the other smaller pools in their room of the cavern.

Anakin turned to look at her. His short curls stuck to his forehead. “You guys have earthquakes and you brought us to a cave.”

Elia felt her stomach sink, like she was being pulled to the drain. “We aren’t supposed to… Aphelion only has quakes far out to sea where they can’t hurt anyone.”

Anakin dove towards Elia, pulling her under the water by her waist as the ceiling began to crumble and drop rock on top of them. Elia reached back to the surface, snatching back their discarded belongings. Anakin also surfaced for breath. They watched as the cracks in the ceiling grew bigger, water from the pools above them started leaking inside. The tunnels that led in and out of each room were much smaller and likely to be cut off quickly.

“Do you see the cracks of light where the water pulls you to?” Elia watched as Anakin followed where she was pointing and she nodded. “Dive for them, we can escape through the tunnels down there.”

They both took a deep breath and dove again. The water was clear enough for them both to see where they were going. Elia dove first as she was more experienced. But she had not yet gone this deep. All the pools fed into each other through tiny streams between rocks and drains that took away water so the highest pools would not overfill. But when Elia reached the bottom, the gap was not big enough for either of them to squeeze through. She tried to point it out to Anakin without inhaling any water before she began trying to break the rocks surrounding the drain. There were already cracks in the surface, they just needed to be bigger.

Anakin pushed her out of the way and reached out with the Force. The cracks in the rock grew bigger but did not fall away until Anakin was able to break them away with his hands. Like a plug being pulled, Elia and Anakin fell through the ceiling. The water cushioned their fall and they were lucky that the rocks fell around them and did not hit them. Elia was grateful to breathe again when she surfaced in the next pool and gasped for air. She dragged herself out of the new pool. This room was darker, the floor flooded by the overspill of the other rooms. But the walls were sturdier and the tremors were gone.

“Do you know what way to go?” Anakin asked, gaining his footing next to her.

“Not exactly, but all paths lead the same way.”

He motioned for her to lead and they took off running before another earthquake, or aftershock, appeared.

They reached the mouth of the cave quickly and slowed to a staggered walk. Dripping wet and breathless, Elia promised herself, I am never doing that again.

Elia noticed a small number of visitors approaching the cave with a guide. They all stared at Elia and Anakin. “You shouldn’t go in there right now. The earthquake made the ground unstable, it isn’t safe.”

Every one of the newcomers stared at her and glanced at their companions like she was crazy.

“What earthquake?” the tour guide asked.

Elia turned to Anakin. Perhaps she was crazy. But he was giving her the same expression of disbelief. The tour guide quickly rallied the group and they set off into the caves, all of them looking back at Elia and Anakin. The Elia noticed blood staining his hands.

“Sweet gods, are you okay?”

Anakin shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Elia made him sit down on one of the nicely placed rocks outside the cave. She pulled him around by the wrist and found some damp but clean fabric to clean the deep, but not threatening, cut across Anakin’s hand. He winced but complied as she fashioned him a makeshift bandage.

“I’ve seen people use the Force to heal,” she commented. “Sometimes I wish I could connect to it.”

“The Force is very strange here,” Anakin said. “It feels different on other planets, but Aphelion is something else. Every time I try and meditate or try to use it, I feel some resistance. I have never had trouble using the Force before.”

Elia was curious. Her experiences with the Jedi, and the Force, were very limited but they fascinated her. “Just here, or in thr capital too?”

“Everywhere. It’s this planet. It clouds things.”

Elia chuckled. “Aphelion is just a planet. Maybe the Chosen One just needs to give it a better chance.”

Anakin gave a disapproving huff. “I have given it plenty of chances.”

“The people, yes. The planet less so.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I’d rather have the people like me.”

“Because they named you their hero?”

“Yes.” The Jedi frowned and pulled his hand out of her grasp to finish tying the bandage himself. Elia sat back and watched him to it wrong but she did not want to correct him.

Elia gave a half hearted laugh. “Is one title not enough for you? The Chosen One and the Hero.”

“I didn’t want to be the Chosen One.” Anakin bit back. “At least here, they gave me the title because I did something. I know I’m going to be the best at what I do. It’s written in the stars that I will bring balance to the Force but…”

“It’s a lot of pressure. I understand.”

He shook his head. “No you don’t. No one does. You’re a princess. You breathe and everyone loves you.”

Elia frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Like you do? Everyone pities me, same as you. You were born great. I was born nothing, the same as everyone else. It was chance and horrid, rotten luck that I stand here now. You have a lot, you should not take that for granted.” She stood and bundled up her stuff. “Let us please get back to the city so we can get my wedding done with and then we can leave each other alone.” Anakin stared at her and gave a small nod and they moved to Bevin their journey back into the city.

They were almost dry when they walked back through the city. They had walked in silence the whole way. Elia was quite tired of Anakin’s ego and his distaste that he could barely hide for a moment. She wanted to make a brief stop at one of her favourite bookshops to pick up a gift for Eden, and then she could go home.

The wedding was close now and Elia would not need to leave the palace again. Anakin would have no need to stay near her any longer. And yet it still weighed heavily on her heart that he refused to give her anything. She understood his reasons to feel protective over Athena — they were best friends; Elia felt the same way towards Lilith and Oberyn. She was mostly frustrated at herself that she still hung onto the hopeless, wretched feelings that had followed her since she was fourteen on Naboo, racing around Theed with Anakin. (Every part of Elia that was still Alana clung to the past with a steel grip.) She would just have to force herself to move on, push Alana further away.

The city centre was busier than Elia normally saw it in the times she had visited before. Nolwenn had a large population, but people did not often come together in vast groups unless there was a celebration or the market was fully stocked. But when Elia looked closer at the crowd as she and Anakin found themselves unwillingly brought into it, she saw dozens of signs being waved in their air.

“Look,” Elia said with a smile, “they don’t want this Bill to pass either. I just wish the Senate would see it too.”

“I wouldn’t celebrate these people’s decisions too soon — look.” Anakin pointed beyond the peace signs. Elia’s chest tightened as she saw dozens of posters of the Apheli crown or throne wreathed in flames. “You need to get out of here. Now.”

Elia shook her head. “They’re protesting. I should see what their complaints are so we can fix them–”

The crowd came closer together, trapping the Jedi and the Princess in the masses. Chants were being thrown around, graffiti strewn across buildings. Panic seized in Elia’s chest. These people hated her family. They hated this wedding. She heard a voice ring out — shaming each member of the royal family. Including Elia. They thought her plea for peace was a disguise for her ‘Separatist sympathies’? It was completely untrue, but they believed it. They hated her too.

Strong hands fell onto Elia’s waist, pulling her free from the crowd. She stumbled, trying to hide her face. Anakin was in front of her, steadying her when they broke free. Elia curled her hands into fists and ignored the stab of her nails cutting into her palms. What had she done wrong? She did not agree with her mother all the time, but Elia did not doubt that (besides the wedding), Ianthe Valarys had her planet’s best interests at heart. That was why she had Alerie join Padmé’s opposition. The people did not truly hate them, did they? Elia had never sat in on one of her mother’s meetings with her advisors and staff. Did the Queen know what her people thought? Elia wished she could talk to all of these protestors, these people — hear their grievances and tell the people that Aphelion was strong, that her adoptive family cared. But she did not even like speaking up in her lessons at university. What help could she truly give? She did not know how to fight, how to convince. She only stood as a shield when trouble came. Trouble she could not predict in any way that was helpful. (Not like little Eden’s vast and spiralling dreams, or Aerrik’s precise and rare glimpses of the future.) She was just there. Always just there. She was nothing. She did not even know why Ianthe had taken her in. She was just Alana. Alana the scared girl. Alana who froze when the fire came. She would never stop the flames. She would never run into them.

Elia scarcely noticed when the crowd noticed she was there. All she saw between her gasping breaths and stinging blurred vision was the shouts and the flash of Anakin’s lightsaber. He took her hand, begging her to come with him. Elia could imagine the crowd chasing them with torches and pitchforks.

They stopped running four streets away when no protestors were anywhere behind them. Anakin tugged Elia into an alleyway. He was saying things — telling her to breathe, helping her to do so, telling her they were safe. Worry creased his features, and then Anakin started talking. She didn’t hear him fully at first but whatever place Elia had found herself stuck in, Anakin was helping her come back.

Elia braced herself against the wall, dropping her head into her hands and muttered out a string of apologies. She had never seen so many people angry at her family before. Even if she seldom felt like one, Elia was still a Valarys in almost every way.

“It’s fine. Don’t apologise,” Anakin said. His hands caught around her wrists. “Just let me get you back to somewhere safe, okay?”

The walk back to Verena’s house was thankfully short. No one was in when they arrived, but Elia knew where the spare key was kept and she let herself and Anakin in. Despite all that had happened, Elia still found a way to feel glad for the experience in the caves. The minerals still gave her a numbing calmness.

Damp hair coiled back and pinned behind her head, Elia nibbled chocolate biscuits in the kitchen. The house was quiet, peaceful. At least it was until Anakin found her.

He lingered in the doorway, leaving space between them. “I wanted to thank you, properly, for the caves,” he said. “Not just showing me how to swim, but you were quick thinking and you saved us both.”

Elia shrugged and licked crumbs off her fingers as she turned to face him. “You would have done the same.”

Anakin gave a short laugh. “I probably wouldn’t have taken us through a safer route.” He paused and began to move closer to her. “I, um, also wanted to apologise for what I said after. I don’t pity you.”

“It makes no difference. You still don’t like me.”

“No. That’s not true. It’s–”

“Complicated,” Elia mused. Isn’t everything. “It’s fine. You’re Athena’s friend. I understand.”

Anakin shook his head. He was stood in front of her now, catching her between him and the kitchen counter. “No. It isn’t just about Thena. It’s more than that. I…”

He was looking at her like he often did. Elia did not like the way he confused her — sometimes he would not look at her. Then he couldn't stop (like he was doing now). But he wasn’t looking at her with distaste. Maybe half of the looks he gave her weren’t of dislike. But she could not explain how he was looking at her now. There was an odd light in his eye that she had not seen before. She liked when he looked at her, it made her feel fluttery and girlish — but this was different.

“Anakin…” His name was heavy and left her lips softly. He was gazing down at her — his eyes mapping her face. Elia’s breath caught in her throat, they were inches apart and she could feel the warmth of his body quell the goosebumps across her skin. “Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Before Elia had to define his expression and question the heat that was rising across her body, the front door unlocked and swung open. Her heart raced. Elia broke free from their eye contact and fled the kitchen. She hated this, hated him. And she wanted to go home.

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 2

Word Count: 1,477

Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 2/?

A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 2

The next day she awoke at half past ten. She looked at her bedside clock flustered, knowing she had wasted almost all morning. She could smell breakfast already prepared and her mother downstairs doing some light cleaning.

She hurried into the bathroom and took a small time to finish her morning routine, flying down the stairs. Allison laughed as she noticed her daughter stumbling with hurry down the stairs, clearly heading to the door.

“Eat some breakfast before you go, darling!” Allison shouted as she swept the floor of the dining room.

“I’ll just get some on the way,” (Y/N) said as she put her jacket on, seeing in the distance dark clouds adorning the sky.

“I made you a sandwich so you can take it with you and a travel mug filled with coffee.”

“Thanks, mom. You’re the best,” (Y/N) kissed her mother’s cheek and grabbed the food from her hands.

“And be careful on the streets, the tires haven’t been changed on the truck and the roads are supposed to be very slippery today.” Allison called out to the girl who was almost completely out of the door.

(Y/N) barely heard her mother’s warning as she jogged up to the truck parked on the driveway. There was a sandwich hanging from her mouth as she backed up and sped to the main road. It was quite a long ride to Port Angeles, and she wanted to be back before dark. She spent the ninety-minute drive listening to background music and noticing how the sky changed from blue to dark grey to a lighter grey as she passed and left Forks. She rarely visited the neighboring town, listening to the stories by the elders gave her enough reason not to. Unlike most of her friends and even her own brother, she believed the string of words that they sewed. There were so many things that were unexplained in the universe that it would be ignorant of her to not believe that the supernatural could exist. Although, the past four years she had started to disregard the tales as made up stories, not being able to prove that they were veracious.

Once she arrived, she parked in front of an antique store and started perusing through the various stores in the strip mall. Before she knew it, five hours had passed. Her feet were sore from walking back and forth, her arms were read from all the bags she had carried, and her head was hurting from a lack of food. It was already five in the afternoon and (Y/N) was ready to go home. She got back into the truck and started her drive back home. An hour into the drive the sky darkened more than it should’ve, and heavy rain cascaded from the clouds. Her vision was impaired from the thick droplets and her heart was beating hard, scared of what could jump out in the darkness.

(Y/N)’s worries were confirmed when a deer jumped onto the street and had her swerve the truck. The car spun for some seconds and slid off the road, crashing into a tree. The girl’s head flew forward on impact and connected with the steering wheel in front of her. Her vision blurred and her headache grew exponentially. She could hear her name being called from far away but couldn’t distinguish whose it was. As it came closer, she could finally make out the frame of the sheriff, Charlie Swan. He was speaking to her, but no words registered in her head.

Charlie moved closer to the truck and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The sheriff reached into the open window and carefully tried to retrieve the wounded girl. She wasn’t in the right mind and in this rain an ambulance would take too long to get here. He laid (Y/N)’s head on his shoulder as she mumbled incoherent words, then reaching his arms under hers to pull her softly. He was careful not to scrape her body too much against the broken window, laying down his jacket first to cover most of it. Charlie tried his best to see amid the harsh rain, praying to whatever being was controlling the weather to stop. The blood that was gushing from (Y/N)’s forehead had washed off as soon as her head had exited the car but it didn’t stop flowing. After what felt like hours, the sheriff had the teenage girl in his arms and carried her to his cruiser. Turning his emergency lights on he sped as carefully as possible to the hospital.

He felt the ride eternal as he heard the hurt girl in the back of the car moaning in pain and noticing the shirt he’d wrapped around her forehead was soaking up too much blood. As he neared the bright lights of the hospital, he slowed the speed down as to not slam on his brakes and cause more damage to (Y/N). He carefully grabbed her limp body and entered the hospital. It seemed like the emergency room had a slow night, but he only brought trouble. 

“I need some help here!” Charlie called out, worry laced in his voice. 

“Sheriff Swan, what happened?” A nurse asked as she accompanied the team wheeling a gurney for the unconscious being in the officer’s arms. 

“This is (Y/N) Uley. She hit her head in a car accident, I assume her car swerved as she avoided an animal in the street. She’s been unconscious since I got her in my car. When I found her she was barely coherent.” 

“Okay, why don’t you wait for us in the waiting room. We’ll let you know as soon as we have some news.” The nurse smiled. 

All Charlie could do was nod and sit down for a second, later pulling out his phone to dial Allison Uley’s number. 

“Sheriff, to what do I owe this pleasure,” Allison chimed. 

“It’s not good news, Allison. (Y/N) has been in a car accident.” Charlie could feel the panicked energy coming from the other side of the phone. Close to this time last year he had gotten news that his own daughter was hurt through a phone call. “Now, Allison, I know you want to speed off to the hospital but I would advise you not to. The roads are really bad over here and we can’t have you both admitted.” 

“But I can’t leave her alone,” she sobbed. “I need to be there for my baby.” 

“I know, but she won’t be alone. I’m gonna stay here until she’s good to go and I’ll take her back to your house. Now don’t you worry, you know she’s a strong one.” 

“I know,” Allison sighed an air of defeat. “Alright, just please keep me updated on everything. Doesn’t matter how late.” 

“Will do. I’ll have my buddy pick up the truck and leave it at Billy’s.” 

“Thank you, Charlie, so much.” 

“No problem, Allison. Try to get some shuteye, it looks to be a long night.”

And a long night it was.  

Thankfully, (Y/N)’s injuries were minor and she would be able to leave as soon as she woke up. Charlie spent all night in the hospital, calling a friend to drive (Y/N)’s truck so that Jacob could see if it was worthy of repair and leaving a message for his daughter that he would not be coming home that night. The nurses were nice enough to bring the officer a blanket and some coffee as it seemed he wasn’t going to leave and come back the next morning, keeping his promise to Allison that he’d stay beside her daughter. 

Once a room was given to (Y/N), Charlie managed to catch up on a little bit of sleep on the armchair next to her bed. The girl slept even through the morning light that slipped through the window that woke the sheriff up. He updated Allison on the persistent status of her daughter. Once again, the nurses showing kindness by bringing him a cup of coffee as he waited for (Y/N)’s eyes to open.

(Y/N) was engulfed in darkness during what felt like a second. She tried fluttering her eyes open but was met with a painfully bright light and a pulsating headache that rang through her body. Her eyes closed once again to try to minimize the discomfort, to much avail. She barely remembered what event befell her to end up in this situation, but she could hear she was not alone.

“Are the lights bothering you, (Y/N)?” Sheriff Swan spoke, noticing the girl had awoken. She promptly nodded and he stood up to turn off the lights as the room door opened. “All right, they’re off now. Hello, doctor.”

She tried opening her eyes again and was met with the most radiant eye color she had ever seen.

Golden.

<-Previous | Next ->

[apiratewhopines]

This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

“I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[teamsarawatshusband]

Do you think there is a chance that WYB really believes in China's innocence in this? If people in China don't have all the information, then maybe he also doesn't know what is happening.

Okay, I’m gonna be very careful in how to answer this.

First of all, I don’t know him in person (obviously), so I can never know 100% what he does and doesn’t believe. Much like with any other celebrity.

My assumption on what he believes in this is based on what I know about his life and how that might potentially affect his thinking in matters like these. It is also based on what I know from my personal connections to Chinese citizens and what they have told me about politics and human rights affairs in the past.

Since Yibo is living in China, there is a big chance that he doesn’t have access to all the news regarding this specific political situation. So I do assume that he most likely doesn’t know the details of what’s going on in regards to the human rights violations and why exactly Nike spoke out against the government of his country.

However, he is very familiar with the business side of working with brands and he has had political situations affect career decisions in the past. So I can’t help but think that he knows things are fishy.

He must know that brands, especially big corporations like Nike, don’t make business-damaging statements against a whole country like this without global pressure. Let’s not forget, Nike like any other company, first and foremost has to think of their marketability and consumer’s trust. So, Yibo must know that consumers (not governments or political institutions but regular people) all over the world are watching the news and demanding that companies such as Nike take a stand. So, I’m assuming he knows that, in the eyes of the global population, based on their sources of information, the Chinese government is doing something bad.

Whether or not he believes this information to be true is a different question.

Now, if Yibo had lived his entire life in China, had grown up with the censorship and propaganda of the Chinese government throughout his life and not aware that this is different in other parts of the world, then I would assume he’d believe it to be false.

However, he has lived in South Korea for several years. So he did have access to a non-Chinese point of view on politics and life in general. He also has traveled to other countries professionally, both as a singer as well as an actor. He must know that independent sources of information are much easier accessible in other countries. He must know that the amount of freedom to publicly criticize a government or state personal opinions varies largely from country to country. I am convinced he is aware that censorship and deliberate spreading of misinformation is a common political practice in China. So, based on that, I do assume that he takes information from Chinese news with a critical mindset that doesn’t simply trust and buy into everything that is served to him.

He also has witnessed political situations affect his or other co-stars’ careers. He used to be in Uniq which, as all k-pop bands, suddenly wasn’t allowed to appear on Chinese TV anymore, even though they hadn’t done anything wrong. And a big change of course of action like that was kept all hush-hush in the entire Chinese media. He must know that this wasn’t fair, that they innocently fell victim to political agendas. An entire career, fanbase, performance platform simply taken away from all of them, one second to the next, and they hadn’t caused it and didn’t have any say in it either. Are we really assuming that they simply took that blow without wanting to speak out and fight for the success they had worked so hard for?

The 227 situation was very similar. The international success of one Chinese series brought so much traffic to AO3, that the Chinese government noticed it as public platform depicting values that they didn’t want China to be associated with. More importantly, a public platform with content that they couldn’t control. So they went and blocked it. And who had to suffer the blame? The government? Of course not. Xiao Zhan, who hadn’t done anything other that be an actor in the series. Because of this he lost so many marketing deals and job offers that people believed his career was over for good. All while doing nothing wrong.

Yibo, as the second main actor in the same series, 100% saw all of this go down. He knows that Xiao Zhan hadn’t caused any of it, knows that he was blamed unfairly. He also knows that remaining silent under those circumstances will only cause more harm to a career and public reputation. He knows that the only option is to say what you are expected to say, regardless of what you think.

And, I mean, based on all the situations that I have been in in my life, where I was forced to say something against my will, and based on knowing Yibo to be quite headstrong and having a competitive mindset... I just can’t picture him going, “Well, they make me say this. So, I believe it too.”

Now, based on what I have heard from people that I personally know IRL, I think some of the things that my aunt and uncle have mentioned left the biggest impression on me. My uncle is European but has lived and worked in China for decades now. My aunt is Chinese, grew up in China and only after meeting and marrying my uncle has traveled out of the country.

My uncle is very outspoken about life in China. When talking to him in person, he will tell you everything he personally experienced, including things like tax evasion, people avoiding police charges with hush money, countrywide blocking of messaging services and email providers, copyright frauds as legitimate business endeavors, illegal confiscation of items by police/border control etc. etc. etc. Basically, the gist of his reports is, “In China, if you are a regular person, you have to be aware of this, work around the corruption/unfairness and, most importantly, not make a big fuss about it. If you are somebody with money and powerful connections, you can buy yourself out of any situation. Unless if you stand in the public eye, then you’ll be used to make an example of  - under the guise of a just and law-abiding country.“ He will tell you all of this, while over here. Never when in China. Because he knows the consequences.

My aunt is a lot quieter on the matter. She never directly spoke out against Chinese politics and never directly called out the issues of censorship and corruption. But she often asked, “Are we really allowed to say this here? Back home we can’t.” And when I talked to her about specific political situations she confirmed a lot of things with small examples from her experience. While my uncle is mostly angry when speaking about those things, my aunt is primarily careful in her phrasing. She very clearly loves her country dearly (who wouldn’t it’s a beautiful country with wonderful people), and she is very pained by how it is governed, and how that governing affects both the people living there as well as how China is perceived in the world.

I have never spoken to them about celebrities or specific entertainment issues, but what I do know from them is, if somebody in China is a public figure with success and a bit of wealth, they will:

- most certainly be aware that their government’s actions are often unjust and based on corruption and personal gain

- be forced to side with said government or, if they refuse, forced to retire for good

- have to do propaganda related work. Either, if they (or somebody close to them) did/said some non-government-compliant things, for people in power positions to overlook those, or in return for specific freedoms they wouldn’t get to enjoy otherwise.

Especially the forcing of propaganda jobs on public figures, I can’t help not relating that to Yibo.

Just compare some of his songs... “無感 Wu Gan”, for example, with his recent “青春恰时来 - Youth Comes in Time”.

Wu Gan is musically progressive, sounds fresh and goes with the genres and types of music Yibo has shown to love before. And he officially wrote it himself. Youth Come in Time, which he released but was neither composed nor lyrically written by him, sounds like a polar opposite. Musically, it sounds like what you would hear in a 90s advertisement.

And looking at the lyrics, I mean... that song has lines like “strengthen the country”, “we stand in the front row”, “I am with my country”, “the Chinese stage is taking off” - how is that not propaganda?

Do we really, genuinely think that somebody believes in this, even though in the songs that he wrote himself, and has stated to be about his own personal experiences, he says stuff like, “don’t become a puppet whose feelings are manipulated by others”, “every day there’s someone going on and off stage - just remain emotionless”, “You’re famous but you have no works and the voices scolding you only get worse”, “I’ve trapped myself and I can’t make my goals distinct”?

Do we?

Really?

I’ll leave that up to you.

[jetaime-jespere]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?”  While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

__

Twenty-Four Years Ago

DC

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air.  “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another,  their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

[thesnowidol4life]

ruinene

what have you done 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

but yes <<<<333 i love them with my whole being <<<<333

1:What made you ship it

multiple things it was like god was forcing me to perceive them!

i was on the ao3 tag on day 2 of proseka being out bc i was that impatient about translations and ended up stumbling upon a ruinene fic there (no but its actually so funny bc not only was i not interested in wxs at the beginning, and even though i read every oc's basic description before the game came out, it wasnt until that moment that it clicked in my friends to lovers loving brain that "oh shit you can do childhood friends to lovers w them huh" . this really was the beginning of the end)

anyways it got worse as i read wxs' main story bc i realized "oh no im starting to enjoy them a lot uh ohh" (i blame things like rui only agreeing to join wxs at first so nene could have a chance to try performing again, "you have a bad personality/that makes two of us", nene being happy that rui's started enjoying doing shows w tsukasa and emu, rui snapping at tsukasa for making nene cry and tells her she doesnt have to push herself to perform anymore, etc. i never recovered from any of that i never will). then it got WORSE when my brainrot was getting enabled by my bestie. then it got WORSE WORSE when i thought about nene while listening to yuukei yesterday one day and by law if a character exhibits takane enomoto behavior i cant must get attached. so yeah now im here

2: What are your favorite things about the ship?

these two are my favorite depiction of the childhood friends trope in any piece of media (i know a lot of the things i love arent top tier writing for that to mean a lot, but also idc theyre the best)

this sounds weird on a post of me talking about a ship trope i love but i get really annoyed whenever im watching/reading something w childhood friends and a romantic aspect is applied to it bc itll always feel either like the romantic love is forced or that the platonic love feels forced. its such an easy trope to fuck up and it hurts bc its my favorite one. ruinene doesnt have this problem tho they stay winning like always

like theres a special kind of softness that comes through when they interact (using this as an excuse to remind people about how soft rui's voice gets whenever hes talking to nene one on one bc that killed me the first time i heard it). and you could look at it superficially like "it makes since they've known each other for 10 years" or smth but then when you learn more about their pasts its especially heartwarming to know that these two people who have such a hard time connecting with others were able to keep each other so close

and its even better when you remember wonder halloween showed that rui and nene did drift apart at some point in middle school which were very difficult times for both of them, yet they were still thinking about each other during that time

like even when rui was going through his depressive episode where believed he would only be able to create shows by himself forever, he still wanted to help nene after she developed stage anxiety and quit acting bc he knew that she loved singing and performing shows more than anything. hell i wouldnt be surprised if pre main story he tried multiple times to help her overcome her anxiety and main story was almost like a final try. and when nene was finally able to go on stage again SHE DID IT BC SHE WANTED RUI TO COME BACK TO WXS BC THATS THE HAPPIEST SHES SEEN IN HIM IN SO LONG AND SHE DOESNT WANT HIM TO BE ALONE AGAIN SO SHE WAS WILLING TO FACE HER FEARS AND PERFORM W TSUKASA AND EMU IN THE SHOW SO THEY COULD BRING RUI BACK GOD IM GONNA IMPLODE

ANYWAYS their comfort level is very appealing to me and i love it whenever it comes up.

also the way they get whenever the other is overcomes a problem is great, like when rui was able to make up w tsukasa in wonder halloween. nene's relieved that she could support rui during this situation bc she couldnt reach out to him during middle school and how she wants him to rely on her more bc she's his friend (the way she specifies between “weve known each other since we were kids” and “and also, we’re friends” made me cry for 10 minutes the first time i read it fr bc she wanted it to be clear to him that he isnt alone anymore and that their close friendship isnt just some old memory they were besties as kids and she's still gonna be his bestie and god im becoming more and more ridden w illness as I say this). theres also when nene is able to accomplish something difficult during a performance (perfecting her christmas solo during holy night and singlehandedly improvising her scene to save the play during mermaid) and rui just always looks like he just fell in love w her every time (this is partially a joke but also no whoever rigs the live2d models needs to answer for that shit) and afterwards he’s just very proud of her and doesnt let her forget it and ahhhhhhh stop being fond of each other it makes me lose my mind ahhhhhhhhh

theyre so funny together too. theyre both such little shits that i love watching them whenever they pull a tag team roast on tsukasa or when rui is planning some bullshit and nene just accepts having to witness her bestie's actions. this isnt even mentioning the comedic goldmine that is picnic. the fact they were out having a nice cute hike date so nene could build stamina for their shows meanwhile mizuki ena airi and shizuku are on the other side of the mountain actually in danger of dying will never not put me in hysterics

its like theyre so imperfect in their own ways and its caused problems for them in terms of how they interact w the world but at least they love each other and have for so long and its like YEAH THATS THE LONG TERM CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDSHIP EXPERIENCE THANK YOU

also this is more of a meta/gay aspect to all this but i,,, absolutely love the way they sound together in songs. out of everyone in the game they're my favorite voices. I can and will be the no. 1 supporter of ruinene duets bc whoever decided to cast machico and toki shunichi for those two is seeing heaven. the 5 second ruinene harmony near the end of miracle paint caused me to question if i was bi. the ruinene nijiiro stories alt has been my ringtone for over a year now and i have not gotten tired of it. every cover on my wishlist that i want rui and nene to get is fueled by my desire for them to get a proper cover. the most we get is bits in full wxs covers but still no actual duet/duet w a vs joining them i think that's wrong and illegal

(yes i am still salty over cendrillon i will never stop being salty over cendrillon until we get compensation and trust me there are a lot of songs they can do ask me about my dream ruinene covers i dare you)

God theres so much i love about them that i could and have actually talked about them for hours and its to the point ive wanted to write an actual serious meta on their dynamic for a year now its badddd

3: Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

once again i plan on doing a meta one of these days so i don't wanna go too in depth about this rn but I disagree w the idea that ruinene are just the average childhood friends trope and that there's nothing special about them (re: why i love them tangent).

as much as i dont like it when the units are seen as only 2 dynamics bc then other dynamics dont get to have as much content (like how a lot of vbs content feels like anhane | akitouya yeah i get bored of that), i will without guilt turn a blind eye if its ruinene content. It can be story moments it can be song moments it can be card cameos idc if it becomes unfair bc I get fed for another week and that’s what matters sry <3

oh yeah and nijiiro stories is one of the best commissions in project sekai like im talking in the top 10 if im lowballing i wont take any constructive criticism on this (i am only half joking)

anyways yeah my annoying little bisexuals i care about them very much

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 2: Coffee Shop / Tattoo Parlor / Flower Shop / Other Retail AU

Coffee and other ways to heal the soul.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: General Audiences

TW: Valhalla arc (mentioned), coffee, NCIS cameo

AN: Day 2 of @tropetember. I was really struggling with the coffee shop AU but once I got going, really got way too into it and could probably pad this out into a short series. Is that something people would be interested in?

Also, not really sure if I managed to capture Spencer but remember this is an AU and that's my excuse!

Enjoy!

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 2.4k

One of the biggest advantages of owning one of the few coffee shops in Quantico that wasn't part of a massive chain, was the constant stream of senior FBI and Navy personnel desperate for high quality, well made coffee. It had become such a lucrative venture in fact that you could afford to hire enough staff to rarely even have to be behind the counter at all.

The surge in popularity has even allowed you to convert one of the spare upstairs rooms into a meeting room. In hindsight, you should have converted more because once your regulars found out about it, there had been outright war between the Navy and FBI to try and get meetings booked in. A couple of your regulars had even managed to get both institutions to hardwire connections so they could host even more briefings and meetings in the friendly, comfortable space.

Today's winners were a Unit from the FBI, who had booked it out for a whole day. Aaron Hotchner, the BAU chief, came in most mornings and was a real sweetheart. You'd been trying to get him to drink something other than his normal americano since his return from Afghanistan a few months ago, but had not been successful so far. You were excited to meet the rest of the legendary team. He always spoke fondly of them when he bought extra coffees to boost morale.

With that in mind, you quickly throw together the pastries and beverages he'd preordered for the start of their session and head in to do a quick check that everything was ready.

Like any meeting room, there was a large table in the center but you'd made sure to surround it with comfy and artfully mismatched chairs. The floor was a deep walnut colour and matched the numerous floating shelves which were covered in plants and books. The place was homey and extended the cosy chic look you had been trying to achieve throughout the shop.

After a little bit of organising, including making sure the FBI cables were accessible and tidying any of the Navy’s equipment, you head downstairs to the main space.

Charlotte and Jessica were behind the tills this morning, making quick work of the line and exuding friendly helpfulness out of every pore. They were both grad students and you were already dreading them graduating. Their natural effervescence would be impossible to replace.

To pass the time until your booking arrives, you catch up with NCIS Agent McGee who is on the coffee run, trying not to hold him up too long in case he ends up getting in more trouble with his big bad boss. Apparently Agent DiNozzo had knocked over Gibbs coffee but McGee had then slipped in it and done some minor damage to some of the equipment. He told you he much preferred coffee run to door knocking duty round a 6 block radius like DiNozzo.

As you wrap it up, a group of people enter the shop, led by a woman in colourful clothes and a sunshine demeanour. It's not until you see Agent Hotchner's suited and booted presence bringing up the rear that you realise this is the infamous BAU.

Donning your friendliest persona, you politely excuse yourself from McGee and head to greet them, calling Aaron's name across the way.

The profilers seem surprised by your use of their bosses name but quickly shake it off as introductions are made. You receive hand shakes off most of them with the exception of Penelope, who gives you a hug because of course she does, and Dr Spencer Reid who gives you a shy wave and looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

It didn't take a profiler to see the physical distance between the genius and the rest of the group. He was always a step away from the nearest person and automatically avoided any physical contact from them.

How strange.

Brushing it off you lead them upstairs and get them settled, letting them know that they're welcome to come and go in the shop as need and that all their drinks would be added to the discounted tab and left them too it, all the while trying not to puzzle over the handsome loner and his cute sweater vest.

-----

If there was one thing Spencer Reid hated more than anything, it was team building.

Normally, back before everything happened, he would just grit his teeth and bear it. That's been a lot harder after finding out that Emily was alive.

Processing the joy at her being alive and the rage at being led to believe she was dead in the first place, particularly by the people he trusted the most, was not easy. He was trying to forgive them. He was trying to let it go, to accept the damage but move forward.

It was still a work in progress.

That's why, when Hotch announced a team building/meeting day, he had momentarily considered resigning. Though there was no longer outright hostility between himself and Jennifer, things weren’t exactly comfortable between himself and half of the team. The only bright side to this whole endeavour was the location. No coffee shop lasted long in Quantico unless the coffee was actually good. It was a small mercy.

He followed the rest of the team into the coffee shop, eyeing the surroundings and taking note of the other visitors. As the rest of the team joked about, he stayed back, simply waving at the nice owner of the shop when Hotch introduced them.

They appeared to be about his age which was very impressive considering the success of the café. And there were a couple of sci-fi references hidden in the décor that he would have loved to ask about, but he doubted they’d appreciate him going off about Star Trek this early in the morning. Instead he just gave a tight-lipped smile and followed the team upstairs.

Spencer tried his best to concentrate throughout the morning but to say he was relieved when they were left to their own devices for lunch would be an understatement.

-----

After a productive morning in the office, you wander back out to the main part of the shop to check on things. The lunch rush can be unforgiving but the girls seem to have it in hand. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Tuesday lunchtime.

What you didn’t expect to see was Spencer Reid hidden away at one of the back tables with a ginormous book in front of him, a small scowl on his face and the rest of his team nowhere in sight.

You agonise silently with yourself for a few moments before you decide to head over. You figure if he doesn’t want company he’ll let you know but you feel drawn to him. It was strange. Maybe it was just your instinctive need to collect strays.

You smile gently at him when you reach his table, indicating the seat opposite him in question. He gives a quick nod but doesn’t fully look at you.

“Everything ok?” you ask.

He takes a moment and seems to be considering his options. He looks at you with a little tilt of his head, likely questioning your motives.

Finally, he seems to decide you have no sinister intention and quietly replies “I just wish things could go back to how they were”.

You had heard about the events involving the BAU in the last year or so. It had been a hot topic of gossip in the shop numerous times. Aaron also occasionally talked about his guilt at what he put his team through when he stopped by, needing a friend to talk to. It’s the first time, however, that you think in depth about how faking a close friend's death likely affected the team members who were unaware.

This isn’t to say you didn’t care or didn’t think that it must have been terrible for them. You did, but had agreed with the justification that it was for Agent Prentiss’ safety, that finding out she was alive would make up for it. It’s apparent in the sadness of Dr Reid’s expression that that isn’t the case.

“Can I touch you?”

His eyes shoot up in surprise and he hesitantly nods. You gently grasp his hands, wrapping your fingers around his.

“I can’t even imagine,” you begin slowly, “how difficult this must be. But if you ever need to talk to someone, you’re always welcome here”

He gives a short, sharp nod and squeezes your fingers which you take to mean thank you.

“Also, this is totally not my place but, a therapist, one outside the Bureau? Might not be such a bad idea?” You give a sardonic grin and admit ” It worked for me”

After you give his hands another quick squeeze, you leave him to ponder your statement and head back to your office. Paperwork doesn’t do it self after all.

You hope Spencer manages to find some support though and decide that if he wants it, you’d be more than willing to help him.

---------------

It was a few weeks before Spencer Reid showed up in the coffee shop again.

It was early evening and you only had a few people in. You’d opted to close up tonight to ensure Jessica, who had been on the afternoon shift, had time to work on her assignment for class. She’d been complaining about it for the last few days.

The sound of the front door opening distracts you from your thoughts and you glance up to see who has entered. When you realise who it is you can’t help but smile.

“Fancy seeing you here Dr Reid” you say in greeting. He gives you a small smile in return.

“Well, it’s good coffee and, erm, the company’s good?”

You understand the question implicit in that comment and glance around at the few remaining patrons. They all have a beverage and it’s a quiet night so you can afford to take a step out behind the counter between orders.

“Sure, let me make us both a drink and then I’m all yours.”

You take his order (how much sugar?!?!) and get you both sorted out and settled into a small booth. You look at him, taking in the nervous expression on his face and let him settle in and start the conversation.

“I, erm, I took your advice”.

“That’s good. Are you finding it’s helping? Having someone outside of work to talk things through with?”

He nods his head.

“One of the things she pointed out was that so much of my life is wrapped up in work, that when things go wrong I don't have an external support system. Not that I didn't know that already but, someone else pointing it out made me realise how much if an impact it has.”

You bob your head thoughtfully, acknowledging his comment but not forcing him to say more.

“She suggested I try to find people outside of work to talk to. I was... I was wondering if you could be one?”

His nerves seem to have failed him slightly as he can’t look you in the eye, but you give him a big grin. Of course you want to spend time with this lovely man.

“I’d love to” you say, which gets him to look up and give you a smile in response.

You spend nearly an hour, with occasional breaks to serve customers, chatting to him before it becomes necessary to close up. He starts gathering his things but you’ve been enjoying his company so much you can’t bear to let him go. Instead, you check if he’s in a rush and, after confirming he has nothing else planned, invite him to hang around and grab something to eat from the diner down the street.

By the end of the night, you’re glad the diner is 24hr. You completely lose track of time, fascinated by the sheer amount of information he can provide and the passion with which he infodumps. It’s extremely endearing.

“I had a lovely time tonight” you tell him as you walk towards your apartment. You don’t live too far from the coffee shop and he had very gallantly offered to walk you home. “I’d love to do it again some time?”

He smiles and nods in agreement before asking for your phone number.

“I don't really like technology that much so I don’t have a smartphone and I don’t really check it that much and prefer speaking to texting…”

“Spence” you say, a little laugh in your voice as you interrupt. “Whatever works best for you. I’m not going to suddenly vanish on you, promise.”

You seem to have hit his worries a little too closely as he sways a little awkwardly, gaze wandering down to his feet.

“Can I hug you?” you check. His answer is to wrap his arms around you and you gently sway the both of you side to side.

He lets go and turns to head back out into the night as you call out “If you’re ever missing me, I know a place you can get great coffee. I can get you a good discount.” A laugh stutters from his lips and he wishes you a good night.

Leaning against your door you sigh happily to yourself. It’s always a good feeling making a new friend.

--------------

It had been over a year since the last time the BAU had booked (and managed to attend the booking). In that time, you’d converted another room upstairs into a meeting room, as well as setting up a shared work/study space in a room out the back.

You grin as you see them all enter, fascinated by the way this family of agents interact with each other. There’s even a tall, handsome genius who stands within the group, laughing and joking along with the rest.

Spencer greets you with a gentle kiss to your lips and it causes uproar from his colleagues. You don’t react much, you just turn to them and shrug.

“Do you know how many germs are passed in a handshake? It’s much safer to kiss.”

Your genius just laughs and wraps an arm around you, guiding the whole group upstairs, his friends playfully demanding details the whole way.

[tardistimes]

Perplexing Presents

Summary: There was a box underneath the wrapping and you pulled the lid off. Nestled inside was a pendant made of polish stone, looped around a fine gold chain. Dangling it from the end of your finger, you admired the way it caught the light, setting off shades of blue which painted your skin. “This is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?” The Master wasn’t ready to disclose that type of information yet, so O carefully answered, “Covent Garden.”

For @imthedoctorlove's birthday. Sorry it's a bit belated!

Series: The Master's Maniacal Misadventures Part 5

Word Count: 6365

AO3 link here.

“What’s this?” You asked curiously, looking at the box before you – wrapped in violet paper and tied with lilac coloured ribbon.

“A present.” O stated sardonically. “You open it.”

Rolling your eyes, you assured him you were familiar with the concept. “But it’s not my birthday or anything. So what’s the occasion?”

“Just saw it and thought of you.” He shrugged.

Intrigue building, you tugged at the ribbon and prised apart the paper. You were slightly bewildered O had got you anything, it was only over the last month you had started to consider him a friend. Until C had partnered you on a job, you’d only seen each other at briefings or around the department. He seemed like most analysts. Cautious, intelligent and prone to bouts of smugness. There was something more to O, however. What, you weren’t sure yet, however you couldn’t deny how pleased you were with the current arrangement. He made for an interesting partner.

His gift left you hopeful that your interest was reciprocated.

You were careful not to rip the wrapping, finding the colour too beautiful to tear.

O tutted at you impatiently. “Open it!”

“I’m saving the paper.” You retorted, going even slower just for badness.

There was a box underneath the wrapping and you pulled the lid off. Nestled inside was a pendant made of polish stone, looped around a fine gold chain. Dangling it from the end of your finger, you admired the way it caught the light, setting off shades of blue which painted your skin.

“This is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?”

The Master wasn’t ready to disclose that type of information yet, so O carefully answered, “Covent Garden.”

Grinning up at him, you offered it over. Frowning, he accepted the piece – thinking you were rejecting it – until you turned on your toes and pulled your hair up.

Stepping close, O looped the chain around your neck and secured the clasp, his fingers brushing gently against you. The pendant settled just below the hollow of your throat, a chill from the metal inlay offering a pleasant weight against your suddenly warm skin.

“Thank you.” You said, ducking your head as you moved away.

“You’re welcome.” O smirked. He noticed the slight blush on the nape of your neck before your hair dropped back in place and was happy to secure his desired outcome. “I hope you like it.”

You assured him, “I love it. I can’t believe you found it at Covent Garden. It’s so unusual. Thank you so much.”

“It was nothing. I’m just glad you liked it.”

Looking up at his innocent expression, you had to take a deep breath before redirecting your attention to the work at hand. C had personally requested the report you were both working on, and you didn’t dare keep him waiting. Luckily, O thought along the same lines.

“Come on. I booked one of the conference rooms so we can spread out while we work.”

Following him, you waited until his back was turned to lift your hand to the pendant again.

* * *

On his last day at MI6, you found another present in your office. It was wrapped in the same shades of purple but, unlike the first time, O wasn’t waiting eagerly by your side to see your reaction to his gift. You hesitated, wondering if you should wait for him before opening it.

Heading into the bullpen, you asked one of your colleagues, “Have you seen O anywhere?”

E dropped her voice conspiratorially, “I heard C had him clear out his desk this morning.”

You felt the bottom drop from your stomach.

“What?” You exclaimed, certain you had misheard.

“I know. Apparently, he and C had an argument this morning.”

“Has he left already?”

“G said he saw security accompany O out the building.” She caught sight of your distressed expression and added, “Sorry.”

“That’s… that’s okay. I’m just surprised is all.”

“Right.”

Returning to your office, you shut the door and picked up the gift O had left you. Did he know it was his last day, was that why he gave it to you? Or was it a spontaneous act, like the pendant? The one you wore every day. When O had noted it, you shrugged, making up some excuse that it was the only piece you owned suitable for work. In reality, you never took it off; not even at home. It gave hope to the blooming crush you didn’t like to acknowledge and certainly didn’t want him to know about, which is why you tried to act nonchalant whenever he mentioned the gift.

Unwrapping the present, you found another box; slightly larger than the first one he had given you. Expecting another piece of jewellery, you were surprised to find a pair of gloves. They were made with beautifully quilted plum velvet, lined with black fur. They would replace your lost pair perfectly – the ones you had bemoaned to O about last week – and you eagerly slipped them on. If he were with you, you would have clapped your hands happily but, on your own, the gloves were quickly tugged off.

Tracing your fingers over the pair, you were once again touched by the offering. Unlike the first time, however, you couldn’t use it to bolster your affection for O. He had left without a word and, after fruitlessly rooting through the wrapping, you saw there was no note to get in touch. Your friendship was confined to the walls of the office and, with that bond broken, there was no way to get in touch with him. You didn’t even know his real name.

Slumping in your office chair, you reached up to twist the pendant between your fingers. For a split second, you were tempted to pull it off and sever the bond from both ends. The memory of O placing it around your neck however made you keep it on.

You might never see him again, but at least you had something to remember him by.

* * *

The jump with O made your head spin and stomach convulse so violently that, for a split second, you thought you might vomit, but then a strong hand pushed you into a chair and everything settled.

“What the…”

“Vortex Manipulator.” He huffed. “Primitive but effective. If you’re going to vomit, do it in the sink.”

You glanced up at him with bleary eyes.

“I was going to say what the fuck.”

He smiled back, a wide manic grin, unlike anything you had seen before. Part of you wanted to cower at the sight yet it was impossible not to see O in his features.

O wouldn’t hurt you.

“You know the Doctor?”

“I’m her best enemy.” He restated. “Keep up. You’re usually better than this.”

“Excuse me for being somewhat blindsided.” You complained, the events of the last two days cycling rapidly through your mind. After a normal morning at work, the Doctor crashed through your office, talking rapidly to the group accompanying her about an old friend only known as O. She became excited as you revealed your shared connection to the man, interrogating you on your past work together and what you knew of his current activities. The next thing you knew you were in a box that was larger on the inside, hurtling through space and arriving in the middle of nowhere, only to find O waiting for you.

Except he wasn’t O.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“The Master.”

“No, but seriously.” You implored, “Who are you?”

Spreading his arms, he gestured towards the TARDIS console which had materialised amidst his shack since your last visit. “You really need me to spell it out? I thought you were better.”

Not caring for his derisive tone, you bit back. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m having trouble accepting the fact that my former colleague, who – call me crazy for thinking so – I’d always presumed was human, is, in fact, an alien. Who, like the Doctor, can travel through space. Something I only found out was possible two days ago…”

“I told you about the Doctor before.”

Letting out an exasperated breath, you didn’t acknowledge his remark.

“…And now, on top of that insanity, you just killed four people.”

He grinned enthusiastically. “Impressed?”

“No!”

His amusement was not diminished.

“You’ll come around. Besides, the Doctor’s not dead. Not yet at least. She’s with the Kasaavins.”

“What are you planning to do? I guess you’re not done.”

“We’ve barely begun. Now,” O clapped his hands together, “I have a meeting. Stay in your room, I don’t need you getting in my way. And try not to get lost.”

“How would I get lost? You only have three rooms and I’ve been in them all already.”

Somehow his grin widened, teeth bared and sharp.

Backing away, bewildered by the man before you and eager to be nowhere near him, you retreated from the main room. Opening a door that should have led into the only bedroom, you instead found a dauntingly long corridor. Its walls were coated in unrelenting metal from which the harsh lights above gleamed over the edges.

You glanced over your shoulder at the homey shack and the Master whose eyes bored into yours.

“Fourth door on your right.” He instructed before turning back to the central console.

Doors of different varieties broke up the space at random intervals, and you counted them out as you hesitantly walked along the hall. The first was tall and grandeur, the second barely reached your knee, and the third was etched in strange symbols you couldn’t comprehend. The fourth was somehow strangest, looking the most normal. It was proportioned like those on Earth, the kind you would find in any home, although the design was more intricate with floral inlay highlighted in greens and purples. Settling your hand on the door handle, a glass knob that appeared to contain dried flowers, you almost pushed your way forward.

Suddenly dreading what lay on the other side, you paused where you were. You had never been scared of O but that wasn’t the man who directed you. The Master was a different beast, an entirely unpredictable one and your heart hammered at the thought. He had killed the Doctor’s friends with no hint of remorse, consigned his oldest enemy to another dimension, and now – what was he going to do with you? Did your time with O mean anything to the Master or was it all a game? What lay on the other side of the door? Was it a means to your demise or a room like he said?

Your only other option was to return to the Master, a choice which did not appeal. Not while you still saw O; longed to go over to him, hug him close and then slap him for leaving without a goodbye.

Opening the door you were met by a large bedroom. It was mostly dominated by the bed, though there was space for a fireplace, couch and a well-stocked bookcase. The room had two doors leading off it, one taking you into a wardrobe and the second into a rather opulent bathroom. The total floor size was bigger than your apartment back home, and the external appearance of O’s shack.

Sitting heavily on the foot of the bed, the two men clashed in your mind. All the feelings you had for O were real, yet he was not. He was only an illusion, conjured by the Master solely to trick the Doctor. Your feelings were inconsequential. The only reason he had brought you aboard his TARDIS was to likely torment the Doctor further if she somehow escaped the Kasaavins, although her friends would have been more effective bait.

You hoped she would escape. You didn’t like being here; seeing the Master caused far too much confusion. If the Doctor was trapped though, so were you. Until the Master realised there was no point keeping you around. Then, after seeing the manic glint in his eye – having no place on O’s face – he would kill you.

The feeling of hopelessness and confusion felt foreign in your body. You were a trained MI6 agent, there had to be something you could do. Even in the face of aliens.

Beneath you, the bed was soft, covered with soft linen which felt cool beneath your hands. There was a temptation to lay back, enjoy comfort while you waited for the next act to start. Prompted either by the Doctor’s return or the Master’s impatience. Waiting wasn’t part of your nature, however.

Heading into the wardrobe, you found some trainers to replace the heels worn to Barton’s party. They were your size and, checking the label, one of the brands you used to wear to work during assignments.

Confusion doubled, unsure whether to feel like a goldfish in a bowl or to swim in the emotions O used to inspire, you left the room. Surely there had to be another exit and you were determined to find it. Creeping along the hall, you headed for the corner up above.

It only led to another intimidatingly long corridor.

You started trying doors, but several of them wouldn’t budge. The ones that did led, in order, to a kitchen, swimming pool, sauna, sitting room, library, artefact room – filled with bizarre statues and large paintings depicting bloody battles – a second library, cinema and ballroom. The last door on the corridor led to an observation deck, the sight of which put an end to your hopes of escape.

Stepping inside, which you hadn’t for any of the preceding rooms – despite the appeal of several – the door behind you slid shut. To maximise the view, the room was kept dimly lit leaving your eye nowhere to turn except the vast expanse of space looming behind the wall-length window.

Feeling your jaw slackening, you moved closer to the sight. You’d never seen anything like it. The Doctor’s TARDIS had taken you from London to the Australian Outback. It was your first time off the planet.

Unsure whether to feel awed or dwarfed by the enormity before you, you stared back at it, losing all track of time. Before you, stars shined, galaxies gleamed, and your existence expanded. Everything seemed insignificant. Everything seemed magnificent. And you, you, were privy to it.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” The Master asked, silently coming up from behind.

You caught his reflection in the glass and cringed away from his proximity. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“We’re in the Obsidian system. We’ll return to that rubbish heap you call a planet soon, but we have time. I presume the Doctor explained that a TARDIS travels through both space and time?”

You turned to stare at him blankly.

He sighed. “Of course.”

“You travel through time?”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he asked again: “Impressed?”

You were, but you refused to admit it.

Turning back to the view, which was easier to look at than O’s face with the Master’s sharp smile, you tried a different question.

“Where are you from?”

“Gallifrey.”

“Is the Doctor from there too?”

“Yes.”

You knew he said about returning to Earth, but – feeling curious about their home world – you asked, “Are we going there?”

He shook his head, a gleam flashing across his eyes. “Can’t now. It’s gone. Destroyed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

His abrupt laughter made you jump.

“Let it burn.”

“Fine. Why do you need to go to Earth then?”

Deliberating as he looked at you, the Master tried to decide what he was ready to say. He couldn’t give away too much yet, or it could scare you off. Instead, he stayed cautious and answered vaguely.

“Loose ends to tie up with the Kasaavins. You’ll stay here while I go to meet them. Keep wandering if you like, the TARDIS will keep an eye on you.”

“Can’t I go with you?”

“Not the best plan. To a Kasaavin you’re nothing more than a light snack. You’ll be safer here.”

“Why do you care about keeping me safe?” You asked, thinking about the Doctor’s friends – who O befriended and the Master ruthlessly murdered.

Not answering, he wandered closer, and you kept your ground. Wondering what he was going to do, you were surprised when he lifted the pendant between his fingers.

“You kept it?”

“Didn’t see the point of wasting decent jewellery. Even if it was giving to me by a murderous psychopath.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed his expression, but it went no further.

“Good. I would have hated for it to be a wasted trip.”

Frowning, you said, “I thought you got it at Covent Garden?”

“Oh, love,” The Master chuckled, letting go of your necklace. “You haven’t gotten the hang of this yet, have you? I went all the way to Yinope for that. You won’t find a stone like that on this side of the universe.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” You said acerbically.

He shrugged. “I have a TARDIS.”

It didn’t mean anything then.

“Do you like your room?”

“It’s fine.”

“I had the TARDIS make it for you. You could be more grateful.”

Giving him the most sarcastic smile you could muster, you replied saccharinely, “Thank you.”

The Master’s returning grin was genuine. “You’re welcome, human. Now stay here. I’ll come and get you later.”

Turning on his heel, he walked determinedly from the room leaving you with your view of space and infinitely more confused than when he first rescued you from the doomed plane.

You were there as leverage, and yet he seemed to have prepared for your arrival by preparing a room just for you. It could be an act, though you couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t. Not when O’s eyes focused on you; he was all you could see.

Determined to learn the difference between the two, the Doctor’s friends still fresh in your memory, you refocused on the landscape before you and waited for the Master to return.

* * *

After the Doctor found you aboard the TARDIS, followed by Ada and Noor, you were brought back home. There you saw the Master again – a few hours for you, seventy-seven unaged years for him – before he was exiled to the Kasaavin dimension. You watched the drama unfold, stood behind Graham where the Master’s eyes occasionally flickered over to you.

There seemed to be a distance between you and reality; watching numbly as he tried to annihilate your species and, by default you. He had duped you so easily and so you watched with detachment as the Doctor ensured his banishment. She brought you back to London once it was done, leaving you there after a short and awkward goodbye since she needed to get everyone else home. The Doctor had blown your world apart, yet, for her, it was nothing new. You watched her leave, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

After the events at MI6, it hadn’t been difficult to persuade your department for a short leave of absence. You spent a few days out of town, before returning to your apartment. The whole time, you kept the pendant O had given you on. If someone asked, you weren’t sure you could explain why it felt wrong to take it off, but it did. In a sense, it felt as though O had died. The Master was so entirely different from the man who was your colleague, partner and friend.

Your apartment was evidence of that. It was littered with all the other small tokens O had given you. A book on chaos theory sat on your mantle, copies of his alien files waiting on your dining table, a scarf hanging beside your front door which he had loaned you months before he left. You should gather them up, discard anything the Master gave you.

With a sigh, you hung up your coat and walked into the kitchen to get some water. It took a moment to see the door which shouldn’t be there.

Instinctively stepping back, you stared at it disbelieving. For a split second, you doubted your own memory, but it definitely wasn’t there before. It was new. A new door – how was that possible?

“What are you looking at?” A voice came from over your shoulder, sending you half a foot in the air as you jumped away in shock.

The Master frowned at you as you settled down, a hand pressed heavily over your hammering heart.

“What,” you cleared your throat, voice too high, and tried again. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he pointed to the door. “The Doctor didn’t do much of a job hiding my TARDIS. You’d think she’d know me better by now, but she continues to underestimate. And when you have a TARDIS it’s more a case of where you can’t go.”

“Okay.” You intoned. “But why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“How long has it been for you?” You asked cautiously.

“In the Kasaavin dimension? Barely a day.”

Since you’d last spoken, however, it had been seventy-seven years – for him. It was hard to wrap your head around, still dazed from your discovery that time travel was really possible.

“You?”

“Erm,” you did the maths in your head, “I’ve been back home for four days.”

“Since we were in the hangar?”

“The same. Four days.”

A scornful expression crossed his face. “She just brought you back home? They didn’t ask you to go with them?”

“Should they have done?”

“Would you have said yes?”

It was an interesting question. You’d certainly felt abandoned when you were dropped back home; so much had happened and the only people you could possibly talk to it about had left at the first opportunity. They all had each other while you had no one. In the aftermath, you’d focused on the goodbye rather than the potential of further travel.

There was so much more left to learn. Answers to find the questions for. Yet, you didn’t know the Doctor. Could you trust someone that much to take you from the safety of your own time and planet, under the assumption they would one day bring you back?

Uncertainly, you shook your head. “I don’t like hypotheticals.”

“Fair enough.” The Master mused. He looked at you curiously. “Shall we try a practical scenario?”

“What do you mean?”

“Travel with me.”

Staring at him blankly, you couldn’t believe what he just said.

“You’re asking me to go with you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He leaned in. “Why? Don’t you want to see the universe? Travel through time and space?”

Put that way, it was easy to answer: “Sure. Sounds great.”

“But?” He asked, noticing your lacklustre tone.

“You’re the one asking.”

“So you would say yes to the Doctor?” He demanded, getting angry.

“No. I don’t know anything about her. Just like I don’t know anything about you. Except that you tried to kill my entire species four days ago; which doesn’t really help your case.”

Tusking impatiently, the Master insisted, “It wouldn’t have worked on you. I encrypted your phone.”

“I suppose I only have your word for that. For all I know, wanting me to go with you is just another one of your schemes. Like pretending to be O or taking me hostage, all to one-up the Doctor.”

“I didn’t take you hostage, I saved your life.”

“You spared me. From something you started.”

“Come on, love. You know me. I worked at MI6 for years. I was there when you first joined. We were partners. Friends, even.”

“That wasn’t you.” You lamented, wishing the Master were O and not the other way around. “It was all an act. I don’t know you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” You asserted.

“You’re still wearing the necklace.” He observed.

Placing your hand over the pendant, shielding it from his stare, you tried to act casual. “I told you before. I don’t see the point of wasting good jewellery. No matter who it came from.”

“Oh love,” he grinned cheekily, “you like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yelling only shows that you care.” He snickered.

Biting your tongue, you tried to come up with a way to effectively express your dislike and banish him from your apartment. The thought of succeeding sent an unexpected pang to your heart.

It was O you didn’t want to lose. You really had to learn the distinction.

“We’re not too different.” The Master commented. You wondered if he had somehow read your mind or if your expression was that transparent. “We were both driven, and I know you could tell he had a temper, even if it was hidden under a gag-inducing amount of sincerity. I admit I don’t go to any length to hide it – or my madness – but since when did honesty count against a person? I showed you my ‘research’ on aliens. Once or twice I even tried to drop clues that I was one, especially when I saw you shared a similar interest.”

He nodded his heads towards O’s files still sitting on your dining table. “I thought it was good to expose you to the idea; I wasn’t going to stay as O indefinitely. Only until I had got the Doctor where I went her. I planned to come back.”

“Why?” You said, unsure if you believed a single word out of his mouth. “Why do you want me to go with you?”

Unusually serious, he told you.

“I’m not completely sure. I don’t often tolerate stragglers. No matter the species, but especially a human. You interest me though. You have since C partnered us together. I could see you were more open-minded than our colleagues, and you showed a particular relish for dangerous assignments. You saw me better than most too. It’s unusual I find something which piques my interest; I find such things hard to let go of. That’s why I want you with me. I need time to figure you out.”

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you admitted: “I don’t know.” Could you really go running off with a man who had proved and described himself as an unstable lunatic?

“A trial run then?” He countered. “Come on, love. When is an opportunity like this going to come knocking on your door again? We can go anywhere you want. For you, I’ll even trudge through Earth’s past or future. No strings attached. Think of it as a gift, for the time we worked together.”

You glanced at the door leading to his TARDIS. It was a tempting offer, but you needed to clarify.

“And you’re going to bring me home afterwards?”

“Cross my hearts.”

“You’re not going to kill me or dump me on some planet and leave me there.”

“Would I ever do such a thing?”

You answered with absolute certainty: “Yes.”

Coming closer, he booped the end of your nose. “See? You get me. That’s why I want you to tag along.”

Rolling your eyes, you pointed out that wasn’t a good way to incentivise someone.

“Live a little.” The Master told you, scanning your eyes in search of an answer. When he found it, he lit up.

Clapping his hands, he beckoned you after him. “Excellent. You don’t need to bring anything, the TARDIS has plenty of clothes and the kitchen’s stocked. Come along.”

Sighing, you were certain you’d just made a terrible mistake and yet you couldn’t force yourself away. It really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, perhaps spending time with the Master might finally help you divide him from O. Then you could move on with your life.

As you followed him into the TARDIS, your mind finally caught up on a small detail.

“Wait, did you say hearts? Plural?”

The Master’s laughter echoed around you as the door slammed shut.

* * *

“You remember that time I made you promise not to kill me?” You panted, leaning heavily against the TARDIS door.

From beside you, the Master good-naturedly tsked. “It’s not my fault you’re so slow. You should be more careful, or I’ll lose you one of these days.”

“Well, you managed to find me today.” For which you were grateful. While searching for the cargo hold, you’d gotten lost in the labyrinth of corridors surrounding it when the device given to guide you had shorted out. If the Master hadn’t found you when he had, the guards would have killed you.

“I don’t know how you found me though. I had no clue where I was.”

“Time Lords have a superior sense of direction.”

The TARDIS hummed, evidently in communication as the Master sent her an annoyed look.

“Lucky for me.” You shrugged, unconcerned. She was probably bitter about having been left alone for several days while you both integrated with the ship’s passengers. “I’m going to go get changed. That blaster singed my sleeve.”

The Master spared you a glance from his silent conversation with the TARDIS. “It didn’t injure you, did it?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Heading down the corridor without looking back, you ducked into the bathroom for a quick shower before changing into some comfier clothes. The reason for breaking into the ship was to acquire parts to repair the TARDIS, which the Master was always pushing to its breaking point. So you were confident you’d be aboard the TARDIS for a while, and you wanted to relax after several days playing the part of the Master’s lackey.

Pulling your hair back into a ponytail, you felt something slither from around your neck and drop heavily to the floor. With an exclamation of dismay, you realised the fine chain on your necklace had broken. At least it happened in the safety in your room; it would have been difficult to retrieve from your latest crime scene.

To keep it safe until you got a replacement you placed it on top of your dresser. Either the Master would have a spare lying around, or you could pick something up the next time you visited a planet.

Heading back to the console room – to politely offer to help with the repairs, knowing full well said offer would be refused – you found the room empty. Unconcerned, you turned on your heel to head to the library, where the Master was probably holed up, but a blinking screen on the central console stopped you in your tracks. It stopped blinking once you stood in front of it; suggesting the TARDIS wanted your attention.

There was a map on the monitor, but it took several moments to recognise it as the TARDIS. It was centred on the console room and, given the arrows pointing at several components in the room, it seemed to show where repairs were required. The only odd thing was one flashing dot set away from the main room, off the first corridor. You counted the doors before finally realising it was on your room.

“That’s weird.” You said to yourself. Was the TARDIS trying to tell you to go back there?

“Is he in a bad mood?” You asked the machine conspiratorially.

“Are you talking about me again?” The Master grumbled as he came in, holding a box of parts to start his repairs.

“Why is there a flashing dot over my room?”

He frowned at you, not noticing for a second what you were looking at. As always, he quickly pieced things together when he saw the screen.

“Where’s your necklace?”

Confused, you placed a hand over the empty spot around your neck.

“Oh, I had to take it off. The chain broke.”

Pointing to the screen, you restated your question. “What’s the dot mean?”

“It’s your necklace.” The Master stated. “It’s a Yinopean mineral which emits low-level radiation. The TARDIS can pick it up.”

“Where are you going with this?” You asked, confused. “It’s radioactive?”

“No. Why do humans hear radiation and devolve into the mindset of spooked cattle? Most things contain some form of radiation. It’s harmless.”

Ignoring his statement, you said: “Why did you give me radioactive jewellery? Please tell me this isn’t a slow and unnecessarily elaborate way of killing me?”

He gave you an unimpressed look; the sort he shot at you every day.

“I gave it to you as a token of affection.”

It was almost enough to distract you, but when the TARDIS console blinked again you remembered.

“And why is my necklace showing up on the screen?”

“While the radiation is harmless, it gives off a unique signature which makes it easy to trace. When I couldn’t find you aboard the Nott I came here to locate it.”

“You…” frowning, you realised, “you gave me a tracking device?”

“Yes.”

Flabbergasted into silence, it took several moments for the incoherent noises escaping your mouth to become fully-fledged words.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

The Master was unruffled by your explosive accusation.

“When you have something of value, it is important you don’t lose it.”

How did he keep rendering you speechless?

Stepping around you, the Master switched the screen on the console off before starting a quiet argument with the TARDIS. Something about the box pushing its luck.

Eventually, he walked away, seizing up his box of parts to start work on the repairs.

“I’ll get you a replacement chain before we go anywhere else. Can’t have you running off.” He said offhandedly, taking the stairs beneath the central console and leaving you alone on the upper level.

You walked to the library, taking a seat beside the fire and picking up the first book you came across. With no idea what was in your hands, you flipped it open to a random page and stared blankly at the text as your brain whirred on overtime.

It had been almost a year since you’d come aboard the TARDIS. While the Master treated you better than anyone else you came across – protecting your from harm while showing you the universe – it was still hard to accept his pleasantries as genuine affection. His actions were kind, but any affection was always on your terms.

Whenever you thought he felt something more toward you, it was dismissed as residual feelings from his time as O. It was easy to admit how you felt about O; a kind human with who you could have shared a life. The Master was entirely different. It was astonishing he even tolerated you as a travelling companion, and yet he said he valued and had affection for you. Enough to put a tracking device on you, which seemed morally dubious, but you supposed it came from a good place. Just like reading that ridiculous book on caring for human beings.

You didn’t see the Master again for several hours, not until you wandered into the kitchen for a snack. Without looking at you, he offered up a fine gold chain for your pendant. Except, something was already hanging from it.

“What’s this?” You asked, taking the proffered item.

“A key.” He sighed. “You use it to open things.”

“I can see it’s a key. What’s it for?”

“It unlocks the TARDIS.”

“You’re giving me a key to the TARDIS?” You said disbelievingly. He’d never let you so much as borrow his key when you wanted to grab something from the ship, and now he was giving you your own. “What’s the occasion?”

The Master glanced your way, saw the emotion shimmering in your eyes, and refocused on the cup of tea he was making.

“It seemed sensible. In case we get split up on an excursion. You can come back here, instead of looking for me.”

Sliding it off the end of the chain, you held the key in your palm. There was a warmth to the metal, and it seemed to emit a slight glow against your skin.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, human.” The Master replied, picking up his cup and returning to the console room.

Pocketing the key, you went to your bedroom and added the pendant to the chain. You were about to place it around your neck when you paused; a better idea springing to mind.

Walking slowly to the console room, your feet took you to the Master where he sat on the floor reattaching wires to a command panel. Your shadow fell over him, but he didn’t acknowledge you. Not until the necklace dangled before his face.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, looking up.

“Will you put it on for me?” You replied, trying to sound indifferent while your heart thrummed.

The Master stood, taking the necklace. Eyes locking for a split second, you turned away and lifted your hair aside. With a light brush of his fingers over the nape of your neck, you could feel your body break out in goosebumps, but he showed no sign of noticing. He secured it in place, the stone settling heavily against your sensitive skin.

Letting your hair drop, it brushed against the hands which remained on your shoulders, as the Master seemed as loathe to let you go as you were to part from this rare contact.

“Thank you, Master.” You breathed.

“You’re welcome, pet.” He said, pulling away.

“For the chain too.”

“You don’t mind about the stone then?”

Shaking your head, you assured him you didn’t as you moved to face him. “It seemed sensible once you explained it. I’d hate to get lost.”

I’d hate to lose you seemed to echo around your mind, but the Master’s lips didn’t move so he couldn’t have said it.

“Go rest up.” He told you. “I’m taking us to Itradus once I’ve finished recalibrating the computer. You’ll like it.”

“I always do.” You said, fully meaning it.

You might have come aboard the TARDIS to see the stars but, you had to admit, nothing seemed to hold an appeal unless you were seeing it with the Master beside you. You just hoped he felt the same way.

[foxymoxynoona]

Hey Foxy, do you have any tips for writing. You're so dang prolific, idk how you do it. HOW DO YOU DO IT?! 😂

I should probably track these answers because I *love* talking about writing.

I did a first post months ago with some of my process and tips which might be interesting to you here.

But I'll add some new things too! Here are some other questions I've been lately here or in ao3 comments.

Q: How are you so prolific?

I don't let shit stop me. Our brains can throw up so many hurdles in the creative process, and you have to tell those hurdles to eat shit. Can't think of a word? I put ****WTFWORD*** in the sentence and keep going, I can find it later. Need to fact check something? I'll put **TRUE?** Need to research something? I view that as a totally protected and valuable step, and I carve time out and don't consider that "not writing."

So I ignore those hurdles and I just write. About whatever! About anything! Sometimes I'm like, waiting in line at the grocery story and it's like, "oh, wouldn't it be cute if two people were in line and they were bickering over the headlines" and then I just write that. There doesn't have to be a point, you're flexing your writing muscle. Writing for me is a lot of putting daydreams down on paper, even if they're just isolated blurbs or just fragments or conversation or whatever.

Q: How do you stay motivated?

Sometimes writing is chasing an inspiration and the words just flow freely. Other days writing is a sore muscle and you tell yourself you are going to write 500 words even if they're about nothing, even if you're probably going to throw them away. You have to figure out when is the right time to take a break and do something else, or when is the right time to put in some work, even if it's not easy that day. Depends what the outcome you're looking for is, but I can promise you there are chapters of my story that have been a struuuuuggle to write --and the irony is they often tend to be the ones people love the most in the end! Even though I hate them because I'm aware of what a struggle they were to write!

I also highly recommend music, candles, pinterest, and snacking. I personally eat baby carrots by the bag full since gum is bad for my teeth. The act of chewing makes your brain work. I keep pinterest open and will literally bounce back and forth just looking at pictures every couple of sentences sometimes. Not even necessarily related pictures! It just give my brain a moment to take a breath.

Q: How do you write such built out characters?

I find people fascinating, even when they're terrible. Be open to the fact that people are wonderful and annoying, generous and selfish, all at the same time. If you don't occasionally want to throttle your own character, you probably are writing a character very much like you --which is ok! But if you write a lot of characters, you're not going to get that variety. Everyone has their own opinions, their own habits others find annoying, their own biases, their own dreams, and their own justification for why they do what they do. I do not worry about writing "likeable" characters for readers, only whether i want the characters in the story to perceive someone as likeable or not (Pippa is a good example! JK did NOT find her likeable in the beginning but everyone else did! The way he and others viewed a habit of hers completely different is a good example of how differently people can respodn to the same stimulus.) My personal style is more just to let people make their own down mistakes and have their own stupid opinions and quirks. I also spend time thinking about things for my side characters too --I know their backgrounds, their family, their dreams, their struggles, etc. Maybe not to the degree of the main characters, but enough that they can naturally be consistent and have their own little progress arcs in a story.

Q: Any other tips for writing?

Consume everything you can get your hands onto, but never compare what you're creating to someone else. There is not just one kind of good cookies, MOST cookies are AMAZING, and even a bad cookie is usually better than no cookie.

Learn all the "rules" of writing but don't hesitate to break them when it feels right. "Write what you know" or "show don't tell" or even grammar rules. No one's style or process will be identical to yours and that's fine.

Maintain a careful balance of writing to where you think you're going but be flexible when the story changes course.

Worry more about emotional sincerity and purpose than physical details (in characters, settings, etc. You can use the atmosphere in a room to emphasize that a character is stressed or sad or happy, etc.) But make sure that your physical details and staging make sense and are consistent.

Don't judge your characters. Sure, be aware of where you and they may disagree. Be aware of where your readers may have an emotional or upset response. But if you're writing your characters from a place of judgement, you aren't going to let them live their story and the whole thing will feel like a moral lecture.

TRUST YOU READERS. This is a hard one, because I see all the discourse about how "people are stupid and they'll miss everything." Some readers are going to misunderstand your intentions. Some readers are going to draw wild conclusions you never dreamed of. Some readers are going to get really mad at the things your characters do. But as soon as you start talking down to your readers, or dumb down the emotions you're writing about, or overly spell out the connections you want them to make, you're just going to alienate them. If readers do get something very differently than what you expected and it's lingering, stop and get a sense of what misled them. Remember that readers aren't in your head, they don't know the invisible strings, so probably it means you just need to re-emphasize something, or have a character reflect on something, or a particular wording came across differently. So fix it! It's all good! Stories are alive. But don't assume your readers won't make a connection or see something coming, just because your characters have blinders on in the story; work with that to capitalize on reader response.

Q: What about quick tricks?

OK here are some very specific things I've done:

- Give your word document a background color so you aren't staring at a white page

- Sit in a weird place in your house you wouldn't normally sit, like on the floor in a corner of your kitchen

- You've heard of edging... try some WRITING edging. You know you want to write that scene. The emotions are right there. Your brain is going wild. Let your brain go wild a liiiittle longer before you actually sit down to write it out.

- Read your writing out loud. This will very quickly reveal awkward phrasing, forced dialogue, and typos.

Ok ok I think that is probably enough blathering for now. <3 hope any of this was worth your time to read!

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH7

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter   Next Chapter>

It took Polnareff some time to cool off from the implications that the mysterious and frankly frightening man he met all those years ago was now behind some other shady business involving wolves, but by the time he reached the vehicles abandoned on the side of the road he was able to focus on the task at hand. Both were unlocked so it was easy to take a look inside the white van first. Opening the back door revealed the cargo area had been partitioned with metal cage sections like those in the backs of police cruisers.

Other gear was scattered around the back near the rear doors for easy access. Some more guns and ammo boxes and an overturned bin of the collar devices that they found on the bodies. Nothing really caught his eye but he took pictures on his phone for future reference. The keys were still in the ignition so he started up the vehicle and moved it off the main road to not draw unwanted attention.

It felt rude to go sniffing through your car, so after a brief look through the windows to confirm the hunters left no surprises, he opened the door and put it in neutral. With a few strong shoves he was able to rescue it from the shallow ditch it had been driven into. Your keys were also still in the ignition and luckily it started, but a few lights on the dash lit up- probably more internal damage than he first assumed from the crash. Driving slow and steady he was able to get it back to the cabin.

The slamming of the car door must have alerted the rest of the pack to his return, he saw Avdol peek through the window as he made his way to the door. Inside he was glad to see you moving about mostly unaided on your own, your wounds must be healing well thanks to Avdol’s expert care. Producing your car keys, he hands them over, “I was able to drive it back, but I don’t think it’s up for any longer distances without repairs. I thought you would want your things back though.”

You sigh as you realize you really are stuck with this pack, not that you mind them but the sudden loss of freedom is disheartening. You thank him as you take back your keys.

“Pol, did you find anything else? Any link to who sent them?” Jotaro asks as everyone stares intently at him, the rest of the pack must have already been brought up to speed on the situation.

“Just more of the same gear. I moved their van off the road so no nosey troopers get involved, at least not right now. Took some pictures of the inside in case you guys see anything I missed.” Polnareff hands over his phone to Jotaro who scrolls through the images before handing it to Avdol. Walking over to the table where the hunters’ things are still laid out Polnareff absently fiddles with the extra ammo before picking one up to examine more closely. “Hmm, that’s odd. There are no makers marks on this?”

“What do you mean?” Joseph scratches his beard as he holds one up as well.

“It’s weird that there’s no markings whatsoever. Silver bullets are always homemade but the quality of these, they look mass produced but have no manufacture marks.” Polnareff’s face is grim as he makes the connection.

“What does that mean? Is that unusual?” You ask as you try to understand the significance.

Jotaro sighs as Polnareff hands him the piece he was holding. “It means this group of hunters is experienced enough not to leave evidence linking to them. And their operation is probably much more complex and much bigger than the group we encountered here. The tech, the mass manufacture of silver ammo…”

“And the van was modified for prisoners.” Polnareff shakes his head and sighs.

“Polnareff, you said before you recognized the smell of one of the hunters.” Jotaro rolls his eyes as Joseph lets out a fake cough that sounds a lot like ‘DIO’. “Ignoring who it may or may not be for now, how do you know that scent?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than it smells like magic. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled. There was only one person I’ve ever encountered that smelled like that.” Polnareff sits heavily in the nearest chair as the pack reconvenes at the table. “It was about five years ago now, before I met you Mr. Joestar. I was in New York City for the first time, trying to follow a lead on a case but having no luck. I heard rumors of a man who knew what had really happened to… in the case.” Polnareff gets a little choked up but controls himself and continues. “I was able to set up a meeting, but when I went to the spot, everything kind of… shifted? It felt like I was in a dream: it was hard to move, like weights on my feet. Everything looked just slightly wrong too, hazy like in a fog. I remember there was some sort of party going on, a lot of people everywhere like a medieval banquet or something. That’s where I met him. He introduced himself as Dio and I could tell he wasn’t human but couldn’t place what he actually was. He claimed he had the information I needed, but it would come at a price.”

“What do you mean by ‘investigation?” you tilt your head in confusion as you try to analyze his story so far.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know yet chérie but I’m one of the best private investigators in New York, probably the whole east coast!” Polnareff brags, jabbing his chest with his thumb.

“Focus Pol! What was his ‘price’?” Joseph groans out, exasperated with the younger man’s need to show off. “And why did you even need supernatural help? Not to inflate your ego any more than it is, but you are a good investigator.”

Polnareff looks down to the table, all sense of cheerfulness gone from his face. “The case had gone cold. It’s actually the reason I became a PI in the first place. My family, the whole town… they were murdered!” He slams his fists on the table as he shouts. “And not by just some maniac in the night! It was something inhuman! That’s the reason why I needed his help or whatever info he had on who did such a terrible act.”

You are frozen to your chair in shock with this new information. It seems to have taken the younger members of the pack by surprise too, Joseph and Avdol only nodding along in understanding. “The whole town murdered? You don’t mean…The one north of Quebec City, that was your home?” you say quietly.

Polnareff’s eyes shoot to yours, “Oui! Do you know of it?”

You swallow nervously as all the attention turns on you, “I heard of it, that was about seven or eight years ago right?” Polnareff nods and you continue, “That was about time I left my parent’s territory to try and find or start my own pack. They made me promise to not go that far north to Quebec, they were afraid whatever did that would get me too. They say the whole town was… torn apart.”

Polnareff hangs his head and you can see tears gather in his blue eyes. “Yes. It’s been years now but the pain… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was off in Quebec City partying while my family… When I got back, I was the one who found them. It wasn’t just a burglary gone bad or even ‘normal’ murder. Whatever killed them had used silver to do it. All of them, the whole town,” he chokes on his words trying to get the next ones out, “some of the bodies were eaten. Not by animals, by something almost human. I didn’t rest for days afterward. I swore I would hunt down the thing, the demon that did this to them. Unfortunately, I was not as good a tracker then as I am now, and the trail grew cold fast. So, I became a PI to try and keep looking and hone my skills.”

“That Dio guy, did he help at all? You said his help came at a price.” Jotaro directs the conversation back to the mysterious encounter.

“His price was too steep. He wanted information about other supernatural beings, to keep tabs and report to him directly.”

“Do you think he really did have the information though?” Kakyoin questions as he steeples his fingers together in front of him while he considers the information of Polnareff’s story.

Polnareff shakes his head, “It’s impossible to know now. He was so confident, about everything. I think I surprised him when I refused though. For a moment, it was like I saw his true face through the fog, he was suddenly terrifying and not at all charming. But I figured if he knew something, with all the people he had surrounded himself with someone else was bound to know as well. Whatever secret knowledge he had, it wouldn’t be secret for long. And why pay such a price for something that I could get for free later?”

“Did you ever find out his secret?” Avdol leans in as he asks, enraptured by Polnareff’s tale.

“Non, I don’t even remember leaving the place he brought me to. The next thing I remember after turning down his offer is, I suddenly found myself sitting in my car ready to head back to my motel.” He clasps his hands together and you can see his knuckles turn white from the tension. “I tried to find him again to, I don’t know… stop him? His intentions for the info on other creatures… It couldn’t have been good. And the slip of his façade I saw. The man, that creature is bad news. But he might have well been a ghost. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Polnareff turns to you, “A few years later I got hired by Mr. Joestar to keep an eye on a shady landlord working for him, and I guess the rest is history.” He shakes his head, “Who would have thought joining your pack would lead back to Dio again. Non- this is fate.”

Avdol gives Polnareff a pat on the shoulder before turning to Joseph. “Mr. Joestar, I think you should tell us what you know about Dio, or at least the person you know as Dio. I think it’s time the younger ones hear this.” Avdol says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

Joseph nods and runs his hand through his hair before he begins, “Right. Ahh, well,” he pauses to gather his thoughts for a second, “I know this is going to sound crazy but I guess there is no way around it. When I was young, I lived with my granny Erina, my parents were either dead or missing and her husband Jonathan had been dead since before my father was even born. Now’s not the time to get into the details of that but Granny used to tell me all kinds of stories from when Jonathan was alive. And most importantly- the majority of them involved an evil man named DIO! My grandfather’s adopted brother!” Joseph doesn’t control his volume in his excitement and ends up shouting his last sentence.

“Being an adopted son in a werewolf pack was strange enough, but Granny could tell there was something ‘other’ about Dio as well. Then one night, his schemes and plans finally came to fruition! There was a massive fight at the house, Granny said Jonathan would not speak of it except that his father George had died saving him from Dio’s magic and in the fight the manor was set on fire and burned down. Jonathan made it his life’s mission to find and destroy Dio, not for revenge but for the safety of England and the world!” Joseph turns his attention to look directly at Jotaro, “Dio was a changeling child. His actions confirmed it that night. He was one of the last remaining Fae on earth. And apparently not of the good and benevolent kind. So, you see why it could be possible that this man may be the same one my grandpa tried to destroy more than a hundred years ago.”

“That… that’s impossible! The Fae, they all disappeared long before that to Avalon.” Kakyoin is wide eyed as he tries to process the information. “I know some humans still believe in them, but…”

“I know! I know! I thought they were just stories from my granny too!” Joseph exclaims and puts his hand to his eyes, “But one time… I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I found an old photo album. There was a family photo of my grandfather, his father, and Dio.” He turns to Polnareff, “Pol, the man you met. Did he have blond hair, angry eyes and three moles on his left ear?”

It’s Polnareff’s turn to go pale as he slowly nods.

Jotaro growls as he tilts his hat to hide his eyes before snapping his head up to face the pack. “As impossible as this all sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that someone is hunting down wolves. I don’t give a shit if it is Dio or not, or an extinct Fae or not. We are going to put an end to this.” He looks around the table for a second and you can tell his eyes linger on yours longer than the others. “If anyone has an objection to this say it now. There will be no opportunity later.”

Joseph slams his hand to the table palm down, “I’m in! lets show this bastard who he’s messing with!”

Joseph’s enthusiasm is contagious and you and Polnareff slam your hands to the table as well, surprising the group with the fire they can see burning in your eyes. “Hell yeah! They think they can just take me? No way! I’m going to help tear this guy to pieces! I’m with you all the way!” You say as you look directly at Jotaro. You’re not sure but you think that’s a look of pride on his face as you make your declaration.

Avdol and Kakyoin keep their cool but you can see the determination in their eyes as they nod and place their hands on the table as well. Joseph is grinning like a feral maniac and you suddenly believe his stories about saving the world with how excited he looks to do it all over again. “Then it’s settled! I’ll call Caesar and let him know to gather the Zeppeli pack too.” Joseph pauses as he stands and looks at you, “Oh, and (Y/N)?” you tilt your head at him to continue. “Welcome to the Joestar pack.”

 <Previous Chapter  Next Chapter>

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the slow update! Guess who’s not good at regulating her personal time? This gal! I had to change up the process of how I’m writing this cause just trying to type on my computer had too many distractions and next thing I know I’ve been playing Stardew Valley for  3 hours.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask- I need a name for one of the dead bad guys. So leave a comment with a first name for the guy from Jersey, can be a bad ex, terrible boss, friend you want to embarrass by getting their name in a fanfic (first names only please- no doxing!)

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine - Chapter 13

Title: Strawberry wine

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Claire attempts to find Jamie while the war rages on and eventually ends.

A/N: Thank you so much for everyone’s patience while I finished this story! At one point I wasn’t going to, but I had an incredible support team that cheered me on. Without all of my betas, I would be nothing. The gorgeous mood board is by @veryfaintveryhuman​ and I am SO GRATEFUL. It’s beautiful, thank you!

Chapter 13: Like Leaves in the Fall

When the war ended and the fighting was over, I had no idea whether or not Jamie was alive.

What I did know, as I took stock on a train to Scotland, was that my uncle was dead, and I was alone.

Losing Lamb had been a blow to my heart, but I didn’t have the luxury of time to process the grief and sorrow while in the midst of saving lives. The telegram I’d received simply said he’d died in his sleep, and within the span of a single sentence, my last piece of family was gone. No more messy-but-organized flat to visit in the wake of my uncle’s retirement. No one to lean on as I recounted the horrors of war. When I woke from the nightmares, there would be no one to smooth my hair until I was calm. I had no one left in the world who loved me.

I had no one to help find the other half of me.

After losing contact with Jamie, each letter I’d sent to Lallybroch remained unanswered; nothing was ever returned. All of my letters were simply gone into the void—the same place prayers went to die when no deity bothered to listen.

Everything had gone to hell in July 1943. The night I left with a trio of Americans to help an understaffed unit five miles away.

I’d been sure the order from the commanding officer had been to leave in the morning at first light, but I was, of course, outranked by the soldiers escorting me. We’d left an hour after sunset and hadn’t been on the road more than eight minutes before there was an ambush, gunfire, and a fireball of explosion. I never could remember anything that happened after the initial blast. When I’d woken up, I was told I’d been in and out of consciousness for two days, and in that time, had been taken by truck to a field hospital twenty miles east of my own unit. Travel between the two camps had since become a blown-out, impassable mess, with no other way to get back. I wrote to Jamie as soon as I could, but with everything so chaotic, I felt before I knew that something was wrong.

I wrote each Sunday for a year to the last address I had for him, even if it was the final, bleary-eyed thing I did before collapsing that night. Some weeks it was only a sentence. Something simple.

I miss you.

Other weeks I poured my soul out to him, weeping over the paper until the ink was so blurred that even if he received it, he wouldn’t have been able to make out half the words. I began writing to Lallybroch, and my alarm ran deeper when there was no response from anyone at all. I had the phone number and attempted to call when I had the rare chance, but the operator could never connect. I felt helpless, and so I threw myself into helping others, trying to send as many boys and men home to their families as I could.

The last letter I’d sent was posted a month before the end of the war (though I hadn’t known it at the time) and was the first I’d written in a long, long while. I’d mailed it to Lallybroch, for no other reason than because I had no idea where else Jamie might be in the world.

I asked you to promise something impossible. I won’t ever believe you broke that vow to me, James Fraser. Not until I see proof with my own eyes.

You are not gone.

If you were, I couldn’t exist. So you must be out there, somewhere.

Now, the war was over. In the life we’d dreamed, we would have been settled with children by now. At least one or two. All of those nights dreaming felt like distant memories; plans two young lovers made before they’d ever stepped into the reality of the world.

How had we ever believed that our fantasies were untouchable?

I was going back to Lallybroch in the hope of discovering what happened to the Frasers. My heart ached for Jamie to walk out of the front door, healthy and whole, surprised to see me but eager to explain. Even knowing that wouldn’t be the case, I couldn’t have anticipated reaching his home only to find…nothing.

I knew something was wrong the moment I pulled into the drive. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys, there were no chickens roaming the yard. Getting out of the car (Lamb’s; now mine), I could see that the fields in the distance hadn’t been plowed, there were no animals grazing. I stumbled my way to the front door, recognizing the curling orange foreclosure notice for what it was before I could even make out the words.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

It felt as if someone had wrapped their hands around my heart and squeezed. I touched the fading paper and realized it’d been there for some time, then turned to sink slowly onto the front steps. I couldn’t fathom what had happened to cause Brian Fraser to lose the home his ancestors built in the name of love, and my mind raced with possibilities. The main question was where everyone had gone, and I knew my answers wouldn’t be found by sitting still. I left the property and drove into Broch Mordha, parking on the street and walking until I found the quaint little bookshop Jamie and I had enjoyed ducking into once or twice.

“Hello?”

A creaky old voice responded, and the proprietor, Mr. Gowan, made his way around the corner. I remembered him, a retired solicitor with a love of literature, and the way he smiled at me seemed to indicate he recalled me as well.

“Miss Beauchamp, was it? Oh aye, to be sure,” he answered for himself. “I hardly thought I would see ye here again with the Frasers gone from the land.”

It seemed we were cutting right to the chase, and I was eager to avoid small talk. “What happened? I haven’t heard anything in...years.” It hurt to say it aloud, to acknowledge that all of the time I was supposed to have with Jamie was slipping by.

Ned Gowan’s eyes went the sort of soft that meant he was to be the bearer of bad news.

It was in that dusty little shop that I learned of Brian Fraser’s death. He’d been at the plow when he collapsed. A stroke rendered him unable to speak or make final arrangements before he died, and so Jenny had been left to find a way to stay afloat—during a war, no less—on her own. She’d done the best she could, letting go of the farmhands who couldn’t go to war, first, then selling off livestock. Eventually, the burden became too much, and she’d been forced to take what she could stuff in a trunk and leave the rest behind.

“Do you know where she went?” I asked, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Ned reached over, patting my hand softly. “That, I cannae be sure of. I ken she stayed with the MacNabs for a spell after her father died, though she isna there now.”

“Do you know what happened to Jamie? Did he come back?”

At my questions, Ned simply squeezed my hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

For a moment, I simply held onto him, attempting to come to terms with the fact that Jamie had never returned home while my stomach tried to force its way up my throat.

The end of the day saw me no further than the start. The elderly Mrs. MacNab, while kind, hadn’t kept up with Jenny. With the mouths of children and grandchildren alike to feed and keep track of in a small, two-bedroom home, she’d lost the forwarding address. She assured me that when Jenny left she had at least seemed to have a plan, though she had no idea where Jamie’s sister might have gone.

In the days that followed, I spoke to various locals and realized that no one else knew, either.

I hit the final wall in trying to track down Jenny when I couldn’t locate her cousin, Jared. Leaving Paris had likely been the safest decision for him, but with everyone moving constantly during the war, nothing was familiar anymore. No one was where they were supposed to be.

I didn’t know where to go, and so, I went back to Lallybroch.

It was dark when I arrived, but the path to the river hadn’t faded from my memory. I knew, even in the faint moonlight, which branches to shove aside and could almost imagine Jamie ahead of me. As I broke into the clearing and the sound of water blended with the evening insects, I realized I’d been holding my breath with some sort of final hope that he would be there, reaching his hand out for me.

When I finally exhaled, it was on a sob as I sank to my knees.

He was truly gone.

Likely dead and buried somewhere I would never know. The war had chewed us all up and spat us back out in pieces, scattered and lost. I ached and cried, not only for Jamie, but for Jenny, Ian, and Brian, too. So much had been taken from us, and I wept for it all. I had no idea how long I laid there even after the tears stopped, curled in on myself in the mud. When I finally rose, I sat on the bank of the river, slightly damp, and watched the sky turn pink with the dawn of a new day.

I had to find a home on my own now.

Alone.

Over time, I slowly pieced together a life that was more or less what I’d told Jamie I wanted to do the first night we’d met. I took my skills as a nurse to places with little access to medical care, did what I could, and stayed as long as I felt necessary before moving on. My life hardly felt the way I’d thought it once would; I enjoyed helping others, and the call to take care of those in need was enough to motivate me each day. But I felt as if I were a spectator, watching the weeks, months, and years pass by in slow motion.

When my travels took me to North America, I eventually caught wind of a hospital in Boston looking to hire a dozen or so nurses. I’d thought about it for a long while, whether or not I should stop someplace and finally settle. I’d never longed for something permanent before, not until Jamie had put it into my head that we could have a life together, at Lallybroch.

Boston was about as far from the Scottish Highlands as anyplace else; an entire ocean stretched between what I yearned for and what I wound up with. I put all of my time and energy into the job, and even made a friend or two as I tried to put the war and life before it behind me.

But Jamie’s ghost wouldn’t go so easily.

He guided most of my decisions, the voice in my head that battled my doubts. When I debated whether or not to apply for a head nursing position, the voice in my head that whispered you’re just as capable as any other person at this hospital sounded suspiciously like Jamie, and I decided to try. He became my backbone when I stepped into an interview room full of men. When I was offered the job, I couldn’t deny my happiness at the accomplishment, and my colleagues at the hospital celebrated me in a way that was kind and genuine. But as I marked the time passing and settled into my career, I knew I had come to a point where I needed to let Jamie go.

Moving through life with a constant ache hurt too badly, and I’d never let myself accept that he was truly gone. If I was going to say goodbye to him, it needed to be done properly. That was why, five years after last receiving a letter from him, I took a trip to Scotland to leave a message in a bottle.

3rd of September, 1949. Come find me, Jamie.

When that fateful day finally arrived, I watched the sunrise from the front steps of Lallybroch for what I knew would be the last time. The sky was blue and birds were chirping, apathetic to my sorrow as I walked the property. I found the old, rusted truck that had taken us everywhere that summer, the back-half of it gone. We’d carved promises into one another in the bed of that truck, made love and held one another while we gazed at the stars. Looking down, I pressed my thumb against the faded scar before walking toward the front of the home. It still looked as sturdy as ever, but with no life within, the entire structure seemed dull, as if even the stones had given up.

I decided to make my way to the river through the woods knowing that if Jamie had found my note, that’s where he would think to look for me. I paused for a moment to gaze back at the house, finding his bedroom window. There was only broken glass now, and I closed my eyes, a quiet tear rolling down my cheek. I could still picture the first time I’d ever seen him perfectly: shirtless in a kilt, a bale of hay slung over his shoulder as easily as if it had been a bag of feathers. It wasn’t fair, that we’d only had a summer, that my soul had tangled itself with his in a way that was forever knotted. I would say goodbye today, but I couldn’t fathom finding another love like this in my lifetime.

To be frank, I didn’t know if I believed another love like his existed.

Looking up at the window again, I remembered that first night we made love, how warm it’d been. I’d stood in the window naked while we talked, welcoming the evening breeze as we’d made plans to escape to the water.

My only warning that the world was about to tilt on its axis was the soft crunch of gravel underfoot behind me. It was light enough that I didn’t bother to turn and see what made the sound. And then, suddenly, I felt as though I were in free fall.

“...Sassenach?”

The word (my name on his lips), unheard in years, made my heart skip before every ounce of air left my lungs. I turned my body slowly, but stared down for a moment before finally raising my head, afraid that I’d heard nothing at all.

He was there, standing straight and tall, staring at me in slack-jawed surprise.

Jamie was alive and whole, and it was the last thought I had before the world went black.

[headcanonsandmore]

“Fell In Love With A Girl”, Chapter Two

Summary:  Ginny and Luna discover what the secret service agents have discovered about the mysterious group targeting florists and plant research departments. And a new world of danger and espionage becomes impossible to ignore.

Tagging: @lytefoot @cheeseanonioncrisps

TWs are in the tags. 

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                          Read on FFN.                                 Read on AO3. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus Lupin smiled at them all as he sat down at the kitchen table. Like Agent Shacklebolt, he had an ear-piece attached, but he didn’t look as at-home wearing it like the MI5 agent did.

‘So… if we have security clearance, that means we can be told certain things?’ Ginny asked. ‘About what you’ve discovered so far?’

Remus Lupin nodded.

‘That’s correct. However, before we start, I should stress that this information is of the utmost secrecy, and cannot be repeated to anyone without security clearance.’

Luna, Ginny, Neville and Ron all nodded.

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned forward in his chair.

‘We believe that the break-ins are one small part of the actions of a large crime syndicate,’ he said, his tone serious. ‘They are a worldwide organisation, and have been connected to various criminal conspiracies, illegal chemical weapons manufacturing, and… well, more than a few murders, to say the least.’

‘We have reason to suspect that the branch of the organisation responsible for the break-in at Ms Lovegood’s shop are part of a worldwide scheme,’ Remus Lupin added. ‘Rare plant research has been going missing across virtually every continent on earth and, on every occasion, it has been relating to certain types of plant bacteria. One plant that the organisation seems especially interested in is the Amazonian Octarine-Flame.’

Luna started, her eyes growing wide with alarm.

‘A-Amazonian Octarine-Flame?’ she repeated, her voice quavering. ‘Someone came into the shop yesterday morning asking about it.’

‘Any distinguishing features?’

‘They were wearing black, and they were… fairly tall and thick-set. And… well, they wore large sunglasses that hid most of their face. But that’s not why I’m worries. I… I think someone was in my shop last night.’

‘Wait…’ Ginny said, her eyes widening in horror. ‘You mean… when you went downstairs in the night?...’

‘That was likely a scout for the crime syndicate,’ Remus Lupin said, softly. ‘Ms Lovegood, you are extraordinarily lucky; usually they don’t let people live if they’ve been seen.’

Ginny, her face pale, intertwined her fingers with Luna’s.

‘I’m okay, Ginny,’ Luna whispered, softly.

The redhead nodded, still looking worried.

‘Like we said,’ Agent Shacklebolt continued. ‘The break-ins are all to do with rare plants native to South America. The plants themselves and the research surrounding them. So… I put forward the plan that we track the syndicate. We start in Rio, Brazil, and move out into the Amazon delta when we are confident in a lead.’

‘Hang on,’ Ron said, crossing his arms. ‘That sounds like trespassing in a sovereign nation without checking with the local authorities first.’

‘I would normally agree with you, but this case is different. The British secret services are already liaising with our opposite numbers in Brazil, as well as with Interpol. Not to mention… well, the head of the crime syndicate is a British citizen.’

Agent Shacklebolt pulled a photograph out of his pocket, and placed it on the table. It was a grainy still image, that seemed to have been captured by CCTV camera, and looked several years old. There was a figure, shrouded in black but his face pale and thin. He was completely bald and his eyes seemed to glow red.

‘This is… well, his alias is Voldemort.’

‘French for “In Flight of Death”,’ Remus Lupin added. ‘But his civilian identity was that of Tom Riddle, an illegitimate son of minor nobility.’

Luna stared down at the face.

‘Most people have that reaction the first time,’ Agent Shacklebolt said, noticing her horrified expression. ‘It’s the eyes, isn’t it?’

‘He doesn’t look like any toff I’ve ever seen,’ Ron said, wrinkling his nose slightly. ‘Usually, they don’t look so intimidating. What’s with the bald head?’

‘He didn’t used to look like that,’ Remus Lupin replied. ‘Once, he was even considered a rather handsome young man. But that was a long time ago. Before he discarded his name and submerged into the world of international crime. He’s at the top end of every security organisation’s most wanted list.’

‘Yeesh,’ Neville said. ‘And I thought normal toffs were bad enough.’

‘Ms Lovegood,’ Agent Shacklebolt said, addressing Luna. ‘Mr Longbottom and yourself are two of barely a handful of people in Britain who know about these Amazonian plants. We’d like you both to come with us to Rio.’

Ginny looked up at Neville, feeling very confused.

‘Er, Professor Sprout taught me,’ Neville said, modestly. ‘Luna’s better at the theory than I am, though.’

He turned to Agent Shacklebolt.

‘Count me in,’ he said, his voice level. ‘I want to help. I’m not a spy, but I can help out with the research into the plants as best I can.’

Agent Shacklebolt smiled.

‘We wouldn’t be asking you to spy,’ he replied. ‘We have people for that. But the talents of yourself and Miss Lovegood will aid us greatly, especially as we ascertain where the syndicate is based in the Amazon delta.’

Ginny caught eyes with Luna, and the blonde woman squeezed her hand.

‘I… I’ll come,’ Luna said, steadily. ‘I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but…’

‘It will be dangerous,’ Remus Lupin said, slowly. ‘Very dangerous. You will each be given a security detail, but you will need to keep your wits about you nonetheless.’

Ginny felt her stomach drop. Luna really was going to go to South America, into a world of criminal organisations and dangerous situations. Yes, she would be with Neville and the secret service people, but still. What if something happened to her? What is she… Ginny couldn’t even finish that thought.

Without thinking, Ginny squeezed Luna’s hand, and spoke.

‘I’m coming along too.’

Remus Lupin and Agent Shacklebolt shared a quick look.

‘Ms Weasley,’ Agent Shacklebolt said. ‘We are talking about a crime syndicate that thinks nothing of murder and widespread destruction.’

‘I don’t care.’ Ginny replied, firmly. ‘They broke into Luna’s shop, and they could have easily killed Luna last night. No-one messes with my Lu.’

Remus Lupin smiled.

‘I believe we can make an exception in this case.’

Agent Shacklebolt sighed, and nodded.

Luna squeezed Ginny’s hand, a soft smile stretching across her face.

 *

 The next morning, Ginny and Luna took the tube to Heathrow. It was an overcast, drizzly day, and people scurried down from the streets above like rats escaping into the sewer. Except that rats are normally a lot happier about it.

Ginny felt weirdly nostalgic for the rural Devon of her childhood. She loved living in the city, but sometimes she did grow tired of the frantic pace of life. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about living in a cold, rainy metropolis for a little while, at the very least. Even if it was going to be more dangerous.

Neville had already left on a plane the previous evening. It had been decided that they shouldn’t all go to Rio at the same time, just to avoid any additional suspicion. Ron had texted Ginny earlier that morning, saying that he wished both Ginny and Luna the best of luck, and that he’d be keeping in contact with Agent Shacklebolt until they were all safely back in the UK.

The two women entered Heathrow’s main entrance, and spotted Remus Lupin stood outside a café, with someone that they didn’t recognise; a short woman with mousy brain hair.

‘Ms Lovegood, Ms Weasley,’ Remus said, holding a takeaway cup. ‘Allow me to introduce Nymphadora Tonks.’

The woman smiled cheerily at them.

‘Wotcher,’ she said, grinning. On closer inspection, her hair had pink highlights. ‘Although Tonks is preferable, if you please.’

‘Er, sure,’ Ginny said. ‘Are you…’

‘Security detail,’ Tonks said, sensing what Ginny was alluding to.

Ginny blinked. The woman was several inches shorter than both her and Luna.

‘Oh, don’t look so shocked,’ Tonks laughed. ‘I’m a master of several martial arts. You wouldn’t believe the various ways I can wrap my legs around people.’

Remus Lupin choked on his coffee, and Tonks burst out laughing. Ginny couldn’t help noticing that Lupin’s ears had gone red, in much the same way that Ron’s used to when he was flustered around Hermione.

Interesting.

‘Seriously, though, it’s nice to meet you both,’ Tonks said. ‘I’ve heard good things about you.’

‘Since this is coming from a punk with pink hair, I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Ginny said, chuckling.

‘You should,’ Tonks replied, grinning. ‘I am a bit more style-conscious than most of my peers. Or, as I call them, the black jacket and tie brigade. But Remus is alright, I suppose.’

Remus Lupin smiled to himself.

The four of them checked in their bags, and -a few hours later- Luna and Ginny found themselves in a plan bound for South America. Tonks and Remus Lupin had spread out, so as not to attract too much attention, but Luna and Ginny had been allowed to have two seats together.

‘Ginny?’

The redhead opened her eyes, and turned to look at her girlfriend.

‘Hmmm?’

‘I’m… I’m worried.’

‘What? About what will happen after we get to Rio?’

The blonde woman nodded.

Ginny reached under Luna’s blanket, and squeezed her hand.

‘What is gonna happen is that we’ll get everything sorted,’ Ginny continued, her voice soft. ‘And, if anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me first.’

Luna smiled, squeezing Ginny’s hand in return.

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘You’re my girlfriend,’ Ginny said. ‘I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. Ever.’

The skin around Luna’s eyes crinkled as she stared at the redhead.

She leaned over, and rested her head on Ginny’s shoulder. Within a few moments, she had fallen asleep. Ginny smiled to herself, enjoying the feeling of Luna’s soft breath against her skin. She found herself drifting slowly to sleep, enjoying the brief bit of relaxation before they reached the unknown situation awaiting them in Rio.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want to follow this series, subscribe to it or -if you prefer to be notified via Tumblr- ask me to add you to the tag list.

Thanks again for reading! :)

[yikesharringrove]

Forced To Confront Feelings: Steve and Billy are enemies with benefits, and in true angst fashion Steve’s touch-starved need to connect to someone ends up on Billy but he doesn’t dare say a word of it. Once he does, he knows Billy will leave and not come back. It comes to a head when Steve is majorly ill one day but is still forced to take the kids to the pool, as Billy picked up an earlier shift. (1/2)

(2/2) He’s in a bad mood and Steve doesn’t wanna make it worse so he does what he’s asked (told), but the heat of the day and his exhausted body meet head to head, and he passes out and falls in the pool. Billy’s gonna have to face up to what he’s been desperately trying to squash when he rescues Steve and sees he’s hit his head and isn’t breathing.

-

There’s some smut mentions, but nothing outright

Read on Ao3

-

Billy rolled off of Steve, left him panting and tired, laying in his own cum and sweat.

Billy patted him once on the thigh, getting up to get dressed, to leave.

That’s how it always went. Billy fucked him good and hard, and then left before Steve could even say goodbye.

At it was fine.

It was.

They weren’t together, weren’t even friends, really.

Steve was just being a baby, just being needy and clingy, everything Nancy always said was so bothersome, Steve.

He watched Billy get dressed, biting his tongue every time he wanted to ask Billy to stay, to spend the night and hold him.

But Billy was already stomping down the stairs.

So Steve rolled over and tried to imagine strong arms around his waist.

-

He could feel the illness coming for days before it actually hit.

His throat was sore every morning, and his cough was dry, made him hack for days.

He was curled up in bed, had a heating pad on his aching stomach, the trash can close to his bed just in case.

He absolutely fucking longed to have someone there, to have Billy there, bringing him hot soup and pressing a cool wash cloth to his head.

He was running a mild fever when the kids showed up, begged him to bring them to the pool.

He rolled his carcass out of bed, shoving himself into the first swim trunks he could find, the only shirt he saw.

Dustin raised one eyebrow at him when he tromped downstairs, but he didn’t care, just drove the little shits to the pool.

It was fucking hot today, and Steve felt fucking delirious sitting in the heat.

He was in the bathroom, his head pressed against one of the lockers, the cool metal.

“You’re on my locker, dipshit.” He stood up slowly, blinking at Billy.

“Sorry, Bill.” Billy furrowed his brows.

“You look like shit.” Steve smiled wearily at him.

“You gonna take care a’ me?”

“Fuck no, Harrington. Fuckin’, get outta here.” He shoved Steve aside, made him stumble a little.

Steve pouted, still leaned against the lockers.

Billy just shook his head, started changing into his lifeguard uniform. Steve jsut watched him.

Billy looked up at him slowly.

“Harrington, get out. Fuckin’ perv.” Billy shoved him again, made him slam into the lockers. His head spun.

He stumbled out of the locker room, the sun beaming into his eyes, making him dizzy.

He closed his eye, squatting down where he stood, pressing the heels of each hand into his eye sockets.

He took some deep breaths, trying to get the world to stop spinning. When he thought it was safe, he stood back up.

His vision went dark.

Billy was just stepping out of the locker room, unlit cigarette in his mouth when he saw Harrington stand up.

It was almost comical, the way his body just went down, like someone had cut the strings off a marionette.

But then Steve wasn’t surfacing, had sunk right to the bottom.

Billy scrambled to blow his whistle, throwing caution to the wind and sprinting forward, diving into the water.

He grabbed Steve around the middle, swimming up with him.

Billy’s blood was rushing in his ears.

Freddy was there, helped Billy pull Steve out of the pool.

Steve was just laying there.

And then Billy noticed the blood.

A gash on the side of Steve’s head was bleeding, the blood mixing with water, made it look like there was so much.

He tugged off his wet shirt, pressing it to the wound, staunching the blood as best as he could.

And then Billy checked over him.

And Steve wasn’t breathing.

Billy yelled for someone to call an ambulance, vague heard Heather yell back through the blood rushing in his ears.

He tilted Steve’s head back.

Okay, okay. You can do this. Chest compressions. Just like in training.

He tried to be methodical, tried not to think about how it was Steve under his hands.

He breathed into his mouth.

Steve’s lips were chapped, already fucking cold.

He started compressions again.

A crowd had gathered now, Steve’s kids all front row, all of them had a hand on the curly one, he was crying, his hands shaking.

Billy kept pushing on his chest, counting each compression.

One of Steve’s ribs gave way with a crack. The crowd around them gasped.

Billy gave him another few breaths.

He couldn’t think about their last interaction, how he had pushed Steve away. Couldn’t think about the last time he was at Steve’s house, the way Steve had looked at him, so soft and pretty and asked you wanna stay? We can go again. And Billy had laughed at him, called him a pussy.

He gave him more breaths.

And Steve coughed, spluttering.

Billy rolled him onto his side.

He was coughing, water coming out of his mouth.

Billy patted him on the back as everyone fucking clapped. Billy ground his jaw.

Steve was taking shaky breaths now.

The paramedics had arrived, pushing through the pool gates.

They got Steve onto a gurney.

“I, uh, I think I broke a rib during compressions.” Billy was following behind them, Steve’s kids following him like little ducklings.

“That’s okay. Better a broken rib and a breathing person.”

“He just passed out. I think he’s sick.” The loaded Steve up in the ambulance.

His eyes were wide, he looked panicked, staring at Billy, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Can I come with him?” One of the paramedics just nodded, Billy leapt into the ambulance, held Steve’s hand on the way to the hospital.

“You don’t have to stay.” They were in the E.R., waiting for a doctor to come back with the scans of Steve’s chest. They had already stitched up his head.

“Got nothin’ else to do.”

“You just, you don’t gotta take care a’ me.”

Billy dropped his head into his hands.

“Shoudn’ta said all that.”

“It’s fine, Billy. We’re not friends. You don’t owe me shit.”

“Honestly, I think I owe you an apology.” Steve shrugged. “Been treatin’ you like shit for a while now.”

“Look, I had no illusions about what we are to each other.” Billy sat back in his chair, glaring at Steve.

“That’s a lie.”

“No, it’s not. I knew we were nothing more than two people who fuck sometimes.”

“Maybe, but you wanted more.” And Steve’s cheeks went bright fucking red. “I could fucking see it. Just, the way you fuckin’ look at me, man. It was terrifying.” Steve ground his jaw.

“Terrifying?”

“You’re in love with me. Don’t know when, or why, frankly, but you are. And those fuckin’ big eyes a’ yours pretty much show every emotion you feel. So we’re fucking, and I pull outta you, and you give me this look, like you’ve never been happier, like you’re so in love, and Stevie I can’t take that shit.”

Steve’s mouth was hanging open.

“I guess I’ll stop then?” He spoke slowly.

“No, I- shit, I’m not sayin’ any of this right.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I was so scared because I’m not allowed to love you back.”

“But you do?” Steve was still talking all slow. Billy looked at his shoes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh my God, you big baby. You’re allowed to have feelings and emotions.”

“Not in my house.” Steve just stared at him. Billy sighed. “My dad would, would fuckin’ kill me if he found out. And I’m not just being dramatic. He doesn’t take nice to queers.”

“Who says he has to know?” Billy huffed a laugh.

“He always knows. Has ways of findin’ out all sorts a’ shit.”

“We’ve made it this far without him knowing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he thought I was out fuckin’ every girl in town. He’d rather have a slut for a son than a homo.”

“Tell him you’ve got a girlfriend, then.”

“He’ll wanna meet her.”

“Then get some girl to cover for you. Get Heather or Robin or someone.” Billy chewed on his bottom lip.

“You think one of them would do it?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, Robin hates you on principle, which, sorry about that, but she’d probably do it if you change your ways or something.”

“Yeah? What’s that entail.”

“Don’t give me shit to complain about. She’s my go to when I would be all mopey about you, so if I start bein’ all excited about you, she’d notice.”

“What if she just hates me?”

“Nah. You two would get along great. Her favorite pass time is making fun of me.”

“Okay, but that’s the main pass time of everyone that’s ever met you.

“Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me now? Now that we’re all in love.” He grinned as Billy flushed.

“Never gonna be nice to you if you rub that shit in my face.”

“Oh please. You broke my fucking rib trying to save my life. Don’t act like you don’t love me.”

“You never thanked me for that shit.”

“Figured I would thank you when I got out of the hospital.” He smiled all coy, biting his bottom lip just a little.

“What you got in mind?”

“Remember like, three weeks ago, when you asked for that thing, and I said over my dead body? Well since I was almost a dead body, figured you could have this one.” Billy’s eyes went wide.

“You’re really gonna let me? Fuck you in you dad’s office?” Billy had stumbled into the room accidentally, kept saying please, Harrington? Just lemme take you on this fuckin’ desk.

“Oh, yeah.”

“That what I get for bein’ your boyfriend, or whatever?” Steve looked down at the thin blanket covering his legs.

“Depends. Are you my boyfriend?

“You want me to be?” Steve nodded, still looking at his lap. “Then, sure. I am.”

And when Steve smiled at him, it was bright as the fucking sun.

[thotful-writing]

Invasion Ch. 7

You can find previous chapters in this link: Ch.6  or you can read it on AO3

Description:  A planet conquering race of Saiyans invaded Earth and deemed it worthy of habitation. After bringing the humans to their heels, they set up a new society where humans had one role, to serve. You found yourself in the unlucky faction of being bought and sold as a human pet. With absolutely no interest in owning a human but no way out of having one, Kakarot made a bid on you at the urging of his brother. It was only a matter of time before you were either killed or forced into obedience.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, tail porn technically

Author’s Note: I decided to post this chapter early because I can. There is some explicit content in this chapter including tail porn. :)

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Kakarot couldn’t deny the tension he felt at the table with his parents. It had been years since he’d last seen them and he honestly didn’t have plans on visiting with them anytime soon. Saiyans didn’t often focus on family outside of their mates.

“I’m surprised the King allowed you the time off.” Kakarot said, glancing over at his father.

“He knew the urgency.” Bardock answered simply without looking up.

“Did he mention anything about the trial?”

“No. We’re not discussing that. Find a new subject.” Gine interjected before Bardock could even open his mouth.

They continued to eat in silence but there was a nagging feeling within Kakarot that told him they knew more than they were saying. It wasn’t like his father to leave his post for something like this, not so early anyways. His mother seemed off as well, her usual cheerful disposition was shadowed by something else. He knew he couldn’t ask, not with her near, he’d have to wait.

“We should go see your brother before it gets too late.” Gine said, breaking the short silence after the meal.

Kakarot wasn’t exactly ecstatic about seeing Raditz again, especially not after their last encounter and he had no intention of taking you with him. He felt torn before his obligation to his family and his connection with you. The last few days had been blissful for him and you were the main cause. The distraction you provided was more than helpful.

“I’m sure he’ll enjoy the surprise of seeing you both.” Kakarot pushed his chair out and stacked the bowls on the table in his hand.

“Oh no, you’re coming with us. We haven’t spent time together as a family in a long time and you don’t know when-“ Gine paused, a realization hitting her mid-sentence, “just come with us.” She offered a slight smile but it was lacking.

Kakarot glanced over to his father who only offered a nod of his head, encouraging him to do what Gine asked. He sat the bowls down and agreed to go, even though he wanted to stay and talk with you about what was happening. As he followed them down the hallway towards the door, he glanced back to see you peeking out from your room. His eyes met yours at the last second before he took off.

Once they were gone and the door was closed, you stepped out into the empty house. You’d just met his parents and barely spoke to them. Bardock seemed to stare a hole through you and Gine seemed overly excited by your mere presence. Nothing about it made sense, it was all too weird. Bulma. That’s who you needed to find for some saiyan trivia and guidance.

You headed straight to the palace with haste, running as fast as you could and hoping she wasn’t busy. When you finally found her she was face deep in a computer in her lab, working on something so diligently she didn’t even notice you come in.

“Bulma…” You wheezed as you fought to catch your breath.

She turned around immediately, “what are you doing here?!”

“Need… information…” You leaned on one of the tables, trying to take deep steady breaths.

“Just sit down before you pass out.” She grabbed a chair and pushed it towards you.

After taking a minute to stop wheezing like an asthmatic, you were finally able to speak normally.

“Kakarot’s parents showed up two weeks early. Pretty sure Bardock hates every breath I take and Gine seemed way too happy that I existed.”

“Weird, but not surprising. I’ve heard Bardock was against colonizing Earth and Gine probably thinks you’re his mate now.” She said bluntly.

“None of that makes me feel better.” You sighed.

“None of it matters. You have more important things to do.” She turned away from her computer and scooted her chair closer to you.

“I do?”

“Yes, you need to ask Vegeta to buy you from Kakarot.”

The urge to laugh and scream at the same time was overwhelming, “are you crazy? He probably hates me more than Bardock.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve been planting the idea subtly to him about it already.” She admitted with a smile.

Bulma always seemed to be ten steps ahead of everyone else and it was astonishing to see how her mind worked.

“Do you think he would?” You really couldn’t believe it was something you were even considering.

“You’ll have to do a lot of groveling and begging, but yeah, he’ll do it. You need to talk to him soon, before the trial.”

“About that, what do you know about the trial?” You wondered if Vegeta’s pillow talk included saiyan politics.

Her mood immediately shifted, “I- we shouldn’t be talking about it.”

“If you know something you have to tell me. Please?” You’d never seen Bulma shutdown about something, she was the last person you expected not to gossip.

She moved closer and kept her voice low, “the trial isn’t just to make a judgement on Kakarot, it’s being used to set an example. There’s something going on that Vegeta won’t tell me about, he’s even more guarded when it comes to Kakarot and his mission. The King coming here is a huge deal and it even has Vegeta on edge.”

“What is he even on trial for? The mission went bad, they were ambushed and-“ You immediately closed your hand over your mouth, realizing you shouldn’t have said a word to her about it.

She glanced around before leaning close to your ear, “I didn’t hear that and you didn’t hear this,” she paused again as if she was hesitant to say another word, “he’s not on trial for failing the mission, he’s on trial for killing the other Elite Warriors.”

What?! You sat back and stared at her in shock, all the breath from your lungs disappeared like you’d been punched in the gut. Your heart dropped in your chest and it became overwhelmingly clear that Kakarot wasn’t who you thought he was. Kakarot made it seem like it was because of the mission, not the other Elite Warriors. It felt too overwhelming to even process, that he would eliminate an entire group of saiyans, and then there was the question of why? Why would he ever kill another saiyan?

“Ask Vegeta to buy you. Sooner rather than later.” She placed her hand on your shoulder.

The walk back home was heavy, the air felt different, a tension sat in your chest that wouldn’t leave. Your mind was racing and it was getting harder to try and defend him. You knew the other saiyans had died, but was he really the one to take their lives? Bulma seemed convinced that you needed to get away from him soon and the only way to do that was to be bought, but your options were slim. Even Kakarot thought you should go to Vegeta. Questions ran rampant through your head, making you feel dizzy and completely confused.

Gine wrapped Raditz in another quick hug before they set off towards Kakarot’s house again. Kakarot was ready to leave, even more than his father seemed to be. The second they stepped foot into Raditz’s house and saw his human, they knew, they all knew, and Bardock wasn’t exactly secretive with how he felt about it.

“Gine, let the boy go.” Bardock snapped, clearly irritated.

She reluctantly pulled away from him and joined Bardock and Kakarot as they headed back.

“A grandchild, can you believe it, Bardock? We’re going to be grandparents.” She almost squealed.

“An abomination is what that is.” He sneered.

Gine caught up with him and narrowed her eyes at him, “don’t say that. Humans are very close to us biologically, they just lack the strength and the tails.”

“He’s disgraced this family with that… that thing he created. Saiyan’s mate with saiyans.”

Kakarot listened to his parents bicker back and forth about Raditz’s situation. He never understood the obsession with mating with humans, but he didn’t see a problem with it. As far as he was concerned, it was a way to further the saiyan race.

They finally made it back to Kakarot’s house and Gine stormed inside, mumbling something Kakarot could only make out as cursing and insulting Bardock.

Bardock stopped Kakarot before he could follow his mother, “that human, she cooks and cleans for you?”

“Yeah.” Kakarot looked at him confused, wondering where he was going with this.

“Have you mated with her?” He asked bluntly, making Kakarot wish he was anywhere but there.

“That’s not- I-“

Bardock almost stared a hole through him, “tell me you haven’t, tell me I only have to be disappointed in one of my sons.”

“I haven’t.” He admitted but felt bad for the way Bardock spoke about his brother.

“Don’t. The King should have had this planet destroyed along with every human on it.”

“What about the legend? The half-saiyan hybrids?” Kakarot hadn’t always bought into it, but there had to be something to it.

“A legend. Same as the Super Saiyan legend. Just pointless myths saiyans have created as a goal to achieve so we keep fighting.”

Flashes of his missions flooded Kakarot’s mind, images of his aura glowing and his hair changing color. The immense power he felt, he knew what it was, deep down, he knew. The anger and rage that surged through his body, the only things that could power such an immense transformation. Each time he powered up into the form he could feel an untapped ability waiting within him that he strived to grasp. But he kept this secret to himself, well, to himself and one other person. His father seemed convinced it was a legend and he decided to go along with it instead of revealing his accomplishment.

“Legends.” He nodded his head, agreeing with his father though he knew the truth.

Kakarot let his parent’s have your room upon finding you weren’t in it when they returned. He planned on letting you stay in his bed while he took the couch, but you hadn’t come back yet. He considered the possibility you might not return, not while his parents were there, but he waited anyways. When the front door opened slowly and he heard light footsteps on the hardwood floor, he knew it was you.

You passed by the living room and froze when you saw a dark figure standing there. The urge to scream was overwhelming. He was in front of you with his hand clamped down over your mouth quickly before you could let out any kind of sound.

“Shhh, it’s just me.” He said in a whisper, his eyes visible only by the light from the moon that peered through the window.

You nodded your head, letting him know you understood and had no intention of screaming, even though you were still questioning your own safety with him at this point. He released your mouth and pulled you into the living room with him.

“They’re in your room, I didn’t want you going in there to find out on your own.” He explained.

“Thanks for letting me know. Guess it’s back to the couch for a while.”

“You could stay in my room, I don’t mind taking the couch.” He offered.

“It’s fine, I’ve slept here before.” You smiled slightly, hesitant to take any kind of generosity from him.

The couch seemed like a better option than waking up in his bed with his parents right across the hall. Kakarot remained in the living room while you grabbed a small blanket and spread it out over one of the couches.

“Something else you needed?” You glanced over your shoulder at him.

“Did you- were you asking Vegeta to purchase you?” He stammered.

You turned to face him, feeling odd having this conversation since Bulma basically told you to do that exact thing moments before, “no, but I probably will. Soon.”

“I’m sure that’ll be a much better situation than this one. I never meant to drag you into any of this.” He admitted, his gaze dropping from yours.

Every fiber of your being was setting off alarms in your head. Run, leave, but as he stood in front of you, basically apologizing for ever bringing you into his life, you felt conflicted. You wanted to be cold towards him, push him away and just be done with the entire situation, but it wasn’t that easy.

“I know.” Was all you could manage without straight up asking him if he murdered the other saiyans.

As you turned back towards the couch you felt the familiar, furry appendage wrap around your hand. Glancing at it curling around your hand and then to Kakarot, you felt a pull to him again. Something innate. Suddenly you were being tugged closer, this time it was him who was controlling his tail, bringing you flush against him as his fingertips grazed the side of your cheek. You stared up at him, wanting more than anything to believe he was a murderer, but something in the pit of your stomach kept you from falling prey to the rumor.

“I can’t mate with you.” His lips ghosted against yours.

“I- we don’t have to mate to feel a little less alone.” You repeated as you’d done before, feeling that you both needed to just feel close for a little while.

His hand caressed your cheek while his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, “just for a few minutes.”

He moved his thumb and crashed his lips into yours, his tail tightening around your wrist again. You melted into him, into his arms as he held you close, wanting to go back to the day before, the small moments of bliss where things weren’t so complex. Kakarot lifted you with ease, carrying you over to the couch and laying you down gently while he settled next to you, your mouths never breaking away from one another. You let your hands roam and explore him, running up his muscular chest, travelling along his neck up to cup his face. His tail wrapped around your thigh and pulled your leg to drape over him so he could be closer to you. You felt his hips grind against you, his cock already hardening and touching your inner thigh. Every touch of his lips felt almost euphoric, his body pressed against yours, his hands and tail working to memorize your every curve, it was perfect. Everything else on your mind seemed to fall to the side in these moments and it was so peaceful and addicting.

Kakarot’s tail moved between your thighs, rubbing against your core perfectly enough to force a small moan from your lips. He wrapped his arms around you tighter and repeated the action. The furry appendage was the perfect amount of pressure to your clothed cunt, rubbing in just the right place that made you buck your hips and whimper for more. You felt the heat pooling between your thighs at his actions, your panties getting wetter by the second.

He finally broke the kiss and sniffed the air, “that scent again,” he inhaled sharply, and his tail pressed against you a little more firmly.

“Kakarot, that’s- you can’t do that.” You were already panting.

“But you like it?” He said curiously.

“Well, yeah, but-“ he repeated the action with his tail and your breath got caught in your throat.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but you reached down between your thighs and rubbed your hand over the tip of his tail lightly, making him freeze immediately and let out a small growl at your touch.

“Don’t.” He warned with a breathy groan.

“But you like it, right?” You mimicked his question.

You held your gaze on his as he rubbed his tail against you and you kept your hand on the tip of it, lightly stimulating him with each brush of your fingertips. Your short, breathy moans filled the space between you as you both chased a release you were reluctant to have but needed. It turned into a game, a challenge for both of you. Your hand moved a little fast over his tail which in turn made his tail rub a little harder against you. You could feel his cock straining even more in his pants, grinding against your thigh. Your lips touched, trading grunts and whimpers back and forth between each heated breath.

“Let go.” He said through gritted teeth, hanging on by a thread.

“You first.” You smirked, moving your freehand down to rub his cock over his pants.

In that moment you thought you won, outsmarting him with free access to him, but he turned the tables on you. He shoved his hand down the front of your pants, his thick fingers sliding between the slick folds of your cunt, forcing a harsh moan from your lips. He silenced the rest of your mewling with his lips, nipping at biting at you between each desperate plea for more. You played into his game and slipped your hand beneath the waistband of his pants, your fingers grazing the patch of hair leading down to his cock. You wrapped your hand around him and stroked him, feeling his hot, thick cock in the palm of your hand was almost enough to make you come on his fingers immediately.

“Kakarot… don’t stop.” You knew you were close and there was no use in denying that you wanted it, you wanted him to make you come.

“Didn’t plan on it.” He said with a smirk before groaning against your lips when your hand tightened around him.

Breathless, incoherent muttering was all you could manage into his mouth as your orgasm hit you hard. Your thighs tensed as his fingers pressed against your clit just right, your hips bucking into his hand as your come coated his fingers. You bit down on his lip as he’d done to you moments before and it was just the right action to make him come undone for you. He rutted his cock into the palm of your hand as he came, his cock twitching and pulsing, and his cum spilling onto your fingers.

You fell into a blissful haze with soft touches of your lips, not enough to be considered a kiss, but enough to keep the two of you close. You remained like that, entangled in one another on the couch, sleep threatening you both.

“You should go to your room.” You nuzzled into his chest as you pulled your hand from his pants.

He yawned and eased his fingers out of you, “just another minute.”