#it's mind-numbingly boring but gives you something to do with your hands at those moments where thinking seems impossibly hard

[flash-from-the-past]

Are You Ready for the Hardest Jigsaw Puzzle in the World?

[corralinesage]

Portrait of a wounded heart (3/8)

CHAPTER 3 All night long 

The book was mind-numbingly boring, or maybe it was the fact that you, quite frankly, had better things to do, better people to get to know than the ones in the provincial town of Middlemarch. Had Natasha been one of those people, you would have surely binged the book in five seconds total, but unfortunately that was not the case. You skipped paragraphs, skimmed through entire pages, all so that you would get faster to her, the book nearly flying out of your hands the second you finished the last sentence of the first chapter. You dug up your phone, opening a new chat and typing her name in it.

Y: First chapter down :)

You couldn’t believe it, you simply could not believe that you were texting her, texting the woman of your dreams. Oh, you wanted to scream, you wanted to run around your room, or jump up and down on your bed to release some of the exhilarating thrill that you felt, and then you wanted to scream some more when you saw that she had read your message. Your body was buzzing from anticipation as you waited patiently for what she was about to respond to you.

N: Good job! How are you liking it?

It really shouldn’t have had such a huge effect on you, but the sole fact that you were texting her was enough to make you lose your mind. Receiving praise of any kind was bound to make your heart gallop. You refrained from letting out a girly squeal and typed up your response instead after getting over the full-body wave of excitement, letting her know what you thought of the book, although you made sure not to say anything too negative in case it was a favorite book of hers or something of the sort.

N: You better hasten your pace if you want to finish it by morning. You’ve got another 85 chapters and a finale to get through.

Fuck. You stared blankly at the book on your bed, unable to grasp how it was even possible to fit that many chapters into a silly, little book. You knew it was long, but it was slowly starting to dawn on you just how long it was. You felt a wave of despair wash over you. There was no way you were ever going to finish it on time. You felt like crying, you were far too loaded up with intense emotions to be able to regulate yourself, and so, for a moment you just lay on your back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating your options, like any sane person, instead of actually doing something beneficial to accomplish your task. You wasted an unnecessarily long amount of time on everything else that you weren’t supposed to be doing, the uncomfortably intimidating task shadowing you like a whiny ghost that lacked attention. You organized your notes for art history, found yourself a snack from your poorly stocked cupboards, and wiped down your kitchen counters all the while you kept up a conversation with Natasha. Dozen minutes later, or –let’s be honest– maybe even an hour later, you were back to skimming through pages, trying your best to absorb any crucial information that you might have discussed in class the next day. It took you three whole hours to get to chapter 10. God, the book was unnecessarily long. By the time you turned the page to the last one of chapter 10 your eyelids were half-closed. All the characters and places were messed up in your head. You didn’t know who was who, or what was where. There were too many new names, too many relations, too much of everything. You wanted to give up, you really did, you even told Natasha that you were going to fail the assignment, clambering up from your bed as you waited for her to respond to your pathetic whining. You headed for your small kitchen once again, switching your coffee maker on despite the fact that caffeine had lost its kick on you long ago. It would do nothing to keep you awake, but at least you would get an excuse to have a large mug of warm coffee with additional toppings that you chose to hopefully make yourself feel better. You squeezed some caramel sauce on the inside of the mug before adding the steaming coffee on top, you stirred it briefly, hearing a soft ping from your phone. You didn’t even try to resist checking her message, a smile finding your lips at the sight of her name on the screen.

N: You are not giving up, not if I have a say in it.

You felt warm again, your sorrow subsiding for just a moment. You poured some milk into your cup to fill it to the brim, searching for a comforting snack to get you through the hours of reading you had ahead of you, settling for crunchy pretzel bites to ease your hunger. The kitchen flashed with blue light, the soft pitter-patter of rain that sounded from the windowsill soon accompanied by thunder. It was still raining, and it seemed that the storm would only be getting stronger if the harsh wind was anything to go by. The building you lived in was old, wind howling outside, clattering things around. As much as you hated your poor plumbing and fickle heating system, the house did have a few very aesthetic, comforting features that soothed your artistic soul. You returned into your room with a small smile on your face, sipping on the creamy coffee on your way, the scalding drink burning your tongue. You sat back down on your bed, placing your mug on the bedside table before finally responding to her message.

Y: Come on Nat. There’s just no way. I’ve barely read an eighth of the book.

N: Call me.

Y: What?

N: Call me, sweetheart. I’ll tell you the story.

You froze completely, staring at the screen with your jaw hanging on the floor, eyes fixed on the endearment. You glanced at the time, unable to understand what could’ve possibly prompted her to suggest anything of the sort to you at two in the morning. What did she do for a living to not only be up and awake at such an hour but also willing to call someone to talk about English literature? Your finger trembled slightly, heart skipping a beat from nerves as you hovered your thumb over the call-button. Was she being serious, or was she just messing with you? Would you dare to call her? Without giving yourself the chance to hesitate for any longer you dialed her number, squinting your eyes shut as you waited for the telltale ring of the phone to sound. It came only once before you heard her pick up.

“Hi, krasotka.” Her voice was smooth, silky, the words sounding right in your ear, your gut churning with butterflies. You felt breathless, flustered by how intimate the entire situation felt.

“Hi.” You nearly gasped the greeting, somehow unable to believe that she had even picked up the phone. You felt your heartbeat accelerate, your mouth drying up from more than just the salty pretzel snacks. “What are you doing?” You sounded dumber than you had intended to, silently cursing yourself in your head for your awkwardness.

“What am I doing?” She repeated the question as if wishing to tease you a bit.

“Yeah, you know, up at 2 AM, and all that.” You tried to save it by sounding less like you were accusing her of something.

“Well, I’m telling a story to a pretty girl”, she hummed, clearly amused by your shock. You laughed out of nerves, your fingers finding your sheets to fiddle with the fabric. She was going to be the death of you.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m more than sure. She’s pretty as a picture.” You went completely silent, unable to find a response to her words. She was unabashedly flirting with you.

“N-no, I meant that… that- Are you sure you want to spend your night like this?” It was almost starting to sound like you were the one who didn’t want her to spend her night with you. “Just that I don’t wanna interrupt anything.” You butted in quickly before she had the chance to get the wrong idea.

“Don’t worry, milaya, I have nothing better to do.” It was hard to believe that a woman like her had nothing on her schedule, but you would’ve been lying had you said that you weren’t pleased to know that she was choosing to spend even more time with you that day.

“Well, in that case… Tell me all about Middlemarch. I was just reading about Dorothea getting married to that grandpa”, you said, trying to bite back your smile so she wouldn’t be able to hear it through the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Casaubon. Dorothea was yet another victim of daddy issues”, she said jokingly. “This is gonna be a bit of a ride. I hope you’re taking notes.” You were in fact not because all you could focus on was how low and velvety her voice was. “So, as you know, Dorothea is very headstrong. She’s religious and thirsty for knowledge. She marries Mr. Casaubon over Sir James in the hopes of broadening her intellectual horizons.” She chuckled softly at herself, her tone insinuating that Dorothea’s dreams might have not come true after all. “The Vincys are another family that the book is centered around. There’s Mr. and Mrs. Vincy, Fred –lazy kid– and Rosamond, who’s the girl that everyone wants. She’s dainty and very ladylike, a girly girl if you will.” At first you found it more than difficult to follow along with what she was saying because a huge part of your attention was stolen away by the sound of her voice. It was rather surprising how much you could learn about a person just by listening to their voice. You could not help getting hung up on little details, noting each little inflection in her tone and style of speech, wishing to memorize the rasp of her voice, the way it sometimes squeaked a little as if breaking from exertion. Sometimes she would chuckle or even laugh, the gorgeous melody sounding right next to your ear as you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling with a huge grin on your face. “At this point we already know that Will Ladislaw and Dorothea have chemistry.”

“Wait, who's Ladislaw again? Wasn’t he the doctor they shit-talked?” She laughed again, the gesture somehow coming off as affectionate, your heart soaring at the sound of her beautiful laughter.

“No, honey, Ladislaw is the artist. Mr. Lydgate is the doctor, and he marries Rosamond Vincy”, she reminded you again, her smile audible.

“And will they end up together, Ladislaw and Dorothea?”

“You’ll just have to listen to my story and find out.” You couldn’t help but to grin so widely that your cheeks hurt. There was something about the way she spoke to you, the way she treated you that made your insides melt. She was gentle, but assertive with a hint of playfulness to her. She made you want to hear more, to learn more, so, you listened. You listened and listened, clutching a pillow to your chest as she told you the unfolding of events in her own style, allowing you to state any questions that might have arisen along the way. There was a lot of talk about money and class, marriages and relations, so much so that it was sometimes hard to keep up, especially when more characters were introduced, but she did her best to include small reminders like monikers and titles to help you follow along. “After the fight they have, Mr. Casaubon ends up having a heart attack and later on dies, which is when we learn about his will that says if Dorothea is to marry Will Ladislaw, she is to lose her entire inheritance.”

“No! I wanted them to end up together”, you gasped, nearly bouncing up from the bed.

“I know, me too”, she lamented, a soft sigh sounding from the other end of the line.

“That’s it? She has to choose between going broke or being with the one she loves?”

“Not exactly because as of now, Dorothea doesn’t think of Will that way and she is appalled by her husband’s lack of trust in her”, she explained, continuing on with the story, filling you in on the lives of all the characters involved in the current events of the book, giving you insight on what each of them thought about the situation. You noticed yourself fall into the world of Middlemarch, getting thoroughly invested in the characters that had seemed so plain and boring at first glance. Natasha had a way of describing people and events, she knew how to word things eloquently, the story falling from her lips like she knew it by heart, like she would have been reading an abridged version of it to you. It made you wonder why the book meant so much to her because there was nothing she could say anymore to convince you otherwise. There was a connection between her and the book, something that spoke to her personally, something that created emotional value. You would have wanted to know the story behind her and Middlemarch, but you didn’t dare to disturb her. “They solve the money affairs, and Dorothea offers to pay Lydgate’s debt to Bulstrode. She goes over to the Lydgates to bring the check, but she ends up finding Will Ladislaw there with Rosamond.”

“What? Wha- what- Doing what?” Natasha chuckled at your question and the obvious disbelief in your tone, pleased to know that you weren’t just following along to the story, but you were also entertained by her manner of retelling.

“Holding hands.” You gasped, the sound followed by yet another discreet laugh from her.

“How dare they? Might as well show him her ankles too!” You couldn’t help the wide grin that found your lips when you heard that your comment only prolonged that wonderful, melodic sound of laughter that came from her.

“I know, right? Rather scandalous if you ask me. However, this sends Dorothea into a fit of internalized rage which later on comes out in hours’ worth of crying.”

“Feels a bit dramatic. I mean it’s just hands”, you reasoned quietly, although you had no room to judge, not when you had cried over a stranger you had fallen in love with at first glance. “Couldn’t they have talked it through?”

“I get it”, she hummed, somehow in an even softer tone than before. “Hands are intimate. You do everything with your hands. You connect to the world around you through your hands. You feel, you touch, you leave a mark. I wouldn’t let just anyone hold mine.”

“Oh… when you put it like that. Yeah… yeah.” You both sat in silence for a while, in a comfortable, serene silence that could only be found in the middle of the night before she spoke again.

“If I saw the very hands that were meant to touch me, hold me, love me, in someone else’s…” She didn’t finish the sentence, failing to find words adequate enough to describe the feeling. “I don’t blame Dorothea in the slightest.” You thought about her hands, recalling the way she had held yours when she had smelled your wrist. Her touch had been gentle, delicate, so intimate especially when you looked back on the memory with the new information you had just acquired. You could tell she felt deeply. She was soulful, someone who understood sentiment, someone who perhaps saw more than others. “There were two living forms that tore her heart in two.” Her tone shifted, turning more formal. “As if it had been the heart of a mother who seems to see her child divided by the sword.” You realized that she was reciting the book, reading a passage to you, or maybe even voicing it from memory. “And presses one bleeding half to her breast while her gaze goes forth in agony towards the half which is carried away by the lying woman that has never known the mother’s pang.” The line went silent again for just a moment. “That’s how she describes it.” You didn’t know how to respond, the heaviness of her words taking up all the space in your cozy bedroom as you went over the passage in your head. You would have to actually read the book after your assignment was over so that you could give it the time and energy it needed –required.

“That’s beautiful”, you whispered after a while, feeling in awe of the sense of vulnerability that she had created. “Kind of gut-wrenching”, you admitted softly, hearing her hum in agreement.

“It’s a good book. Hopefully you’ll get the chance to actually read it sometime.” She was moving at the other end of the line, quiet rustling sounding through the phone.

“I will. I’ll make sure to read each and every word.” You wanted to promise it to her, you wanted her to know how much you valued not only the book but also her willingness to share her thoughts on it with you. “It’s a shame you have to spoil it for me.” She chuckled.

“A shame indeed. Do you have an assignment due tomorrow?” She asked.

“Oh no, tomorrow is class discussion and then I’ll have to write a small essay on a topic of choice”, you explained, hiding your yawn by moving the phone away from you as you rubbed your eye, your blurry vision making you feel like you were going partially blind from how tired you were.

“Well, in that case, I’d say you’re doing okay so far.” You huffed softly at her comment.

“I just wish I had more time, but I have three other assignments due next week, so this one will most likely end up being generic crap that the professor has heard a thousand times before.” It was not typical of you to feel bad about poorly done assignments, but the Middlemarch assignment had suddenly acquired a whole new meaning to it. You had someone much more important to impress with your work. You wanted Natasha to know that you were good at what you did. You wanted her approval more than you wanted your professor’s. You wanted to discuss the book with her, you wanted her to think that you had good opinions, that you were smart.

“Are you free tomorrow?” You struggled to process her words in your tired brain, trying to recall your schedule for the following day.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Come to the library after your lecture. We can write the assignment together. I’ll bring coffee.” You paused completely. Had she dived into your brain and dug through your daydreams? There was no way she didn’t know all the stupid fantasies you had of her. It couldn’t just be coincidence, but how could she possibly know when the only person aware of the things you dreamed of was you?

“My lecture is pretty early though. It ends at 11:45. If you have work or something…” You wanted to know what she did with her time, if she had a career of some sorts, but to your dismay she hadn’t said a word about any possible profession or studies. She was still a huge mystery to you.

“I’ll be there. How do you want your coffee?”

“Hmm, surprise me.” You smirked a bit groggily, adjusting your position to get more comfortable, the phone screen that was pressed to your cheek burning up from the length of the call. You were sure your battery wasn’t far from running out. “So how does the story end?”

And so, she continued spoiling the ending for you, finishing her retelling with a happy and satisfactory ending, at least in your opinion. You yawned quietly, nuzzling into your sheets, so comforted by the warmth they provided you, her soothing voice right by your ear, your eyes shutting on their own, the large mug of coffee you had consumed hours ago doing nothing to keep you awake. The world went quiet, silent, even the little sounds of the early morning, the pitter-patter of rain, the wind, the creaking of the old house, fading into oblivion as sleep took you, swallowing you whole into the dark abyss of dreamland.

“Y/N?” Natasha’s voice sounded from the other end of the line, but you didn’t budge. “Y/N?” She tried again but heard no response. She waited for a moment longer, an affectionate smile playing on her lips as she listened to your even breathing. “Good night, krasotka”, she whispered eventually when no answer came, ending the call right before the clock had the chance to strike six in the morning.

A/N: I just posted another chapter of my smut collection that is a sequel to this story on my ao3!

[uncouth-the-fifth]

so glad you got a tumblr couth 🥰 ik you said something about wanting to take ask requests on here, so do you have any smut damian hcs?? :D

I'm guessing you just mean general hcs, so here are the ones I think about most when I write:

at first, Damian has no experience, doesn't want experience, and overall imagines sex as a form of manipulation or conquest. his thoughts on sex are initially unhealthy, but with enough time around good examples like his s/o, those thoughts start to change.

there's bragging. lots of bragging. before Damian even has sex he fucking brags about being good at it, bc he's stupid like that. but to his credit, Damian does know human anatomy so well that he can nerve strike ppl... which means... he definitely doesn't get lost yk 😳 I don't think he brags to ppl he's not comfortable with. He's definitely more of the type to be like, "Of course I'm proficient—pleasuring a woman is mind-numbingly simple."

(if he can think of 980 ways to kill someone w his bare hands then he's has to know at least 20 ways to pleasure them. right?)

when Damian does find the right person to begin with, I think of it two ways:

1. if they're more experienced than him, he'll complain a lot, but he desperately wants to perform well and ends up listening to all (most) of their commands. he talks himself up a lot, but underneath all that he's nothing but soft and nervous. there's not much that Damian isn't skilled in, so he's extra aware of where his failings are. he lets you touch him first. but even if you know more than him, he makes a point to remind you that he's a very, very quick learner. your experience is quickly matched. all he needs is a moment to muster himself, then it'll be your turn on the bottom ;)

2. if his partner has the same amount of practice as Damian does, he will take initiative. he will treat it like a science experiment in the most literal sense, documenting your reactions to his every touch, trying to measure what you like the most. maybe he'll ask to undress you, just so he can marvel at you up close. Damian is a total control freak, too. he wants to be on top, wants to control the pace. every social part is new to him, more so than it would be for a normal person, which leaves him feeling unprepared and nervous. it's when you're pressed close together that those feelings start to loosen. not even he can be truly prepared for the first time, and since his life is so ruled by preparation and the future, that sense of timelessness is really pleasant. he doesn't have to be good the first time, because it's not a test.

(but... he is good. very good. he's not too gentle, but still sweet, giving you time to breathe and kissing your nose ridge when you hiss at his stretch. Damian has never been this close to someone before - he secretly adores it).

i don't see him thinking much about himself until after the first time - his happiness almost comes as a sort of side effect of sex, not a deliberate product. Damian is the grave opposite of selfish (he's not at all kind to himself), so he thinks of himself more as a tool in the process to pleasure you. his mouth is for you, his hands are for you, and his dick is definitely for you too.

after further practice, his s/o kind of trains him to want it for himself. Damian does want to fuck you (desperately), his brain is just programmed to shut away any good feeling. every time he lusted after you, admired you in a sexual way, or thought about you dirtily, his mind just didn't take it.

but when he experiences sex for the first time, it shocks him how intimate and romantic it can be. this whole time, he figured it was more of a mechanical process that ppl pretended was good to make themselves feel better. but Damian's first time is fucking awesome.

it's very healing for him. once Damian realizes that it's a good thing, he fixates on it. he reads articles and books about sex, he makes sure you have it around two times a week (his research suggests that this is the best for a couple of your standard), he mixes it up each time so you don't get bored of each other. it's the total opposite of killing, so Damian pledges a piece of his soul to it.

on accident, he becomes a sex god.

in some versions of canon he's been genetically modified from birth to be "perfect" (in the human-made sense), so his endurance is insane. for this reason I hc him as being very big, which only makes him more of an asshole when it comes to bragging. now, he can actually back it up.

his favorite place is the shower, because of the easy access, the cleanup, and the blatant romantics of it. your hair is slicked to the back of your necks and water runs down your faces as you kiss, like you're dancing in the rain at the end of a romance film. he gets to undress you. he gets to run his fingers through your hair. his shower faces the mirror, so he can make love to you against the glass with a great view. and the soap - fuck, the soap. if he's lucky, you'll let him do the cleaning, so Damian can caress and stroke the white, foamy bubbles down your chest and belly... if you're not joining him in the shower, it's definitely something he thinks about. in detail. with his cock in hand.

alternatively, the couch (because any sitting sex position drives him wild), counters, desks, poolside or in nature. you've never survived a picnic with him.

in general, Damian seems like a cranky partner, but it only takes him a few minutes to start moaning like he means it. he would rather be romantic and slow, giving you his cock inch by inch, than fuck you rough. but he's not opposed to a little bruising.

he's definitely not opposed to oral. in fact, it's his speciality. Damian opens and closes the session with his tongue inside you, and often uses it as a destressor. He's very "hard working."

it takes him a while to work up to a blowjob, but admittedly, he loves the dark feelings he gets from it. Damian loves to see you on your knees. when you hold him in your mouth, the temptation to choke his dick further into your throat is killer. he loves how you gasp for breath once he releases you, chest heaving, his cum drooling from your lips. he loves when you blink up at him all dizzy, when you call him pretty names.

I hc he has a very subtle mommy kink, doesn't mind a little bondage or knife play, loves lingerie or you in his clothes, and would probably die happy if you choked him with your thighs.

he'll fuck you for genuine hours, all he wants in return is some cleanliness. you lay down a towel, you keep a bowl of hot water nearby, and he'll go crazy on you.

[cinnamonest]

Daily Life - Yandere Childe, Zhongli, Xiao

A continuation of the earlier post about Kaeya and Diluc

Content Warnings: n/s/f//w mentions/themes/stuff (but not like, explicit detail), fem reader, normal yandere stuff

==================

Childe's a busy guy. He wakes you up every morning, usually pretty sweetly. He'll nuzzle up against your face, mumbling a "good morning" into your ear. He's sweet, but, you gotta get up when he tells you to. And you have to be the one to make food, he likes watching you walk around.

If he's gone, he is again one to give darling a surprising amount of freedom. He has the highest quality of security available and all, so he allows some roaming. That and, in a sorta terrifying thought, he's one hundred percent confident that even if you got away, he could find you, so he's not even too worried about escaping. He's so confident that you'll never truly escape him, which frankly is pretty intimidating for darling to realize. He'll get you things you like and stuff to do, stimulate your mind and all that, probably as time goes on will leave you chore lists and things you're required to do for him or else.

When he gets back, he's very tired usually, will expect you to make him food and be sweet and greet him at the door when he comes back, preferably on your knees. If you're not, he'll get irritated, especially if you're trying to hide. If you're just asleep or something, he might excuse it and find it cute. But he does a lot for you, you know, the least you can do is this one little thing. If he's had a particularly bad day, he'll be extra irritated, so it's wise to follow this command, and be ready to have all of his irritation taken out on you the moment he gets back. You're his favorite little stress ball to stuff and squeeze.

For days off, as I've said before he's one of the few that will willingly take you outside, and unlike Kaeya from the last routine post he's not in a bad mood about it either. He likes to show you off, likes walking in public holding hands or with his arm around you so that people can see, it gives him a sort of pride, and honestly he likes mimicking a "normal" relationship. But just know you're on a tight leash. Not literally of course... yet. He lays it out very clearly exactly how you are to behave when going outside, not speaking to others and not going out of his sight. Any attempts to make a scene, try to get a stranger to help etc will be dealt with fairly harshly. And don't think about pulling some covert, sneaky shit like trying to look at a stranger with the "help me" facial expression or trying to silently mouth something, slip a written message to a waitress etc -- he'll be watching you closely enough to pick up on any of that, and honestly that will set him off more than blatantly trying to make a scene. You will be immediately headed home to get an attitude adjustment since you can't behave.

Later on, he'll want you to accompany him to his work sometimes, on those days that whatever he has to do involved more sitting down than fighting - paperwork, important meetings, etc. He likes your presence, of course, you make the time pass more quickly. But really this is, more than anything, because he's an arrogant show-off. He'll give you something to fiddle with but will just sit you on his lap throughout the whole time, gently stroking your thigh or resting his head on your shoulder, making you wear embarrassingly revealing things and making sure everyone sees, be it the entire group in a wide meeting hall or some subordinate come to have a one-on-one talk, or even his superiors, thanking them for them letting him bring his pet to work. It even allows him to get in some good de-stressing during the middle of the day when no one else is around. Expect lots of bring-your-fucktoy-to-work days like that.

Of course, not every day is spent out, though. He also has days he'd rather just stay at home. These days are usually after a long period of difficult work and late nights, so he's exhausted. Expect lots of naps, just cuddles and an arm wrapped around your waist (with a solid iron grip, of course). May or may not progress to slow cuddlefucking, who knows (yes it always does). He gets all whiny and demanding because he's soooo tired, so he'll make you get on top after a few rounds.

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Honestly we all envy my Zhongli's darling already, but God he's the best to wake up to. He just softly kisses the side of your face, running his hands down your sides. He can't let you sleep in too much, it's bad for your health! You can probably beg for a few minutes extra. And God, is it the best to wake up to. He's already got someone (probably one of the other adepti, a person, who knows) to make you food, and it's never skimping out either, it's always tons of food and your favorite things, too. Within limits, of course, can't have you eating nothing but things that are bad for you. He's also one that will get you tons of things to do throughout the day, virtually anything you ask for, he'll pay for (well... someone will, but you'll think he did, at least). He actually might also give you a list of very simple tasks to do, just to give you some motivation, since even if you have a lot to do, having no tasks and only play can get depressing without the sense of accomplishment. But he's much more lenient on your completion of all of them.

He's always reluctant to leave and gives you a lot of headpats and kisses before finally heading out for  the day, always taking time to contemplate whether or not he can just take the day off. During the day you'll stay in the confinements of your cage, be that an abode or a building somewhere, making sure you stand zero chance of ever getting out. If you force his hand (read: multiple escape attempts), he'll reluctantly have to limit your roaming abilities, but once you're confined to a smaller cage and have some privileges taken away, he's certain you'll be on your best behavior to get out again, and maybe be a little more grateful and understanding in the future. Once he gets back, it's generally a very nice time, he likes to lead a quiet life and will want to hear all about your day, what you did, see the progress on all those little projects you've been working on for art or music or whatever hobby you've taken up to pass the time. If he's had a bad day, he'll probably tell you about it, but you know, put it in terms simple enough for you to understand, since you wouldn't normally get such complicated matters.

On very very rare occasions, not nearly as often as Childe, he might take you to on his day with him, probably not during normal workdays, but for some kind of special day -- a large meeting, or the opposite, a day where he has nothing to do but slow paperwork alone in an office. The sunlight is good for you, and he'll bring stuff for you to do too. To be honest, it's not as obvious nor as obnoxiously vocal about it as Childe, but he also does enjoy having your presence in front of others, letting them see you. The things you'll have to wear aren't nearly as obscenely lewd as Childe's either, but they're not entirely wholesome either.

He really likes having off days. On those days, he'll probably want to take you somewhere, generally will do whatever you want to do. He's incredibly knowledgeable on everything in the area, and would probably also really like going out somewhere secluded in nature, rather than in the city, like a nice view from the nearby mountains or the like, and just spend a day there. It's nice, and far away from prying eyes that can't recognize your face off the missing person posters or witness the obscene things that may or may not take place up there.

 Spending time home is always nice too, though, just quietly going about the day and doing whatever you want, although inevitably taking breaks for much-needed... displays of physical affection. And he tries so hard to be gentle, but he also has a lot of stress pent up that may just come out and result in being a bit rougher than usual, but he's always apologetic afterward, making sure you're alright. He's also pretty strict about the time you go to bed. Making sure you get enough sleep and all that.

-------

Xiao's poor, poor darling. You always wake up to him shaking you awake. He's impatient. Once he feels you've had enough sleep, he'll get you up like that. Don't try to get more sleep-in time, he's not very gracious on that, will simply huff and yank you up. Otherwise, the mornings can be... Sweet. It's not like he's trying to be so cold all the time; if you're well behaved he can be pretty loving, even if he doesn't quite know how to be gentle. He just has... Low tolerance.

Xiao is very quiet for the most part, and the mornings have a sort of silent peacefulness provided it's one of your days that you don't choose to be difficult. He likes to watch you go about the morning. It's a little creepy to be honest? He just sits there nearby and watches you move around, make food, brush your hair or teeth or whatever. He'll eat whatever you make him, even if it's not one of his extremely limited liked items. He might complain, though.

During the times he IS gone, well, it's extremely boring for poor darling. Early on, or if you've done something to warrant it (read: literally the slightest word of disagreement, a tone of voice he doesn't like, even a facial expression he deems defiant) you'll be bound to the bed, hand and foot. Nothing to do whatsoever but stare at the ceiling. It's your own fault, if you were good maybe it wouldn't be like this, he says. When you are good, and have a nice long-time record of being extremely pleasant and sweet to him - and I mean a LONG time - he might - might - finally let you be unbound aside from a long anklet chain connecting you to the bed. Not like you have much else to do, though. Maybe he'll get you books if you ask nicely and grovel at his feet. But that's it. He doesn't like the thought of giving you too much entertainment. If being alone is mind-numbingly boring, well, you'll enjoy time with him that much more. Eventually you'll reach a point where you're begging him not to leave, he hopes, even if he would never admit to that. So what he'll do is balance it, give you just enough to keep your whining down, but keep making sure you're miserable when alone. He only allows you "activities" (read: a book) on certain days of the week, or every other day, every third day, something like that. And you can only get a new book once a month or so. And it's whatever he finds, not just what you want, so he'll start dropping you with encyclopedias and textbooks and other dull things. You can't complain, after all he IS giving you something to do. If you're gonna complain, well, how would you like to have the reading privilege revoked entirely? And that shuts you up. So, really, poor darling's days are very very bleak, dull, and empty, when alone.

He doesn't really have a "end of the day." His "job" is more or less a 24/7 thing, he goes when he's needed and when he's not needed he'll be with you. Usually it's a semi normal schedule but it can lead to odd intervals - you may have times he's gone for a full day or so, and then times where he's there for a whole day, etc. Spending time together is quiet, but he's surprisingly fond of physical affection. He spends a lot of time just... alone with his thoughts. Spacing out and thinking, looking up at the sky, except, well, now it's him, his thoughts, and you. You'll spend it with him too, iron grip locked around your waist so you can't pull away from his lap. He's also one to need to get out the... frustrations of life through physical activity at night.

Days he's there, again, it's pretty quiet, he's not much one for extensive conversation, of course. If you talk, he'll listen, but don't expect him to say much back. He likes the sound of your voice, one of the only people he doesn't prefer silence to, so long as you're not whining about wanting to leave. He doesn't really have a lot of sitting-down type of work to do, so if he's spending a whole day time with you, it means he's specifically worked it out so that he's able to do so for that purpose. He'll probably prompt you to speak, it's super awkward really. An awkward comment about this or that that he clearly wants you to start talking about, and he'll talk back just a little bit, with his own brand of harsh pessimism -- but that's just the only way he really knows how to communicate, he's not actually trying to shut you down when he responds to everything negatively. It's the most bizarre bonding time, but bonding nonetheless. He also likes to watch you do tasks -- to make food, even if it's just for yourself, to clean and walk around doing your little tasks. He may or may not eventually discover a fondness for forcing you to walk around naked, poor darling.

I've mentioned before that his drive is reactive - it gets heavier when he's with you. So really, your day will be filled with little fun intervals of very spontaneous fucking. Like, he has no sense of mood or timing. It's completely random, very forceful, will just loop his hands under your arms and scoop you up and carry you over to bed at any random moment, interrupting your speech even. Or, sometimes the bed is too far, and just bending you over is easier. And then, he'll just carry on like nothing happened.

He's not one to rant and rave about his day by default, and especially not early on. In the later stages, though, once he's comfortable with you, you might find him slipping out a frustration here or there, a passing comment about something upsetting that happened, and if you pry at it, he'll end up talking, much more than usual. He kind of doesn't even realize he's starting to ramble a bit, and if he catches himself he'll stop and mutter something about it being unimportant anyway.

Bonus little hc: He asks you how your day was. Every day that he's not with you. It's a routine - he started doing it because from his limited knowledge of human relationships, it's the "normal," so he tries to emulate what he feels like is normal in a relationship. It's kind of funny, well, not for poor darling, it feels mocking. Like, how do you think my day was, Xiao? All tied up and left only to stare at the ceiling? If you get all sarcastic with him like that, though, he might see it as grounds for punishment, so, be snarky at your own risk.

[michaelgovehateblog]

Piggy in the Middle

Queen Elizabeth x Michael Gove, Michael Gove x Matt Hancock, 1500 words

“Michael Gove and Sarah Vine to divorce.” She knew it was bad, but Elizabeth’s heart couldn’t help but skip a beat when she saw the headlines. She had spent years forcing herself to ignore how she really felt about Michael and pretending the flirty looks and comments they shared were meaningless or all in her head; after all, they were both married, and publicly at that, especially in the case of her and Philip. And it’s not that she didn’t love Philip, because she of course did, but there was something about Gove and his pig-like face that just drew her in. And now she was rid of Philip, and Michael and Sarah were splitting up – maybe there was a chance for them.

Not that they would be able to go public with it if anything even did happen between them. As far as the country knew, Elizabeth was still mourning Philip, just putting on a brave face and soldiering on without him. The public probably wouldn’t be able to deal with her moving on so soon. She sighed – her life as a parasite was so difficult.

Elizabeth was so lost in her thoughts she almost didn’t hear the knock at her door, and subsequent voice.

“Your Majesty? It’s 12, we’re scheduled to leave now.”

“Of course, I’m coming now.” She responded, and stood up to leave, making sure to glance in the mirror to check she still looked presentable. Everything was still pristine: icy white grey hairs all perfectly in place and nude lipstick completely un-smudged. She was wearing a long royal blue (her signature colour) coat with large buttons of a slightly softer blue colour, all of which were done up. This was worn over a classy floral-patterned dress, which wasn’t visible under the jacket. Perched on top of her head was an elaborate hat made from material the exact same colour as the coat and adorned with white and blue flowers. The shoes she wore were a standard pair of elegant black heels and the look was finished off with a pair of black gloves.

Satisfied the outfit was perfectly uncreased as always, Elizabeth left the room to head to the whatever event it was this time, she didn’t really care. Mostly she just showed up at these things for a bit of good PR and so people would continue believe she works hard and really cares about the common people (Which she didn’t obviously. Why would she.) Although, she was certain that someone had told her that this event would have many politicians also in attendance, so she was hopeful that she might encounter a certain cabinet member.

As per usual, Elizabeth was finding the event mind-numbingly boring, just endless shaking hands with forgettable people she was supposed to pretend to be interested in. But then she spotted him. And at the same moment she saw him, Michael glanced in her direction and they were making direct eye contact. She gave him a shy smile, which he returned as he started walking towards her, not breaking eye contact.

“Your Majesty,” said Michael, extending his arm to shake hands, “How are you today?” They shook hands, Michael noticing how dry and wrinkly Elizabeth’s felt, and her in turn mentally noting the bizarre clamminess of his, both of which only increased each person’s attraction to the other.

“I’m doing wonderfully,” she responded, “And thoroughly enjoying this lovely event.” she made sure to add, aware of how many people were probably in earshot. “But what about yourself? I heard the news. It must be a difficult time for you.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing this; he couldn’t believe that the Queen actually cared enough about him to pay attention to the news about him and his (soon to be ex) wife. He had always felt there was some kind of connection between the two of them but told himself he was imagining it – what other option did he have. But unusually for his cowardly personality, he got a sudden burst of confidence, and was shocked to hear himself talking.

“Ma’am, I think I need to step outside to get some fresh air. Would you be interested in joining me for a walk?” He hadn’t had confidence to do anything like that since his coked-up days of 20 years ago. Well, he always said 20 years ago, but those close to him, such as Matt Hancock, knew he was prone to enjoy a smidge of the substance of an evening.

“Yes, I would enjoy that a lot.” replied Elizabeth, much to Michael’s delight. He offered out his elbow, purely out of politeness, of course, which she accepted, outwardly calmly but very eagerly inside. A walk outside would probably mean time properly alone, where other people couldn’t hear them, something they had probably never had before.

They continued small talk for a while, about the event and such, until they were far enough away from the general crowds for more intimate conversation.

"How have you been coping, Ma'am, without the Prince? Such an unexpected shame, his untimely demise like that. It was truly a shock to all of us."

Right, 'untimely'. Elizabeth often forgot that Philip's death was supposed to be something entirely unexpected for her, not something she knew would happen down to the exact time and place.

"Missing him, of course, but life has to go on. And it's strange to remember that I am single again, after all these years. That's not been the case since I was 13 and Philip was an adult."

"Yes, it's the same for me, minus the questionable age difference. I’ve been married to Sarah for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to meet other people - and be with other people...” at these words the two made eye contact, neither knowing what to say aloud but having an entire unspoken conversation.

“Mr Gove… Or Michael, may I call you Michael? Would you be interested in visiting the Palace for dinner sometime soon? I could give you a personal tour of the grounds.”

“Yes, Ma’am, of course you can call me Michael,” Almost unthinkingly, the pair faced each other and reached for each other's hands. “And I would be honoured to visit the palace, Ma’am.”

Elizabeth let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding, “Please, no need to bother with the formalities, at least not whilst nobody else is listening. Call me Elizabeth. Now, we should probably head back inside to the event, we’ve been out here a while, people will be missing me. They basically worship me. But I’ll get someone to contact you about your visit to the palace - I’d do it myself, only that sort of thing is far beneath me.” A smile spread over Michael’s pig-mannequin hybrid face as they made their way back inside.

What they hadn’t realised during their encounter, was that it wasn’t as private as they had thought; in fact another politician had been lurking and watching the entire scene.And he wasn’t happy about what he saw. As soon as Elizabeth and Michael walked off in separate directions, Matt Hancock quickly grabbed Gove by the arm and dragged him into a quiet corridor.

“Hancock.”

“Gove. I saw you outside just now, heard you talking with a certain monarch. The two of you seemed quite friendly.”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t thought anyone else had been outside. You won’t - you won’t tell anyone what you saw or heard, will you?”

“I won’t. But only because it’s you, if it had been anybody else, I would be telling the sun immediately. The queen’s new love interest, I couldn’t hope for anything better to get the tabloids off my back. But because it’s you - I couldn’t hurt you like that.”

“Matt, what do you mean? Why are you making an exception for me?”

“Govey, as if you don’t know. You must have realised how I feel about you.” Hancock stepped closer to Gove and in his mind’s eye, imagined the Sims social interactions menu, and pictured selecting ‘kiss’. (It was from looking at the characters in the game, after all, that he learnt to kiss in the first place. The mindset and techniques stuck with him.) To his delight, he felt Michael kissing him back. Matt deepened the kiss and their tongues battled for dominance. Suddenly, Michael pulled away and stared, speechless, at Matt.

After about half a minute unable to muster any coherent thoughts (not even coherent by conservative standards) Gove turned away and briskly walked to an empty room, where he could sit alone and process all of what just happened. Not only was he certain now that Elizabeth felt the same spark that he did, but Hancock, whom he had secretly had a low-level affection for for many years, had just snogged him out of jealousy? He didn’t expect to be wrapped up in a love triangle the very day his divorce was announced, and yet it seemed that was what was happening. His years of being an incompetent and sleazy politician had clearly earned him some admirers.

~~

If you made it to the end, I'm only partly sorry for what you just read. I would be willing to write a second chapter if for some godforsaken reason somebody actually would want to read one. This took me far too long to write for something that is honestly not that many words but I feel like it's understandable, given the subject matter. k bye

[g4rous]

Sunlit memories (Garou x reader)

tags: slight mentions of blood, no warnings really

words: 1.3k

notes: hi lol finally dropped the second chapter of the fic, feel free to tell me your thoughts again it means the world 💕

series masterlist

previous chapter

Chapter two

It had already been a week since that odd encounter with the mysterious guy, nonetheless you didn’t think much of it. The days weren’t as scorching as before, tempting you to go to the park to sketch even more. On one of your strolls you’ve noticed a cat lazing around your building and much to your glee it let you pet it almost every time it passed by. Despite occasionally having some work on your hands you even managed to clear away those 2 month-old boxes from when you first moved into your new apartment, finally tempted to call over a friend or two so they could see what you did with the place. At last you were getting used to the city and routines.

Well, at least that’s how you wanted it to be.

In reality the past week has been intriguing as it was chaotic. Monsters have been popping up and wreaking havoc even more fluently than before, making you question was moving here a mistake. Your daily strolls in that peaceful park reduced greatly with so much unease in the air. Even passing by one of the cafés wasn’t as soothing as before, since instead of music you only heard the citizens’ nervous chatter and rumors, most prominently about some “nutcase that hunts heroes for a hobby”. At this point walking home alone even after a relaxing day seemed straight up spine-chilling. To top it off “that dude” from before coincidentally just happened to cross paths with you almost every day, and you weren’t sure was it plain hilarious or just ridiculously awkward.

Be it at that same, now mostly deserted park from before, catching him speaking to some kid with a book in hand, or just in the passageway of one of the many alleys in the city, your curiosity grew even more. And the fact his occasional bruised, even bloody form caught your eyes more than once didn’t help. Even so, you’d always give a small wave, which he would (awkwardly) return. Truth be told, you were keen on actually starting a normal conversation with the man whose name still remained unknown. Why not? He doesn’t seem ill-mannered despite all the mystery surrounding him, too bad your plan to befriend often got spoiled by the fact he always seemed so preoccupied with something.

And here you are, waiting for the coffee machine at the nearest mini-market to deliver your drink while trying desperately not to glance over to that same man picking out what bag of chips to steal. (And yes, you bore witness to that before as well.)

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you sighed internally, keeping your eyes on the drink in-the-making.

Oddly enough, this actually seemed like a good opportunity to say hello. The machine finally finished its work, allowing you to take a good whiff of the delightful hot drink in your hands before taking a long waited sip.

“Eh, isn’t as good as when I make it but this’ll do.”

After glancing at him one more time, you mustered up the courage to walk in his direction. Though, as soon as you turned around someone else bumped into you, almost spilling your drink. A hero, to be exact. A tall man with black markings on his eye matching with his onyx hair, beside him three more who you couldn’t identify; one practically naked, the only clothing on him being a thong, heels and butterfly wings, one with light blond hair decorated with a peach headband and the last one wearing a dark expensive-looking suit with avocado patterns. Definitely didn’t see that one before.

The tall one was quick to apologize, to which you only gave a small, reassuring smile. Trailing your eyes to the other three, you noticed their stern, focused expressions, giving you the impression they didn’t come here for some junk food and sweets.

“Wonder what they’re up to,” you pondered after taking your eyes off them.

“Well, doesn’t matter to me anyways.”

After taking a small circle around the isle in front of you, the silver-haired teen was at long last close enough to converse with. Despite being right next to him, much to your surprise he didn’t bat an eyelid after you gave your signature wave.

“Um, I’m sure you already saw me when you came in but still-” you continued with a nervous smile“-I felt like I just had to say hi.”

And again you were greeted with more silence before he finally took the chips and turned the other way.

“Ah, sure. See ya then.”

“Yo, what?”

Was this some kind of a joke? Even that one haughty girl you remember you disliked in middle school wouldn’t give a response so numbingly dry.

Before you managed to ask any more questions, the man glanced over at your direction for a brief moment.

“Quit talking, they’re gonna think we’re friends or something.”

Standing there with a deadpan expression, drink still in hand you watched as he nonchalantly exited the store without the clerk noticing that unpaid bag of chips. At this point you regret even thinking about befriending him.

“So much for socializing,” you rolled your eyes and took another sip.

“Might just get a bag of chips myself. And pay for it.”

Sunlight shone from the store’s humble display window onto the handful of isles, making it look like a scene from some nostalgic 90s movie. Lost in thoughts, you stared at your sunlit reflection on one of the glass panes. The radio played one of your favorite songs, making you wish to stay in that comfy mini-market just a minute or two longer. Well, if only you didn’t turn around to see a bald man with a ridiculous-looking outfit and a horror-struck face trying to bargain the clerk to accept his expired coupons.

“Yeah, let’s just get out of this store already.”

Despite all the eccentric behavior you bore witness to today, one thing was still faintly clinging on to your mind as you walked down the almost empty street. Still somewhat irritated from that remark earlier, you’ve began to wonder what was that about in the long run, but on second thought you didn’t feel like getting any more annoyed.

You let out a small sigh before glancing at your phone. Looking ahead, now you were somewhat tempted to take a few good pictures of the sunlight reflecting on the eerie looking district about a hundred meters away. It was a ghost town filled with ghastly rumors, even so still incredibly intriguing.

“Huh, I wonder does anyone live there?”

However the instant those thoughts came to mind, your attention was drawn over to the alley on your left with its ruckus. You could’ve sworn to have heard some men shouting, yet before you even thought of retreating the other way you had already caught a glimpse of the commotion.

Two men lay sprawled out on the concrete, that half-naked hero and the one with the peach headband, both with a battered face. And if that sight didn’t stop you in your tracks, the familiar man behind the other two standing heroes from the store did.

That same silver-haired teen smirked at the two men equally battered as the ones unconscious on the floor. In spite of the blood trickling down his bruised fists, he kept an unshakeable stance. To say you couldn’t believe what you were seeing was an understatement. Just who the hell is this guy and what was he doing?

Just as he was seemingly about to make a remark towards the two heroes your presence caught him by surprise, which the two used slyly for an attack.

One made what seemed like a small smokescreen and afterwards all that was heard was the sound of the old parts of the building’s walls crumbling down. For a moment you were unsure whether to call someone to help or just back away from the scene altogether, not that it mattered since all you heard was a loud shout before black clouds overcame your vision.

[katutsukushii]

Singer Dabi who's in some punk band, covered in tattoos, piercings, the smell of weed and signs of bad decisions made while under the influence of god knows what, getting dragged to a ballet performance by his rich parents as a "family bonding night".

He complained, he bitched, he tried to get out of it, but his parents said 'please' and his mother looked at him like that, all expectant and desperate while her delicate scent of daisies and chamomile tea wrapped itself around him.

And so he put on the stupid suit that they bought for him for this occasion and he sat in the gallery as if he wanted to spend his Saturday evening watching idiots prance around. 

His damn band had plans to go to some fuckin' shitty, high-end club that night, maybe even pick up some Omega's, and yet here he was, in a stuffy suit with scent blockers attached to his neck because, apparently, his family 'didn't want to smell his bitch ass attitude all night.'

Natsuo always did have a way with words. 

Yet, even with the attire's desperate attempt to make him look somewhat presentable and less like someone who would and could rob your house just for kicks, the intricate tattoos covering his hands and neck were still visible, poking through the fabric and revealing blue flames. 

That, his mother could somehow forgive - she often did call them beautiful, no matter how trashy it was called in their circles. "It is art, Touya, regardless of the way it makes you look like a delinquent," she would say. 

But the piercings covering almost every inch of his face - nose, bridge, lips, cheeks, ears, tongue - and the chipped black nail polish, she could not ignore. Had it not been for just how late they almost were, he was certain it would've resulted in an argument. As it was, all his mother did was tut at his appearance and trail her thumb over the piercing in his cheek, asking if he could, just this once, not look as if he'd fallen into a tub of staples - but he shook his head at the question. 

If he was going to get through this, he needed something to tie him down to who he truly was. 

Acting as if he wasn't a fuck up wasn't something he wished to do - not now, not ever. 

It was why he was so popular, after all; he couldn't very well completely replace his brand as the stupid punk who once crashed the tour bus the night of their biggest performance. But this. 

This wasn't part of his goddamn brand. 

He had no interest in this, he never had - the music was grating and far too delicate for his liking, the dancing was mind-numbingly boring, and he was only allowed a single glass of champagne and nothing more. 

Maybe if he was intoxicated in some way this would be tolerable, but no. His parents demanded he be fully present throughout the evening, no matter his feelings on the matter. He almost snuck in a flask, hiding it in the inner pocket of his jacket, but then Shouto threw him a smirk and told their mother just what he was trying to do. Stupid little shit, wasn't Dabi suffering enough already? But he couldn't start a fight just then, not yet. So he bit his tongue and swallowed the curses as he sat and stewed in his own anger and annoyance, feeling the disapproving glare of his father on him while Natsuo tried and failed to hide his chuckles. At least someone was amused by the tension ready to snap in the room. 

But the subtle laughter died the moment the lights dimmed and the music began to play. And with that, any hope at making it through the night without throwing a temper tantrum died. Already, he regretted every decision he'd ever made that lead up to that moment. 

His family seemed enraptured, at least - well, Fuyumi and his parents did. Shouto still had that stupid deadpan look on his face, eyes dull and lips pressed together. Stupid fish looking fucker. 

If he didn't see him blink every once in a while, Dabi would've assumed he was dead - he really would have to find out how the fuck he managed to zone out like that, it was a damn talent. 

And Natsuo pushed his chair as far as he possibly could, the light on his phone dimmed down yet still visible when Dabi turned to him. Stupid fucker - how dare he have his phone out when Dabi got stuck with the dumb ass seat where his parents could clearly see him? 

He bristled and turned back towards the stage - maybe he could pretend to get sick? But, fuck, his parents would see right through his shit, his mother giving him that disappointed look of his and his father looking like he couldn't believe he raised someone like /that/. 

So he pressed his cheek against his palm as he rested his elbow upon the table and swirled the remains of his champagne in the glass with his free hand. And just as a yawn escaped him, eyes tearing up as his mouth widened, he saw him. 

Even from afar, his beauty was undeniable, something that he seldom witnessed, even with the hordes of people throwing themselves at his feet - soft-looking, light hair adorned with a delicate crystal crown, the jewels shimmering as the boy began to move across the stage. 

An Omega, Dabi already knew even without asking or catching notes of his scent. His body was the perfect example of the subgender, soft and filled out in all the right spaces as his waist tapered off beneath the pale pink dress he wore. 

Yet there was something different about him. 

A sharpness he rarely saw in Omega's lurked beneath the edges - maybe it was those dark eyes, the sharp jawline and strong legs, or maybe it was his mere aura. Concentrated. Determined. Powerful. 

But a fragile gentleness hid beneath the strength he held. The Omega was a contradiction that seemed to lure him in with every movement he made. 

For a moment, his fingers twitched, mind whirling with song lyrics that were yet to be sung, and he cursed himself for not bringing something to write onto. He. He was his muse. 

Dabi daren't say a word for the rest of the performance. Enraptured, captivated, he merely stared at the stage as if it were this goddamn salvation. 

When the boy disappeared, he waited for his return, and when he danced on the stage, he could hardly force himself to blink or even breathe. Any second spent without looking at the beautiful creature was a second wasted. 

He already knew that he wouldn't wish to set his gaze upon anyone or anything else ever again. 

His only hope was that his parents never found out about his sudden interest in the dancer - he would surely never live it down if they knew it was /their/ family outing that resulted in him meeting the only source of inspiration he would ever need. 

But he didn't allow his worries to take hold, not when /he/ was still right there, hands of his partner holding onto that lithe waist and raising him in the air, toes pointed and every goddamn inch of him filled with grace that Dabi, himself, did not possess. 

And when the performance finished, when the boy stood in the midst of the stage and looked up, deep vermillion meeting blue, Dabi stood and he gave his muse the applause he deserved.

[maplecornia]

chapter 21

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲����𝔱: 3.72K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: in regards to the banner above...yes tae if i also looked like you i would want to kiss myself too

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

Some people are connected.

Aren't they?

When you meet them, it’s as though something clicks. Something inside that tells you some unimaginable being has brought you together. A hidden string tying you to the other, drawing you slowly across the universe just to meet each other.

And once you’re connected…

Do you ever really let go of them?

Groaning, Taeyhung turns over in his bed for the thousandth time.

Why is this so hard?

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he lies on his back, sheets and comforter scattered, as he stares up at the ceiling. Glaring up at it with his eyebrows furrowed tightly together, he purses his lip into a pout, his jaw set defiantly.

“This is your fault.” He mutters underneath his breath, before running his hand absentmindedly through the tangled locks of his hair. “I don’t know how...but all of this is your fault.”

When the ceiling doesn’t answer him, he gives it a look before rolling out of bed, not really caring if he brings the covers along with him. As they fall from the tangles around his body, and rest safely on the floor, he catches the reflection of his eyes in the full-length mirror he keeps expertly held on the sliding door which hides his clothes closet. Biting his lip, he hesitates a bit before heading over to the mirror and taking his reflection in.

He’s grown a bit taller...perhaps half an inch. Don’t worry Namjoon hyung, one day I’ll be as tall as you. Though he smirks a bit at the thought, it quickly vanishes as his gaze travels to more points in his reflection. His dark glazed eyes, his mess of curls resting on his head, his slightly pale lips. Almost despondent, he pulls aside the already halfway buttoned down shirt and presses his fingers against his stomach. He smiles back to when all that was there was a soft belly. When he didn’t care as much.

When did he start caring?

Was it when he saw everything that ARMYs felt about him? When he realized just how double sided they could be? Was it when he realized that they really did care what he showed them? That if he showed them who he really was…

They would just walk away?

He knows he probably shouldn’t have read those comments, that he shouldn't have seen what some people have said...but did they forget that he could see everything they said?

Did they forget how much he gave...how much he sacrificed for them?

And when he shows them all of him…

The good and the bad…

"Kim Taehyung seems a bit rude…

He doesn’t care at all about BTS.

You think he needs them? If he were given a chance he would just leave.

Kim Taehyung is too moody. He’s happy one moment but sad the next.

Don’t you think fame has changed him? He seems so cocky.

What’s wrong with Kim Taehyung lately? Doesn’t he seem depressed?

Honestly, if I had to put my money on it, he’d be the first one to leave.

He’s so untalented.

BTS is filled with a group of 6 very talented, beautiful, and handsome young men. And then there’s the roach called Kim Taehyung.

Why doesn’t Kim Taehyung just leave? If you’re really bored with everything by now, why don’t you just leave?

Do us a favor and stop pretending.

Just leave."

Taehyung winces at the overwhelming amount of bad memories slamming into his inner consciousness. He tries to forget them, but every time he looks in the mirror, he can see them reflected back at him. As though they were burned deep into his skin. As though the sign of hard muscle beneath his fingertips is a scar he can’t escape.

The only thing he can remember, the only thing he can think about when he sees himself, is what they have molded him into.

The beautiful, the perfect sculpture which they call V.

Defiantly, flames burning in his eyes, he meets his gaze in the mirror. Anger and hurt mixing together into one painful chaos inside his chest, his gaze darkens before he swings back his fist and rams it deep into the mirror. As the glass shatters and sharp, iridescent pieces dig maliciously into his skin, he breathes heavily and glares up at his broken reflection. Into the dull dim hue of his hazelnut haze.

Eyes which have changed from bright beautiful saucers that could only see the sky...

To a gap of emptiness which cannot be filled.

Reflecting the cold abyss he feels in his own heart.

As thick blood begins to numbingly ooze from the cuts in his skin, he hardly flinches. The iron taste playing sinisterly on his lips, he can’t help but relish in the pain. Is this what he deserves? Is this what they want now that he’s not who he was before? Now that he’s grown, changed even the slightest bit? He almost wants to push his fist deeper into the glass, deepen the pain, all to distract him from the roar in his ears.

The constant screaming inside his mind.

He did everything they wanted him to do. He smiled for them, hid the inner part of him screaming, brushed away any hateful comments, any people who hurt him, and laughed through all the pain. He became a bigger person and grew.

He did it all for them.

He did it all for the sake of BTS.

Because he loved ARMY. Because he loved his hyungs.

Because this was his dream.

He became the man they all wanted.

He became V.

So why?

Why is it the moment he starts to let go of the mask, the moment he starts to become himself in front of their eyes...

Why do they turn against him as though he had never existed in the first place?

As though they didn’t beg him to hide.

As though all his efforts…

Meant nothing after all.

The worst part of it all…

Was that he let go for them.

Because he wasn’t willing to say goodbye.

The soft ring of his alarm breaks him out of his thoughts and his hand falls to his side as he turns to the sound. Sighing, he runs his hand through his tangled mess of hair picking up a tissue on the way to his dresser, and wiping off the thin trails of blood the cuts brought forth. In the back of his mind, he scoffs at the fact that that’s the third mirror he’s broken this week. Perhaps he needs a break. Looking up at the ceiling, he takes a deep breath.

A break from myself.

Picking up the phone he quickly dismisses the alarm, and finds himself staring at the lock screen in dismay.

To this day, Taehyung still uses the Galaxy BTS phone made especially for them and ARMY. Jimin absolutely loved the thing, and Taehyung treasures it with a quiet wonder. When he finally moved everything from his old phone to this one, he used it daily, even if it wasn’t always in front of the cameras. Back then when they had to leave for a while, looking at it gave him strength to go on. To head back to them. To see ARMY again.

Looking at it now, he wonders if it’s actually real.

If the love ARMY gives them…

Isn’t all just a lie.

When the phone buzzes suddenly, Taehyung lets out a small yelp, fumbling as his phone flies halfway in the air. Luckily, he’s able to catch it before it falls. Letting out a small breath of relief, he checks the random message that has popped up on his lock screen, peering to see who it belongs to.

Eyes widening, he nearly drops his phone again.

Stumbling to catch it, he falls on top of his pile of sheets and blankets, but thankfully the phone falls in his outstretched hands securely.

It's you.

Why is it always you?

Shocked, he slowly unlocks the phone, opening your little message. As it pulls up on his screen, he softly smiles.

Good morning, Mr. Pan.

It's such a simple message. Such short, sweet words said out of consideration and kindness. You sent it as a second thought, somehow knowing that he might need a smile after the amount of trouble he must have gotten in yesterday. He doesn't know this. All he knows is that a mere mention from you has made everything all right again.

It clears his mind, allows him to focus, saves him from the darkness continuing to choke him in its hold.

He picks up his phone and presses a button, before holding it up to his ear. It rings into the dead silence for a couple of seconds, making Taehyung a bit nervous. For a moment, he doesn't know if you're going to pick up, but once he hears the familiar click and the steady sound of your breathing, he can feel a rush of relief spreading through his body and leaving nothing but happiness.

"Hello?" You nearly whisper, a bit in shock. He can hear it over the phone and, sitting up, he doesn't notice as the gorgeous smile grows.

It’s funny how he didn’t realize until he heard your voice, that his head and his mind was filled with thoughts of you.

On the other line, you smile softly, finding the same truth.

Was it only yesterday that your dream came true?

He finally did it. He spoke to you.

Things should be over right?

But you find yourselves wanting…

More.

"Good morning." He teases in response to your recent message and you have to refrain yourself from groaning in embarrassment. "Did you sleep well?"

Hearing his innocent voice and the deep lure to it so early in the morning makes you wonder if you're dreaming. Smiling on the other line, you cup your hands around your phone, pulling it close to your cheek and smile, unable to stop the happy pink hue from creeping onto your rosy cheeks.

"Yes." You reply, a bit of excitement creeping into your voice from the giddy fact that you’re talking to him. "I slept like a baby...what about you?"

You decide to keep from him the fact that you hardly slept last night. Your constant nightmares and terrors of panic scared you. They made you afraid, thinking that if you closed your eyes, you would once more be lost in a deep sleep. Trapped in the hidden corners of your mind.

He smiles on the other line a bit sadly, deciding to keep the fact that he didn't sleep half the night to himself, lost in the whirlpool of hateful comments and slurs towards him. Towards BTS. He decides to hide the truth that the only thing that was able to let him sleep that night was the sight of your phone number held tightly within his hands.

"Yeah...yeah I slept alright." He says, unable to mask the catch in his voice. Your eyes widening in concern, you open your mouth to ask if he's alright, but he quickly clears his throat and changes the topic.

“How’s your ankle?” Even though you know he asked the question to change the subject, you can't help but wince.

Your ankle hasn’t shown much improvement.

The swelling has gone down and you're able to stand on it, but every time you try to walk, numb pain still courses up your veins. It's still pretty bruised, but what is there that you can do? You've already slipped on an ice pack, wrapping it carefully around your ankle to prepare you for the day, but you know it's going to be quite the uncomfortable ride.

You hesitate, pondering whether or not to tell him this, but he continues on the other line.

“Yen?” The way he whispers your name makes you melt inside. So concerned and full of worry, you wonder if you truly deserve this small blessing. The blessing to know someone like him. “Are you okay? Does it still hurt?”

The blessing to be able to speak to him.

Smiling, you shake your head before responding, slightly struck speechless.

“Yes, I’m fine...your ice pack yesterday really helped so I’m all ready to head to work today. Don't worry, I’m fully prepared with an ice pack of my own in case the bruise starts to bother me…” You start rambling, trying to reassure him that everything will be fine, while on the other line, his eyes go wide with protective anger.

You’re doing it again.

Forcing yourself to continue, when you should be looking to take care of yourself.

Not the other way around.

“No.” He says interrupting your slight tangent, and you flinch, pausing and your grip clenching tightly around the phone. You knew this would happen. You knew that he would be upset. That’s why you shouldn’t have said anything. Somehow, this frustrates you. You know it shouldn’t, after all he’s just looking after you, but you can take care of yourself. You aren’t some damsel in distress that needs saving.

Trying hard to forget what you’d rather not remember, you sigh, massaging your temple.

“Taehyung, I’m fine. I really am--”

“I don't believe you. And even if you were telling the truth, you should at least rest it for a day at least! Do you want to worsen it because you decided to push yourself?” Shocked at his sincere and concerned tone, you really don't know what to say. You know he’s right, but you can’t help but feel that if you listen to him, if you rest easy for just today, you’ll be letting someone down.

Namjoon is waiting for you.

He doesn’t know that your ankle is bruised, nor that you could sprain or quite possibly break it if you try to come into work today. But you’ve already been late once before. Today was supposed to be your first official day on the job. He was counting on you to be there.

Hoping that he’d be able to rely on you.

You can’t help but feel that if you decide to stay...that you'd be letting him down.

You don’t want to let him down.

You can’t let him down.

Glancing down at your ankle, you grimace a bit as you bitterly smile.

This is just a minor bump in the road isn’t it? All you're doing is offering a small sacrifice so that you can be there for him. So that you can carry out your job, your obligation as his manager. He should know that you will always be there to help. Isn’t that what a manager should do? You have a duty, an obligation...a simple bruise shouldn’t get in the way of that. After all the ways you let him down yesterday, and the kind way he treated you in spite of that...isn’t that the least you can do? You can afford to give something in return...after all he’s given you already.

Yes...this is nothing…

Taehyung wouldn’t understand…

Right?

Taking a deep breath, you respond to him.

“Taehyung, I really appreciate your concern but…”

“If you say you’re fine I am going to come to your apartment and force you back into your bed.” He replies so steadily and sternly that it’s hard for you to conceal your burst of laughter. He hears, however and grows a tiny bit offended, not willing to admit that the sound of your laughter brought a little bit more light into his clouded mind.

“You think I’m joking?!” He shouts on the other line, and you can’t keep it back anymore, your laughter spilling over and melodiously carrying itself through the line and into Taehyung’s small, scattered room. He smiles at the fact that he was able to make you laugh, although it wasn’t his intention. That just like that...you were able to make everything seem alright again. It’s almost as though a mere smile from you, a simple laugh escaping from your lips…

Makes the world a little bit brighter to him.

“I-I’m sorry…!” You manage to gasp out between your small fits of giggles. “It’s just the thought of you walking over here all angry and trying to force me back in bed…” You break off at the end, your sweet melodic laugh ringing high in the air once more, and he can’t help but crack a smile, eventually laughing along with you. After a moment, once the laughter subsides, each of you glance toward the phone as though that would help you see the other's face, or at least imagine it as though you were standing right next to each other.

Taehyung smiles a bit before glancing away and closing his eyes in serenity.

“Yen?” he murmurs softly, his eyes opening a fraction of an inch as he stares into the distance, almost imagining your smiling face right in front of him. At the sound of him saying your name once more, your eyes flash towards the phone, a bit surprised. It takes you a moment, but you eventually answer, a small smile growing on your lips.

“Yes?” you respond, your hands once more finding themselves cupping around the phone almost as if you held onto it a little bit tighter he would magically stay with you just a little bit longer. Offer you this comfort for just a bit more.

Is that too much to ask?

You know it is and yet you can’t help yourself from wishing for it.

Wishing that you had...more.

“I want you to know that I’m saying this with the best interests for you in mind.” He answers, and your brow crinkles a bit, wondering what he’s going to do this time. Taking a deep breath, he ponders whether or not to say the words, but he decides to do it anyway. Your safety is the most important after all.

“Don’t come to work today. Please stay home, and take care of yourself. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Startled, you open your mouth to answer, to refuse the kind request, to let him know that you’re going to head to work anyway, but he’s already hung up the phone, leaving you dumbfounded. Your heart pacing a million miles per hour, his last few words lingering in your mind.

I don’t want to see you get hurt.

“Who gave you the right?” you murmur softly, your hands rising furiously to hide the growing hot blush against your cheeks against your will. The hot tears that begin to push against your eyes, threatening to escape out of the cage you have held them in for so long.

“Who told you to care so much about me?”

Taehyung, after hanging up the phone, has completely forgotten about everything else but you. He smiles a bit sheepishly at the cheesy things he’s said and stares at the empty screen where your profile pic rests, safe in his contacts. He can’t help but wonder how you do it.

How with a few simple words…

You make everything okay again.

Turning to his closet, he starts to pull out a couple of clothes to wear that day, as he dials a number on his phone. Once it starts to ring, he places it on his dresser, putting it on speaker phone so he can hear the clear annoyed voice that answers, no doubt being distracted from an important source of work.

“What is it, Taehyung?” he snaps, tired and worn-out, and Tae smiles at the familiar greeting, as he pulls off his shirt, avoiding the cracked mirror beside him.

“Nice to talk to you too, Namjoonie. How's the album coming?” He responds playfully, and Namjoon on the other line can't help but smile. He adores that nickname, and it definitely puts him in a better mood. Just like Taehyung knew it would. Turning back to the screen of the computer, Namjoon can't help but sigh. There’s a whole lot of work to be made with the album...and such little time to do it in.

“Well...it’d go a lot faster without interruptions like this. What is it Taehyung-ah? This better not be a prank call or something for a Vlive…” Namjoon begins, his tone warning and Tae can’t help but laugh. He shakes his head, pulling down his pajama pants, and deciding to replace them with plain blue jeans. They don’t really have dance practice planned today, just a bunch of meetings and preparations for the album...maybe even a photo shoot.

“You know I try to stay away from Vlive’s nowadays.” Tae replies, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but failing miserably. At the comment, Namjoon can’t help but feel a stab of pity and regret. He knows that it’s a sensitive topic for Tae now...especially with what happened the last time Taehyung held a Vlive….he shouldn’t have mentioned it so soon.

“No it's not...Namjoon it’s about Yen.” Tae explains, and at the mention of your name, Namjoon sits straight in his chair, work forgotten, and mind focusing on you.

“What? Is she okay? Did something happen? Is she--” Voice heavily decorated with worry, Tae has to bite back the laugh that threatens to be released. Is this how he sounded to you? No wonder you started laughing at him. Smiling softly at how open and kind Namjoons heart is, Tae shakes his head once more, pulling on a grey hoodie.

“Actually I wanted to talk to you about that.” Tae replies, as he pulls on his socks, and rummages for his jean jacket. Namjoon waits a bit impatiently on the other line, trying his best to be polite and wait for Taehyung to finish. Once he finds it, Tae lets out a small cry of victory before looping his arms through it and finishing his look. Picking up the phone as he grabs a plain white mask and heads for the door, Taehyung smiles slightly at his victory.

Try to refuse staying home after this, my Wendy.

Just as RM opens his mouth to demand a straight answer from him, Taehyung replies, leaving behind the mess he had made just moments before untouched and forgotten.

“Namjoon...could you do a favor for me?”

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: this chapter was kind of sad...

chapter 22 here

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check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

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[spencerspecifics]

Okay yes hi hello this is me gracing y’all with my writing Bc I’ve had this idea forever!! This is going to be multiple chapters, here is chapter two. Enjoy :)

~

Technical Analyst (ch.1)

~

Short description: Spencer works as a technical analyst alongside Garcia and Kevin, though he hasn’t ever really worked directly with the BAU team, he works more in filing and researching. But when Garcia goes on vacation leave, and Kevin is busy with his own work, Spencer steps up to help- and that’s when he meets Derek Morgan.

———————————————————————

Spencer hated technology. He hated computers, tablets, cell phones, he hated it all. He hated everything and anything that isn’t on printed onto paper. So how the fuck did he end up as a technical analyst- whose entire job was based around proficient use of technology? In very short, budget cuts.

He originally worked in domestic terrorism, though he never fit in well there. He was a good worker, fast and able to do a lot. But his coworkers never let him feel included. He would hear them make plans without him, ignore him in conversations, only reaching out to him for his great memory to help solve a case. It was dehumanizing. He was just a brain for them, nothing more.

Then, the budget cuts came. And he got removed from the team, as he had the least amount of hours in the field- which wasn’t his fault. The rest of his team always forced him into the research position, so while they were off chasing the bad guys, he was stuck researching with a computer he doesn’t trust.

So yeah, he wasn’t an asset to them. But the bureau knew a mind like his in general was an asset, a fountain they’d like to keep a tap on. So they made work for him. It was mostly menial. He would assist with intense cases when necessary, but even then it was just research. No one knew what he would be like in the field, because they never gave him the chance.

Spencer tried not to think about how unfair this was, how stupid and purely tedious it was. He would rather be working as a T.A. at this point- which wouldn’t even be that bad. At least he gets heard and seen then.

~

Spencer’s normal day consists of going from his apartment to the bureau building, to directly into his cramped little office that was about the size of a jumbo walk in closet. A nice size to store clothes, but not so nice when you have to have a person, a desk, a chair, three computer monitors, two filing cabinents, a trash can, a fax machine, and a printer all crammed in there.

Yeah, his workplace was entirely too small. Thankfully it didn’t impact his ability to work, though, most the time Spencer finished his work quickly; and would end up reading. Spencer didn’t venture out from his office that much at all, (he always brought his own coffee so he didn’t have to worry about bugging the field agents.) the exception to leaving his office was to go across the hall to Penelope Garcia, his only sort of friend that he had at work. She was always so bubbly, it was a breath of relief for him to go see her- she reminded him of all the positive things, he definitely couldn’t do the job without her.

Not to mention, she had to train him from starting point zero. Spencer hated technology, after all. So he never made an effort to learn coding, hacking, how to re-route and track things. He knew nothing like that, hell, he struggles with his cellphone turning on sometimes.

Thankfully, she was able to get some sense into him, and he was pretty good at what he could do. Though he was still working out python coding, he was enjoying the learning process of using technology.

That being said- he still despises technology, and he hopes that once he leaves the job, he can throw away his very unnecessary but work mandated laptop.

~

Spencer made his way into the bureau building, messenger bag slung over his shoulder awkwardly as a thermos of coffee was held tightly in his right hand, while the left one reached for the door handle to enter. He got in no problem, security didn’t stop him anymore, thankfully. Though in the beginning, they did check him constantly, verifying that he belonged there. After all, he looked young, and he definitely didn’t belong in the bureau building. But then again, Garcia didn’t look like she belonged there either.

Security just made presumptions about people, he shrugged that thought off as he made his way to the elevator. Thankfully no one else was in there, he pressed the button for floor six, and the elevator doors shut.

The elevator whirred to life, taking him up to the sixth floor slowly. Thankfully today was a slow day, there wasn’t really any important case he had to work on. (Not like he ever really got given cases to work on, anyways.) So Spencer was hoping he would be able to finish his work quickly, as he had some books he brought with him that he wanted to read and re-read before the day was finished.

The elevator dinged, a signal it had reached its necessary location, before the doors finally slid back. He stepped out, taking his usual left down the hallway immediately. Forward through the glass doors was the bullpen with the agents who worked in the BAU. And god, what he wouldn’t give to be a field agent, working as a profiler. That’s why he wanted to join the bureau, and yet he was so close- his office only down the hall. But he was simultaneously so far, not being trusted by all the bureaucratic bosses, who didn’t know if he would be a good agent to warrant being put out into the field.

He hated it, but he tried not to think about it as he reached his office, Garcia’s door was shut, she was on vacation, or so he had heard. Spencer pulled on his office door, entering with ease as he moved into the cramped workspace.

Spencer sat his messenger bag down onto his desk, sitting himself down in his office chair and taking a minute to breathe in and out before continuing. Spencer hated this job. It was mind numbingly boring, he was so close to quitting. He knew the bureau would fight tooth and nail to keep him, however, but if that was the case, why not give him a better job- he didn’t want a nicer office, he wanted to help people.

He sighed, today was just one of those days where he was extra mad about not being treated right, he tried to ignore this thought process as he got ready to work; setting his coffee down by his computer mouse to his right, setting his messenger bag onto the floor next to him, pulling off the scarf that was wrapped loosely around his neck and hanging it over the back of his chair. Now he was ready for the day.

~

Penelope didn’t mean to forget to tell the team that she was going to be gone- she assumed they knew. At least Hotch did, all the rest of them knew was that she was going to take a week off to relax, they just didn’t know when (she had too many vacation days saved up, so she had to use them or lose them. She chose the former.) It was just a total brain fart moment on her part, so while she decided to hit up her favorite stores, spas, and websites; the team had no idea, they assumed she was holed up in her office, hacking away at whatever she normally does.

This would only show itself when Derek needed her, calling her office number and it going to voicemail “Hi, this is Penelope Garcia with the FBI and I’m too awesome to come to the phone right now, if it’s an urgent matter please call Aaron Hotchner-“ yeah, Derek hung up his phone by then, deciding to call her personal cell.

“Hi, hot chocolate!” She answered cheerfully, the sounds of people talking and laughing could be heard in the background, which Derek took note of. “Babygirl- your work phone sent me to voicemail, where are you?” Garcia was quiet for a second, before practically blowing Morgan’s eardrums out; “Oh- damnit! I knew I was forgetting something!” “Care to fill me in?” He asked her curiously, “Yes-“ Garcia sighed before continuing on, “Sorry. I’m taking those vacation days Hotch told me I had to use or else I’d lose.”

“So you’re not at the office.” He stated, “That I am not, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you! But my pal Spencer Reid should be covering for me.” “Spencer Reid?” Derek asked, unfamiliar with that person, “Why not kevin?” “Ugh, I don’t know- he’s doing that thing where he’s actually busy with other work for once. But Spencer is good, I taught him everything he knows- and I’m pretty sure he’s got three PhDs, so yeah, you replaced one genius with another- so don’t worry!” “Okay, well...” Derek took a second, “You sure I can ask Spencer about everything I’d ask you?” He meant work related, within being able to hack and get everything that Garcia would be able to get. Because Morgan knew that her talents were very special, and having someone else replicate them seemed near impossible, so he was a bit hesitant to trust someone new.

“Oh yeah- he’ll find everything easy peasy lemon squeezy. Don’t worry yourself, sugar.” “Okay, thank you mama. Have a good week of rest.” “I will! I have an appointment for a spa, and oh my god Derek- they do a seaweed wrap thing, isn’t that crazy?” “So you’re gonna get rolled up like sushi?” “No! Ew! Don’t compare me to raw fish!”

The phone call continued for a bit after that, as Derek wasn’t in an urgent matter. It was just a filing day at the office, before he hung up he asked where Spencer was, though; “Oh, he’s in the office next to mine, across the hall!” Garcia told him happily. Derek had thought that was a storage closet, but he didn’t tell her- instead thanking her and hanging up.

Now to pay this mystery computer whiz a visit.

~

Spencer was in the middle of re-routing a bunch of information that Garcia needed to send to her boss, Aaron Hotchner. Spencer didn’t share the same boss, since he was technically working in a more basic division of the bureau, he instead answered to Strauss- which was a royal pain in the ass, but he always turned his work in on time, came in when needed, he had never had to face her wrath yet, thankfully.

Spencer typed away, trying to get all the data to get to Hotchner as quickly as possible so he didn’t have to wait, though it wasn’t crucial the work did get completed right now. Spencer just liked to get things done.

A knock sounded Spencer out of his methodical typing, it wasn’t Garcia, obviously. And he knew Kevin was in a meeting right now with some IT people over his keyboard acting funky (Kevin could fix it by himself, but office administration forced him into talking to IT.)

“Yes?” Spencer asked curiously, turning around in his office chair, because he had no clue who it was that could be interrupting his work. The door pushed open, revealing a tall, classically handsome, muscular man carrying some files in his hands. Fuck, that would be Spencer’s luck. An attractive guy swooping in and making his IQ of one hundred and eighty seven go down to sixty in two second flat

“Hi- you Spencer?” The man asked, stepping forward into the cramped office. Spencer stood up instinctively, “Yes, I am. How can I help you?” The man handed the files over awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I usually ask Penelope Garcia for this but she’s on vacation and she referred me to you- I just need these put through VICAP, I’m not too familiar with the system as a whole, ‘cause Garcia usually handles it.”

Spencer nodded, taking the files and looking through them briefly, there were nine of them. “I’m sorry, I know that’s a lot of work to do... I’m sure I can figure it out myself-“ Derek started, doing his best to apologize. Little did he know Spencer could get this done within an hour or so.

“Oh no- not a problem at all, this should only take me about an hour, two at most, but that’s a generous estimate.” Derek raised his eyebrows, “An hour or two? Garcia usually finishes up this many files within three or four. How are you able to get this done faster than her?”

“I have an eidetic memory, which helps me recall anything that I read. I can read these files once and put all the information into VICAP knowing it’s accuracy is one hundred percent without having to double check, that cuts down my speed by half per case file.”

Derek looked confused and shocked. Yeah, Spencer could understand why. “Sorry, um. That’s a weird explanation, but it shouldn’t take me as long. I’m assuming you’re out in the bullpen?” Spencer asked him, putting the files down atop his keyboard.

“Yeah, I’m Derek Morgan with the BAU.” Derek finally introduced himself, reaching his hand out. Shit, this was Derek Morgan? Garcia has mentioned him a few times to Spencer, saying he’d love him “oh he’s so handsome, but so sweet and loving, like the hottest man on earth- I’d marry him in a heartbeat, but we don’t roll like that, Y’know?” That’s how she described him once, and of course Spencer remembered that word for word. Spencer felt like it was just his luck, that his only work colleague was best friends with a man so attractive that his mind isn’t working fully.

Not to mention he was in the BAU, Spencer guessed he was, since Garcia was their technical analyst. But still, it would be just his luck to know this insanely attractive man was part of the team he wanted to belong to so bad. Spencer wasn’t sure how to respond as he kept his composure. After all, yeah, Derek was attractive. But they probably wouldn’t speak again after this exchange. It wasn’t worth Spencer thinking about him, or how Garcia described him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t shake. But it’s nice to meet you, I’ll find you once I’m done. If you need anymore help, feel free to let me know.” Spencer told him, looking back at the files on his desk as a distraction away from this hot guy that was just standing so calmly in his office, as if Spencer ever had any visitors into the cramped space besides Garcia and Kevin.

By the time spencer looked back up, Derek’s arm was back down by his side. “Okay, thank you.”

~

Derek was surprised by their exchange, to say the least. How did he not know about this genius before? How was he not more well known, a memory thing, three PhD’s- that would be a useful asset? How come he was hidden away in a closet sized office? He had to know more. Even if it was nosy and stupid.

Normally, he’d call Garcia and ask her if it was about an employee. But in this case, he couldn’t. And he couldn’t go to Spencer, that would be weird.

So, he did the next best thing. He asked Hotch.

~

He knocked slowly on Hotchner’s door, hoping he wasn’t going to tell him to mind his business and not ask about employee facts when they definitely were irrelevant.

Derek was smart though, he figured out a foolproof way to play this. So when Hotch said, “Yes?” He came in, starting his plan into motion.

“Hotch, where’s Garcia?” He asked him, as if Derek hadn’t immediately checked up on his babygirl when he couldn’t find her. “Oh,” Hotch started, setting a file down that he had been looking over, “She took some vacation time.”

“So, who am I supposed to go to for computer help?” Derek asked, “Well,” Hotchner started, matter of factly, while he reached for a thin, unopened file on his desk. “We have a new guy helping us. Kevin’s busy with helping the child abduction unit reset their computers, as well as he’s in an IT meeting right now, so we have..” Hotch stopped, looking down to read the name off the file; “Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m sure he’ll be just as good.”

“Hotch. No ones as good as Garcia.” Derek pointed out, Hotch shrugged. “Maybe not. But this guy has a glowing personal history- and Garcia told me she taught him everything he knows.”

“What’s his personal history?” Derek asked curiously, stepping a bit closer but still trying to play nonchalance. “You know I’m not able to disclose that. You can go ask him for yourself.” Derek sighed. Of course Hotch wasn’t gonna tell him shit. He should’ve expected this. But sue him, call him hopeful. He was hoping he could’ve gotten some information on this mysterious doctor.

~

Derek made his defeated way back to his desk in the bullpen. And Emily, whose desk was directly across from his, immediately noticed his slight annoyance at Hotch. So she asked in a hushed voice as soon as he sat down;

“Did you get yelled at by Hotch?” Because in her mind, that was the most logical explanation that made the most sense. Derek just shook his head as a response, “No,” he clarified, “I was asking about our Garcia fill-in, and Hotch wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Garcia fill-in? She’s gone?” Emily asked confusedly looking back to the hallway that led to Penelope’s office, as if she’d magically appear. “Yeah, but just for the week.” Derek explained, “She’s using those vacation days she had saved up. And Kevin isn’t our standby, ‘cause he’s busy. Instead it’s some new guy.”

“Who?” Prentiss asked, this time she was curious. And as if on cue, Dr. Spencer Reid came through the glass doors, and into the bullpen, carrying Morgan’s stack of files.

“Him.” Morgan pointed back simply as a response as he waved Spencer over.

~

To say Spencer felt out of his element by being in the BAU bullpen was an understatement, he felt like a fish out of water. Like he was suffocating and everything around him was too much.

He purposely avoided the bullpen, first reason being because he didn’t have any work with the BAU. But the second reason was he knew if he stepped in, he’d be more upset that he couldn’t be on the team. And the last thing he wanted to do was make his job worse for himself.

But, this experience was an outlier. And though Spencer can remember almost anything and everything, he planned on doing his best to purposely forget all of this. Every last detail.

He wasn’t going to let himself remember how there were field agents with real life guns holstered at their sides, how they were all sitting casually, looking over cases and drinking coffee, how they had the title of SSA (he only had SA, which he still was bitter about.), and then how at a moments notice they could fly away in a jet. How astonishing their work is, how jealous he is.

But Spencer entered through the glass doors nonetheless, looking around quickly before seeing Derek wave him over. Derek was sat at his desk, talking to a woman whose head was turned away from Spencer, all he could see was that she was his desk mate, and that she had black hair.

Spencer made his way over at a brisk pace, he just needed to get in and out. If he stayed for too long, he’d let himself remember to much.

“Hey, I- I got these into VICAP no problem,“ Spencer started as he handed Derek the case files, “But I noticed some errors on the date stamping on when you found the unsub so I corrected it myself, I hope you don’t mind.”

Derek shook his head casually, “Not a problem at all, I have a habit of messing that up. Thanks doc.” Fuck, ‘doc’? Spencer hadn’t been called ‘doctor’ in months, let alone ‘doc’. This was turning into a tailspin moment for him as he smiled awkwardly, feeling a blush rising to his face, he wasn’t sure what else to do. But he wanted to get out of there.

Thankfully, the woman with black hair introduced herself, as once he had rounded the corner to see Derek, he also saw her face. She was pretty, and had bangs. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emily Prentiss.” She reached her hand over to shake Reid’s expectantly, “Oh I-“ Reid started, hands down at his sides, he wasn’t going to move them.

“He doesn’t shake, Prentiss.” Derek explained casually, “Oh,” Emily said, dropping her hand down, “Sorry! It’s still good to meet you, though. So I hear you’re covering for Garcia?” She asked Spencer, who nodded as he pushed a piece of hair back behind his ear.

“Yeah she’s taking vacation time, and Kevin is currently busy with helping the child abduction unit. So I’ll be you technical analyst for the next week or so.”

“I’m sorry, but how long have you been with the bureau? You look really young. I don’t mean to be rude I’m just-“ “You’re really asking him the rudest possible question, though, huh?” Derek joked to her, and she just smacked him on the arm lightly before turning her attention back to Spencer.

“No you’re fine to ask I- um, I’ve been with the bureau a year and a half, but originally I was on the domestic terrorism field unit.” He explained shortly, he didn’t wanna go into how he got on the bureau to begin with, or how he left the domestic terrorism unit. All he wanted to do was have this conversation end, or else it would just be that much harder to forget.

“Domestic terrorism? So how do you end up doing technical analyst work?” Derek butted in curiously, up until now it has been Prentiss asking all the questions.

Spencer stayed quiet for a moment, before finally responding, “If you need anything else, my office is next to Garcia’s. It’s been nice meeting you, Emily.” All he gave to Derek was a curt nod before walking out at the brisk pace he had entered with.

~

“Wow, well you fucked that up.” Prentiss spoke to Derek once she saw Spencer exiting through the glass doors, and turning down the hallway.

He sighed and rolled his eyes at her, “I’m just curious about him, can you blame me?” Emily just chuckled softly in return, shaking her head as she turned her chair around to face him more head on.

“Are you curious about him because he’s cute, or because he’s replacing Garcia for the week?” Derek blinked at her in surprise; “I never said he was cute.” He protested, more confused than anything else.

“You didn’t say it, but your body language did. You think he’s cute. You called him ‘doc’ and he almost blushed, and I have a feeling you’re gonna try and call him ‘doc’ again to see that same result- and you watched him the entire time, even if I was talking.”

“You think random bureau agents are cute all the time, what’s it matter?” Derek rebutted, trying to deflect and ignore, because Prentiss wasn’t making sense. Derek wasn’t attracted to Spencer, he didn’t think he was cute. Spencer’s level of attractiveness had nothing to do with his curiosity.

Derek did have a right to be curious for other reasons, anyways. This guy was replacing Garcia for a bit. It made sense Derek would wanna know more about the guy, even if he was or wasn’t attractive.

“Yeah, I find agents cute. But I don’t go asking Hotch about them.” Prentiss said with a smirk, Derek just shot her a glare. “I asked Hotch because he’s replacing Garcia. And I’ve not heard of the guy before.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Was all Emily replied with as she turned back to her work, Derek just rolled his eyes at her again before turning to his own computer.

Okay, so he knew Spencer was in domestic terrorism. It couldn’t hurt to just search it up, right? It wasn’t anything classified, he’d be able to see it, Derek hoped. He wasn’t meaning to be nosy, but he was just so curious and confused. He just had to know more.

———————————————————————

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 42 - Finale (Pt. 4)

Hiro jumped as high as he could but he missed the roof of the crate by several feet. The shipping container they were held in was at least eight feet high.

Failing at this, Hiro pressed himself against the side of the wooden box and tried to peer out through a small knothole. He saw Stu hoist a now tied up Callaghan over his shoulder and then the thieving skaters sped away at top speed, leaving them alone.

Hiro jumped again. "Hey, give me a hand. I might be able to reach the top if you'll let me stand on your shoulders."

No help came.

"Varian? Did you hear me?" Hiro asked and turned around to look at the other boy.

The only light in their current prison came through the tiny knothole in the wall, but with it Hiro could just about make out Varian's silhouette. He was hunched over while sitting down; his signature goggles glinting back the small beam of light occasionally as he held his head in his arms.

Oh no . Hiro knew what was coming next. Varian only ever shut down like that whenever he was experiencing a panic attack. Oh how Hiro wished Baymax was here, but…

Hiro shoved the image of Sue smashing the robot's personality chip out his mind. He could only focus on one problem at a time.

"Varian? You ok?" Hiro asked gently as he tried to keep the panic out of his own voice.

Still no answer.

Hiro knelt down and placed a hand on Varian's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Came the timid response.

"Okay, good. That's good. Uh, th-then what's wrong?"

Varian only hugged his knees tighter.

"Varian. I … I can't help you unless I know what's wrong."

Varian stifled a sob and Hiro took a deep breath to calm his own nerves.

"Varian?.... Varian we're trapped in a giant wooden shipping crate, without our weapons, Baymax is... he's… he's deactivated at the moment, and no one else knows that we're here. We have to work together to get out of this."

Varian finally looked up at him, his eyes blinking as they readjusted to the dim light. "Okay." He said quietly.

"Okay? Then, let's stand up and…" Hiro grabbed Varian's arm to help him up but the other teen wouldn't move.

Hiro bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the other guy.

"Sorry." Was all Varian could say numbly, but he still wouldn't stand up.

Hiro tried a new tactic. "Are you upset that we lost the fight?"

"No."

"Are you mad that they kidnapped Callaghan and stole the notebook?"

Varian shook his head.

"Are you worried about... about B-baymax?"

"Well, yeah, of course I am… but that's not it either."

"Are you scared about being trapped in a giant box forever, cause I sure am!" Hiro gave a strained laugh that turned almost into a sob of his own.

"Look, it--it's embarrassing alright. J-just drop it! Okay? … I'll help."

Varian started to stand up but stopped when Hiro asked "You had a panic attack because you were embarrassed?"

Varian squatted back down on his knees and looked up at Hiro as if he was crazy.

"No! Of course not!"

"Well then what is it? You're the most confident, self assured person I know. I've seen you walk into the girl's bathroom by accident and come back out with some random girl's phone number!"

"Oh yeah, Liz, she needed help with calculus." Varian said, as he recalled the minor incident on his second day at school.

"Varian." Hiro groaned as he began to lose what little patience he had. "Look fine, whatever, if you're okay then just give me a lift and we'll get out of here."

Varian did so, and while standing on the other boy's shoulders Hiro was finally able to reach the lid of the box. He pushed upwards…and nothing happened. Push as he might, the lid wouldn't budge. It was too heavy and the lock was in place.

"Try to step closer to the edge." Hiro suggested.

Varian followed his orders, but it made no difference.

"Hey, what if we switched places and I tried?" Varian asked.  

"I don't know if I can lift you, but okay?"

With much difficulty Varian finally got on top of Hiro's shoulders, but the other boy lacked Varian's strength and they soon both went tumbling to the ground.

"It-it's no use." Hiro heaved. "Neither of us are strong enough."

Varian's lip quivered as that and he desperately casted his eyes about the small enclosure. Then he went back to hugging his legs as he shut down once more.

Hiro couldn't blame him. He too felt like curling up into a ball and never unrolling again. He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall in defeat.

How ever were they going to get out of this?

Several minutes passed as no one said anything.

Hiro spotted the candy bar on the ground. "Hungry?" He asked sardonically as he held one up.

"No." Came Varian's emotionless answer.

Hiro went back to staring blankly at nothing.

"I don't know which is worse, the fact that we're trapped with no water or the fact that it's as boring as dirt in here?" Hiro joked, if for no other reason than to break the silence.

Varian didn't respond.

Hiro sighed and decided to stare at the ceiling for a while. He tried and failed to come up with ideas for escape, but none were practical and his mind kept tumbling back to Callaghan. He and Varian wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him trying to help the murdering Professor, and not for the first time Hiro wrestled with himself over whether or not he was doing the right thing, or if doing the right thing was what he really wanted to do.

"The worst thing is the darkness." Varian said suddenly, snapping Hiro out of his thoughts.

Hiro looked at him, waiting for more of an explanation, but none came.

"What do you mean?"

"You asked what was worse about being trapped. It-it's the darkness. I mean the mind numbingly boring silence, the bad food, the awful company, and the horrific smell isn't great either…. But… but you just grow numb to all that eventually…." Varian finally lifted his head and looked at Hiro dead in the eyes. " You never forget what it's like when they shut you up in the dark for the first time, and… and just leave you there to rot."

Hiro's mouth opened in horror, but no words came out.

"I.. I don't like.. I didn't want to tell you cause.. well it's embarrassing to be sixteen years old and be afraid of the dark. And it's not even all the time… just… just seeing that lid slam close… and suddenly it.. It was like..  It was like…"

He trailed off and then tucked his head again in his arms.

"There… there was no light?" Hiro asked as he put two and two together.

"Well, it's not like we have lightbulbs in Corona." Varian sniffled. "Also it's a dungeon. It's the basement. It's not like a whole lot of sunlight can get down there."

"But that's… that's torture!" Hiro suddenly shouted and Varian gave him a confused look. "Listen to me. You need sunlight. Everybody does. You need, like certain vitamins and stuff that you can only get from the sun. You also need it for, like, psychological reasons. Denying people sunlight is literally considered cruel and unusual punishment by, like the Geneva convention and the UN and such. I.. I can't… how dare they!"

Hiro stopped in his rant to find Varian staring at him blankly.

"They didn't do it on purpose." Varian excused. "I mean, everyone down there..."

"Were what?! Also tortured?! No, they knew what they were doing. Why do you think you were all kept down there instead of like, I don't know, a tower or something. They could have built a prison anywhere and they chose a hole in the ground!"

Varian frowned, but had no answer to that.

Hiro continued as he tried to process what he'd just learned. "And.. And you felt embarrassed about being tortured and sacred… why? Why on earth would you be embarrassed by that?"

Varian visibly flinched at that question as if slapped and ducked his head once more.

"No. No, don't. I'm sorry." Hiro begged as he scooted over to the other boy. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry they did that to you. I'm sorry I brought it up. I'm sorry I dragged us into this. I'm just sorry! Okay?"

"It's not your fault." Varian said with his head still casted downwards. "You weren't the one… I mean… I messed up and-"

"I don't care! No one deserves that! Hey, look at me…" Varian did so and their eyes locked. "No one."

Varian searched his eyes and then horsely asked. "Not even Callaghan?"

Hiro felt like a rug had been ripped out from underneath him. Everything was spinning, as if he was falling. "No.. No, not even Callaghan." He said with labored breath and his voice shook.

Varian gave soft an empty laugh under his breath and shook his head. "You know not everyone would agree with you on that. Why do you think prisons exist in the first place?"

Now it was Hiro's turn to be confused. "What? What are you getting at?"

"Not everyone in those cells back in Corona were innocent lost souls. In fact most of them weren't. Most of them were murderers, thieves, and traitors. Why do you think they were down there?"

"Why are we placing thieves and murderers in the same category? Also you were deemed a traitor just cause you stole medicine that you needed. That's barely even a crime…"

"In Corona it is."

"Yeah, well, they're wrong."

And with that the conversation came to an abrupt end. Varian went back to staring at his toes while Hiro slouched against the wall next to him.

"I didn't just steal medicine." Varian finally said.

"Yeah, well, I still don't care." Hiro said. "They were wrong."

"You don't even know what I did yet."

"It doesn't matter."

Hiro looked Varian dead in the eyes as he said this and the other boy wrestled with himself as he contemplated his words.

"Are- are you sure?" Came his hesitant answer.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Hiro nodded.

They shared a smile, and with that, Hiro stood and placed his hands in pockets as he began to pace around; turning his mind to the problem at hand once again.

How to escape.

Then his fingertips brushed up against something round and cold inside his left pocket. He pulled it out and found a spray can full of purple goop.

Hiro gasped as he remembered what it was. "Hey, that's it! We can use this to get out! See? It's the magnetic spray paint you got me for my birthday. I forgot I even had this on me."

Varian's mood instantly changed as well when he saw what Hiro held in his hand.

"The Hironite! Yes, that's perfect!"

"Please stop calling it that."

Varian ignored him. "All you gotta do is spray it on the lid and use your-- oh wait no, that won't work. Sue took your gloves."

"But she didn't take my shoes." Hiro said with a sly smile as he lifted one foot. The bottom of the boot softly glowed where the electromagnet was placed. Hiro used it to help ride atop Baymax better, but it would also serve their needed purpose here.

Hiro slipped off his boots as Varian sprayed the top of the crate, covering it in the sparkling liquid metal. Once done Hiro stood upon Varian's shoulders once more and used the boots to blast a negative charge at the lid, sending it flying upwards as it repelled the current.

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

Hiro walked over and picked up the broken pieces of what was once Baymax's computer chip as Varian finished climbing out of the shipping crate. The other boy said nothing as Hiro stared at what remained of Tadashi's work.

He then walked over to where Baymax's deactivated body stood. Hiro looked up at the robot's now blank face, desperately trying to blink back his tears.

"Will….will he be okay?" Varian asked, breaking the silence.

"I...I hope so." Hiro gulped. "I have backup files stored on my computer at home. I should be able to download his source code and memory files to another chip and he'll….He won't remember this adventure but he'll be functional."

Hiro turned to look at a clearly worried Varian and tried his best to brush off the older teen's concern.

"Fortunately, the last system restore I did was right after finals, so we won't have to catch him up on much; just fill him in on what's been happening this weekend."

Varian wasn't buying it. "Then what's the problem?"

"N-nothing… it's nothing… it's just the source code will all be what's left of the original Baymax. I already had to rebuild the body from scratch, because he… he got lost in the void… I rescued the chip though…"

Hiro held up one broken piece in his hand for Varian to see, but he himself seemed to look beyond it as he stared transfixed at the sliver of plastic and Nano circuits.

"Tadashi made this chip. It was his final project for the year. It's… it's like whenever I cross paths with Callaghan I just lose him all over again; little by little… he just keeps slipping away."

Varian frowned at that.

"You don't have to keep doing this, you know."

Varian's voice snapped Hiro out of his brooding.

"Yeah, I do." Hiro said.

"Why?"

"Cause … The police can't handle Sue and her grandson."

"Neither could we."

"It was a setback. Next time we'll have backup and be more prepared."

Varian crossed his arms and gave Hiro a reproachful look.

"Look," Hiro went on, "the cops also don't have the tracking capabilities that Baymax does. We're the best chance Abigail has of being rescued."

"And Callaghan?"

"H-him too…"

"Do you even want to save him?"

Hiro was visibly taken aback by that question and had no answer to give. He turned his head away as he wrestled with himself.

"I- I have to." He eventually stuttered.  "No. You don't." Varian shook his head and turned to walk to the door. "Let's just get out of here."

"You don't understand!" Hiro shouted after him.

"You're right! I don't understand! The man murdered your brother. Anyone else would be out for revenge, not killing themselves trying to save such a person. I mean turning the other cheek is one thing, but this…?"  Varian swept his arm wide to showcase the busted up warehouse.

Hiro pouted but didn't argue back.

"Hiro, please… I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but… this just… Why should you have to suffer just to help out some guy that you hate?"

"Someone has to help." Hiro whispered.

"Oookay… and why does that 'someone' have to be you?"

"Tadashi would've helped. He… he said that to me, right...right before he ran back into the burning building." Hiro let out a shaky breath. "Tadashi would've forgiven Challagan for… for everything and he'd would've helped..."

Varian grabbed Hiro by the shoulders forcing the other boy to look at him.

"No. No. Now hold up. Who said anything about 'forgiving' Callaghan? What does 'forgiveness' have to do with any of this? You're already doing more than any normal person would; more than anyone even should do. You don't owe that man anything ."

"But Tadashi…"

"Tadashi's not here! I don't know any Tadashi! All I know is Hiro Hamada and he's the best person I've ever met! So why isn't he good enough, Hiro? Why?"

Hiro was stunned by those words. He couldn't process them. How could anyone not think highly of his brother? Who wouldn't say forgiveness was the right thing to do? And why would anyone think he, of all people, was a saint?

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled," Varian went on, "but you don't understand. If you're not good enough… then what hope is there for people like me?"

"What?" Now Hiro was completely lost.

"You're a literal superhero! Alright?! A knight who spends all his free time helping others. Me? I-I'm a screw up, a thief, a dangerous traitor, a menace to society-"

"Whoa, whoa, who said that?!" Hiro interrupted.

"I told you… I did more than just steal a flower."

For the first time Hiro really did start to question Varian's past. There was something ominous sounding in the other boy's confession that both piqued Hiro's curiosity and filled him with dread. Instead of pressing further though, Hiro opted to pivot the conversation back to himself.

"And you don't think I ever screw up or make mistakes?"

"Oh sure, sometimes, but not like I do. I mean, there's a difference between overfilling the washing machine and building bombs out of bread flour."

Hiro once again starred at the time displaced teen in shock. For some reason Hiro doubted Varian's 'flour bombs' were just sacks of flour that you threw at people for a prank.

He had heard whispers from Aunt Cass and Grandville about some sort of 'civil war' and Varian being part of a group of rebels, but he had always assumed it was just a cover up; an explanation that the professor gave to explain away where Varian had come from. Now Hiro was beginning to question otherwise.

Hiro shook his head. He wasn't ready yet to face anymore horrific confessions nor was he ready to admit his own past.

"Let's….Let's just get out of here. Like you said."

Varian nodded in agreement, but said no more.

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

Instead of hiking back to the city, Hiro hit upon the idea of raiding the offices up stairs.

After all, if Sue was working with this Bosu then they would need a way to stay in contact, and there was a chance that the recently escaped convicts didn't have cellphones on them just yet.

Sure enough, they found an old landline phone inside the office where Sue had been earlier. It still worked so long as you dialed zero before the number.

They called Wasabi and told the rest of the gang where they were at and what had happened.

And so both boys found themselves sitting in the lower storeroom waiting for their friends to arrive to pick them up. They waited next to Baymax, keeping an eye on the robot and sitting with their backs to one another. This not only allowed them to keep a lookout, but also gave them some space to think.

Neither boy wanted to face the other yet, nor did they feel like being completely alone with their thoughts. Sitting down while pressed back to back was an unspoken compromise. You didn't have to look the other teen in the eye, but you still felt the other's presence.

Hiro broke the silence first. "I'm not a saint."

"I never said you were." Varian replied.

"But you, called me a hero, said I never make mistakes. That's not true."

"I told you, being lazy with chores isn't--"

"I'm not talking about housework." Hiro rolled his eyes. "I… I tried to get revenge on Callaghan okay!"

"When?" Varian asked, confused.

"Back when we first faced off with him. When I found out who he was and what he'd done, I… I tried to kill him." Hiro gulped and waited for Varian's disappointed rebuttal but it never came.

"What stopped you?" Was all he said instead.

"My friends….. I had programmed a martial arts chip to teach Baymax how to fight. Then I ordered him to attack Callaghan. When he refused to follow orders, I… I pulled out his personality chip, the one Tadashi had made."

Hiro squeezed his eyes shut as if he could hide his shame with such an action before continuing on.

"Fortunately the guys found the chip and put it back in before Baymax could do any harm. After that, he and the others talked me down."

"So you see, I'm not who you think I am. Tadashi was the real hero. I'm just trying to follow in his footsteps, and I don't always know if I'm succeeding or not."

"Maybe that's true," Varian carefully said, "but most people would have gone through with it anyway. At least you did stop. At least you're trying right now, and you don't even have to. Not everyone is like that… not everyone is so… so… noble."  

"I mean if the princess was standing before me right now…. I honestly don't know what I do… but whatever it was, I doubt anyone could talk me out of it."

After Varian had finished his rant with this ominous promise, Hiro realized this the first time he had heard Varian mention anything about a princess.

"The princess? You mean one of the royals that persecuted you?"

Varian didn't answer, and silence fell between them once more.

However Hiro couldn't just leave things there. He switched to another question.

"So... when did you make 'flour bombs'?" He tried to act nonchalant but he just couldn't ignore the matter any longer.

"Do you remember when we watched that old Robin Hood movie with Fred and Karmi?" Varian asked, deflecting from the previous question.

Hiro did remember. Fred had brought his laptop and DVD to school and the four of them had watched it during lunch.

"Remember the big climax when they stormed the castle?" Varian continued. "There were a bunch of epic sword fights, scaling the castle walls, arrows flying everywhere, and if anybody got hurt they just fell down unconvincingly; no blood or anything"

"Yeah." Hiro nodded though he didn't understand what Varian was getting at all.

"Well, it's nothing like that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, laying siege to a castle in real life is a lot different."

Hiro gulped but he held his tongue as he waited for Varian to continue, but he wasn't altogether sure if he wanted to actually hear it.

"There's no choreography," he explained, "oh, you might start out with a plan, but it's all chaos. First you're with the group as you raid the dungeons, and then suddenly you're not; and as you find yourself all alone you run into a group of guards, and then you're running for your life. So you dive into the kitchens hoping to find things to defend yourself with as they keep shooting arrows at you. Fortunately flour is very flammable."

Hiro shuddered as Varian recounted his story. It was more terrifying than any horror movie could hope to be, and it wasn't even over with.

"Then when you finally manage to fend them off, and you get a few precious minutes of peace, you hear from the rest of the people shouting outside that there's more fighting going on elsewhere in the castle, and so you have to decide. Stay where it's safe, for the moment, or go back to help the others. Cause if they lose you'll find yourself in prison or dead, but if you get an arrow to the chest while fighting, then, well you're still dead."

"So let's say, you decide to risk it and go back out to fight. You grab up more of the bombs and other weapons you've just made and head out to help, and the whole thing starts all over again. Regroup, fight, secure the area, earn a few minutes of safety, debate with yourself why you're doing this, split up to help elsewhere, distract the guards, or push through the ranks down this corridor, regroup, fight, ask yourself how you got here, and so and so…. until suddenly someone just tells you it's over, and you don't even know how. You barely even knew what happened, you may not even know who won yet, but it's done, no more fighting, but you hold tighter onto that grenade in your hand … just in case; ready to throw it at any moment."  

Silence fell once more and Hiro couldn't stop the tears that stung his eyes. He couldn't see Varian's face, to see if the other boy was crying or not; nor did he hear any sobbing coming from behind him, but the silence was somehow even more disturbing.

"Is.. Is that why you were in jail? Cause you fought back against the royals?"

"You... could say that." He slowly replied.

"That's not the same." Hiro said. "I mean, what choice did you have? It's not like you can arrest the king, and you weren't the only one fighting."

"But you don't understand." Varian said, "I never stopped."

That answer made Hiro's blood run cold. He wasn't entirely sure what Varian's cryptic words meant but he had the nagging suspicion that any clarification would lead only to more horrific stories of war, devastation, and oppression. Hiro had had his fill of those.

He finally turned around to look at Varian, and the other boy followed suit.

"You know, maybe, you're right… all this fighting isn't good." Hiro said.

"But you said it yourself, who else can stand up to the bad guys? Who else can track Abigail down and rescue her?"

"I don't know."

"Look, I'm sorry I said anything. I just… I'm tired of seeing everyone so upset over… over what happened, and not be able to do anything about it; to fix it. I thought maybe coming along would help… and when that didn't work, I thought I could get you to give it up… I should've known better."

Hiro searched Varian's remorseful eyes and for the first time felt like he finally understood the time displaced teen. Varian was a lot of things; pompous, impulsive, evasive, and at times, oh so very annoying, but he was there . He never judged, he never flaked out on you, and most importantly of all he always cared about your wellbeing; even if his way of showing it was to angrily shout at you in desperation.

Hiro slowly nodded his head. "Thank you, and after today, and what you told me, I'll understand if you don't want to come along any more, but you did help. More than you know."

"I did? How?"

Hiro smiled. "You kept me sane this whole time."

Both boys snickered at the lame joke.

"Well it looks like you'll still need my help then, cause you'll be balmy by the end of all this if I'm not there." Varian replied. "But don't expect this to be a regular thing, now. I'm not actually a hero after all."

"I won't." Hiro smirked and both boys' smiles grew wider till they were laughing over nothing in particular.

"Well, glad to see you two are laughing it up!" Wasabi suddenly called from the other side of the smashed door, ending the conversation.

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

It took a little maneuvering to haul Baymax up the stairs of the Lucky Cat and into Hiro's bedroom. They managed to remove the robot's armor at the warehouse which made things slightly easier but it took four of them to carry him inside with Honey Lemon running ahead to open the doors for them.

Hiro didn't help with carrying though. Instead he ran straight to his computer and started hunting for the android's memory files.

"Okay, he's in the charging station. Do you need us for anything else?" Gogo asked.

"No, Cruz and Megan are coming over tonight so Varian and I have to stay here, but you guys can continue the search."

"Alright," Wasabi agreed, "if you're sure you're okay, then the rest of us will split up the night into shifts."

And with that everyone left; save for Varian, who went downstairs to prepare dinner.

It didn't take Hiro long to find the backup files, though it did take a minute to find a memory chip. He tore through his room looking for one, undoing any previous work he had done on it yesterday. He'd have to clean again tomorrow before Aunt Cass got home, though it wasn't a concern for Hiro at this moment.

He finally found a blank chip stored up under Tadashi's bed, in a little plastic container filled with other associated electronics.

With a sigh of relief Hiro plugged the chip into the computer and started the transfer.

DOWNLOAD WILL COMPLETE IN TWO HOURS, the computer pop up told him.

Hiro sat back and watched the little bar on the popup slowly fill with blue. He impatiently pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the arm rest as he swung the chair back in forth.

He was still agitated from his earlier conversation with Varian. He may have had a better understanding of the other teen now, but Hiro still didn't know what to think of himself. Where did he stand? What did he want? And who was in the right here?

Rather than being alone with his confusing thoughts, Hiro decided to make a phone call.

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

"So you see if you keep the cost of production down to twenty percent, you could theoretically make twice the money." The dreary gentleman with glasses said.

"Uh-huh." Aunt Cass nodded her head with a strained smile plastered on her face.

Her blind date thought he was being helpful by giving her unsolicited advice on how to run her company. What he was being was annoying. How did she ever let Tracey talk her into this?

Her friend had hooked them up with a couple of fellow vacationers for a double date. They were two incredibly boring and stuffy stockbrokers from New York who were here on business. Cass's date had told her what that business was, but she'd already forgotten.

She was beginning to miss Krei, of all people. Alastair was a great many things, but at least he wasn't as dull a dish water. Or heck even Diego, for all his faults, was still more attentive than the man before her now who was launching into some asinine story about trading stocks.

But most of all she just missed her boys. Varian would be in the kitchen with her preparing dinner right about now; cracking jokes and telling her stories about his day. She loved that time spent with him. It was so nice for one of her kids to share her love of cooking and even nicer that he wanted to hang with her.

Hiro was a little harder to pin down. They didn't have any shared interests. Poor Cass tried to be supportive and keep up whenever one of her boys launched into a scientific explanation about what they were currently into, but all involved quickly knew that she really didn't understand any of it. Also Hiro was at that age where he was far more interested in spending time with his friends than his parents. Which was good. She was glad he had friends now and wasn't cooped up in the garage all the time building robots all by his lonesome.

Yet she did wish he'd tell her just a little more about his day, or take just a few minutes to talk to her about life in general and what was going on. He was hardly ever at home nowadays, and his explanations for where he'd been would be a short sentence or two before running off again. Aunt Cass would have suspected he was up to something if it wasn't for the fact that he was always with his friends, and they were all good kids who never got into trouble.

Still that didn't mean they never spent time together. They ate dinner together most evenings, family movie nights were still a thing, and he would volunteer to help out at the cafe sometimes. But best of all was whenever it rained and he would drag out the board games. It was practically tradition at this point to play gomoku whenever it stormed; when it was too wet to play outside and traffic at the café would slow to a crawl.

And game days had only gotten better these past few months as their little family grew. Varian loved it and it was always entertaining to watch Baymax try to grasp human frivolities. Even the pets would join in at times.

Varian had trained Ruddiger to move chess pieces around the board. If Aunt Cass didn't know any better, she could swear that the raccoon looked like he actually knew how to play the game. He would even scratch his head as if thinking of where to move the next piece and then more often than not he'd move the various pieces around as they were supposed to go; rooks straight, bishops diagonal, knights in an L shape ect. Varian had tried to teach Mochi the same, but the cat would just knock the pieces over. Which was equally entertaining.

Yes, only two days away and she was already homesick. How she wished she was home playing board games instead sipping cocktails at a snobby country club while evading the advances of a tedious hedge fund shark. Therefore it was a huge relief to hear her phone ring.

She was even happier to see the caller ID popup Hiro's name, though Tracey frowned at her as Cass excused herself from the dinner party. Hey, her nephew called her this time so she wasn't breaking her promise technically.

She stepped out onto the balcony to take the call. The setting sun bathing the vineyards in fiery hues would've been a breathtaking sight if it wasn't for Hiro's timid hello snapping her out of her momentary bliss. Something was wrong. She knew it. Her nephew sounded like he was on the verge of crying.

"Is everything okay sweetie?" She asked.

"Yeah… yeah everything's fine. Varian is cooking dinner and we're just waiting on Chief Cruz and Megan to get here."

It wasn't an outright lie, but Aunt Cass could tell he was evading the question. She decided to let it go. Cornering him wouldn't help. He'd have to open up to her on his own terms.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your vacation, it- it's just I wanted to talk to you for a little bit." Hiro went on.

Aunt Cass stole a glance behind her and caught her date waving to her through the glass. She gave a pained smile and waggled her fingers before turning her back to him.

"Oh no, this is perfect timing." She said, "What did you want to talk about?"  

There was a pause on the other end before Hiro answered, "Oh, nothing."

It clearly wasn't nothing.

"Oookay, well did you have fun on your drive?"

"Drive?"

"Yeah, Varian said you two practiced your driving with Wasabi today."  

"Oh! Oh yeah, we did….it was fun."

Aunt Cass's brow furrowed; now that was a lie.

She steeled herself for a tearful confession; maybe Hiro scratched the car? Ran into a mailbox? Or maybe…

"Do you know if.. If Tadashi ever had doubts about… about anything?"

She hadn't been expecting that. Hiro rarely talked to her about Tadashi, the pain still too fresh for both of them. If anything she was usually the one to bring the conversation up if it had to be brought up at all, and even then it was just a small affirmation that she missed him as well and that Hiro wasn't alone. For his part, her youngest nephew would just nod along; if he even acknowledged the exchange at all.

Before she could even think of a response though Hiro was already stumbling over himself trying to clarify. Clearly this was something that had been weighing on his mind for sometime now.

"I like… did he ever feel like he wasn't good enough?"

"Oh Hiro, of course. Everyone feels that way sometimes. Why I remember when Tadashi was first trying to get into college he was so worried about not getting in-"

"No. No you don't understand… I mean good enough ; as in do you ever feel like you're not a good enough person?"

Aunt Cass was taken aback once more. This conversation had taken so many turns that she just wasn't prepared for.

"Hiro what happened?"

"I…. Uh….Callaghan…………..

There was a long pause on the other end and Cass feared that Hiro had hung up, but finally her nephew answered.

"Am I a bad person if I want something really bad to happen to someone else?"

She could hear the tears in his voice and never had she felt more helpless. Oh why did she ever leave to go on this stupid vacation?

"I'm coming home. Tonight."

"No!" Came Hiro's desperate shout. "I… I mean you can't. You'd have to ask Tracey to leave early as well an-"

"Hiro, I don't care if I have to hitchhike back. You're upset and you need me; and that's more important than anything else."

"No, I'm fine. Really. I just-"

"Hiro, honey, please, just stop…. Now breathe…. You don't have to pretend that everything is okay just for everyone else's sake, and certainly not for mine."

"But you do… That's what you do all the time. "

Aunt Cass stopped and blinked several times; "Hiro I'm the adult here. I-"

"So?"

She opened her mouth to argue back but found she had no words.

"Aunt Cass, who do you not pretend around? When's the last time to talk to anybody about your own problems? When's the last time you talked about… about Tadashi?"

"Do you want to talk about Tadashi?"

"Yeah… yeah I do."

"Okay, what do you want to talk about? The accident?"

"It wasn't an accident. You know that."

Never had she heard his voice so harsh and cold.

"Yes… I know that." Came her shaky reply.

"And his murderer is just out there, running around right now."

"I know." She whispered.

There was another pause as both of them took the time to grieve.

When the conversation picked back up Hiro said in a shaky voice, "Do...do you hate him? Callaghan, I mean……..cause I do. I hate him so much!"

To hear that much pain and anger in his voice hurt Cass more than anything. He was too young; too young to feel that way, too young to experience such atrocities, and yet he had and she just couldn't ignore it. She decided to tell him the truth.

"Yeah, I don't like him very much either, and yes I do get mad sometimes, even now, I just… I try not to worry you with it. I… I didn't mean to make you feel like you couldn't talk to me about things."

"I… I understand that, b-but do you… do you ever wish for something bad to happen to him?"

"Well I hope the police find him and lock him up. I hope spends the rest of his life in jail."

Aunt Cass was surprised by the harshness of her own voice but this confession didn't seem to satisfy Hiro.

"Do you.. Do you ever wish for something worse than that to happen? …. Cause I do, and I'm not talking about revenge or being one to do it.. I just… I don't know if I would be sorry if.. If it turns out something did happen to him."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You-you do?"

"I've thought that before, about a lot of people over the years…. Do you think I'm a bad person for it?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why would you ever think that of yourself?"

Hiro didn't have an answer for that. "I… but I thought… Aren't you supposed to forgive someone if they're sorry about what they did?"

"Hiro," She sighed as she leaned against the balcony's railing, "Life's not that simple. You don't have to forgive anybody who's hurt you, and you shouldn't be ashamed for feeling the way you do. Thoughts aren't actions. The important thing is not letting them consume you. What's happening with Callaghan right now is out of our hands, and we can wish for things to turn out right but-- in the end we just have to move on with our lives."

"Like staying on vacation and not dropping everything to take a two hour cab ride just to give me a hug?"

Aunt Cass sighed again. Her nephew had her there.

"But…" Hiro gulped, "What if you could do something about it? What if... he was in trouble? What would you do?"

"I honestly don't know." Was the only answer she could give. "I guess… whatever I could live with….I'm sorry if that's not helpful to you."

"No, no. It's more helpful than you know. Thanks, Aunt Cass."

"Do you want to talk more? I'm all ears. You know you can tell me anything."

"No. I think I just heard Cruz pull up outside."

"Okay, well if you're sure, but you do know you can call me at any time; you and Varian both, alright?"

"Yeah, we know. Love you, Aunt Cass."

"I love you too, and I'll be home first thing tomorrow. As soon as check out is done we're driving straight back to San Fansokyo."

"We'll take your time, cause Varian and I might be out with the rest of the guys tomorrow."

"Okay then, I'll call you when we leave here. Goodnight."

"Night."

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

Hiro hung up the phone and looked at the computer again. The little popup said 75% COMPLETED. He sighed and curled up on his bed.

He was turning over the conversation he'd just had with Aunt Cass in his mind when Megan tapped on the door.

"Hey, can I come in?" She asked.

"Yeah, sure." Hiro sniffled.

"How's Baymax?"

"Don't know yet. The memory files are still downloading."

"Varian told me what happened today. Are you okay?"

Hiro didn't answer.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hiro sighed. "Talking is what I've been doing all day it seems like. I'm kind of, just over it. Uh, no offense."

"Hey, none taken." She shrugged. Then with a sly smile she asked, "Would you rather have a pillow fight?"

Before Hiro could react he got a face full of pillow.

"Oh that's it!" He warned and soon the two of them were running about the room laughing; each trying to dodge the other's throws.

Varian walked in on them. Megan was in the middle of slamming a pillow repeatedly on top of Hiro's head who was trying to yell out 'Uncle' in between his fits of laughter.

"My money's on her." He said, interrupting the fight. "Also, dinner's ready. Cruz is taking the casserole out of the oven now."

Megan and Hiro shared a wicked grin between them and before Varian knew it he was being assaulted by pillows as well.

"Ack, no! I'm unarmed!" He protested as they pinned him in.

"Then get you something!" Megan shot back.

Varian dove and napped the beanbag sitting on the floor. "You mean like this?" He shouted.

Megan gave out a little shriek. "No fair! That's not a pillow!"

"Too bad!" He yelled back as he took a swing.

Megan dodged it easily. "Oh you're going down!" She gleefully countered and soon she was chasing Varian out of the room raining blows on his back as he retreated down the stairs.

Hiro doubled over with laughter as he watched them go. He was just about to follow them when he heard the ding on the computer indicating that the download was complete.

He dropped everything to go retrieve the finished personality chip. With baited breath and a silent prayer to the universe, Hiro placed the chip into the robot's core and turned on the power switch. Then he pinched his arm.

"Ow!"

Baymax's 'eyes' opened up.

"Hello, Hiro. I heard an 'ow'. On a scale of one to ten how would you rate your pain."

Hiro shook his head as tears of relief and joy spilled from his eyes. He pressed his forehead against Baymax's soft 'stomach' just to reassure himself that his friend was back.

"There. There." Baymax said as he wrapped Hiro in a hug and the boy returned.

After a minute or two, Hiro pulled away and wiped his nose. "Come on. Dinner is ready. Everyone's waiting on us."

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

Dinner went well and for the rest of the night the kids played video games. They split into teams of two, Megan and Varian vs Hiro and Baymax. Though sometimes they would switch partners and on a rare occasion or two even Chief Cruz would join in.

That was, when he wasn't on the phone with his deputy, or Krei, or Aunt Cass.

Hiro tried not to listen in. He knew they were talking about Callaghan and Abigail's disappearance, but he had decided to take his aunt's advice. There was nothing he could do about it tonight so he might as well focus on something else. Fortunately his friends were distraction enough.

"Do either of you boys want to talk to your aunt before I hang up?" Cruz asked.

"I will." Varian offered and handed his controller to the police officer as he took the phone.

"So how do you play this game?" The older man said as he studied the controller. He knew nothing about video games.

"You have to use your character to beat up our characters and you tag team with Megan by pressing Y." Hiro explained.

"Okay, how do I do that?"

"Just press random buttons dad." Megan helpfully offered.

So he did, and it went about as well as expected.

After a brutal and crushing defeat Cruz dropped the controller and said, "Hey, does anybody here remember Pong? Pong was a great game."

Megan and Hiro exchanged skeptic looks as they tried to suppress their snickers.

Fortunately Varian returned before Cruz could catch on.

"Uh-huh, love you too, Aunt Cass….Bye." He said before hanging up and handing the phone back to Cruz.

Cruz read the clock on the phone. "Wow. Look at the time. It's already 10:30. I guess you all better start brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. Megan, Miss Cass said you can sleep in her bed tonight. We're spending the night here."

"Bed time?" Varian echoed in confusion.

"We don't usually have a set 'bedtime', Officer Cruz." Hiro explained carefully.

"Well you do now." Cruz said as he stood up.

"Daaaad." Megan groaned.

"Don't 'dad' me. Sleep is needed for young minds. Besides, the early bird catches the worm, you know. Also, I have to go in early for work tomorrow and you need to be up by then so I can drop you off back home."

Megan sighed. "But it's summer and it's the weekend to boot. I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow. Why can't I just stay here and you go to work?"

Cruz wasn't giving in. "You kids don't know how easy you got it. Do you think farmers get to sleep in?"

"I grew up on a farm." Varian interjected.

"There, ya see. Tell them Varian."

"Usually I would just stay up all night long, do the work that morning and then crash after lunch and sleep through the day. It was easier that way; especially during summer when it got too hot to work during the afternoon." Varian casually explained.

Cruz slowly closed his eyes and tiled his head back in exasperation. This time Hiro and Megan couldn't hold back their giggles.

"To bed." Cruz ordered; ending the debate.

As the teens sulked back to their respective rooms, Hiro stopped on the stairwell and called down to Cruz. "You do know we're just going to be on our phones all night instead?"

"Bed." Came Cruz's response as he took up the couch and laid down himself.

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

As Hiro made his bed for the night he filled Baymax in on all that had been going on this weekend and what went down in the warehouse.

As always the dutiful robot listened intently only interrupting to ask a clarifying question now and then.

"You once said that catching Callaghan would help improve your mental health. I do not know if this is still true. From what you told me, it sounds like you are distressed over dealing with Callaghan again."

"Yeah, I am." Hiro admitted.

"Then why do it. It's important for your mental health to avoid things that trigger you."

"Yeah, but it's not my health I'm worried about."

Baymax tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Cause Abigail and her father are in more danger right now than I am, and if I don't do anything they could get hurt, badly. Along with a whole bunch of other people, if Callaghan caves and builds a portal for the other bad guys. It's unstable tech. Only Varian has gotten it to work right."

"You are my patient, and according to my programing nothing is more important than your health. But if others are indeed in danger we should help them too."

"Yes, exactly." Hiro said before flopping onto the bed. "I just… I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if, if maybe, it would be better if someone else could just save the day instead. You know? And just be a normal kid... well, as normal as you can be going to a nerd school where most of the other students are four years older than you."

"Am afraid I do not have any answers. I can understand your desire to be 'normal' and I can also understand why helping others as a superhero is important to you. However, it would seem that you will have to choose only one of them."

"Yeah, I know." Hiro sighed.

"Hiro."

"Hmm?"

"Please know that I am here for you whatever you decide, and so are the rest of your friends and family."

Hiro couldn't help but smile at that. It was so cheese, but it was also very much true.

"I know Baymax, thank you. Get some rest. Tomorrow we gotta go out and search again."

"Goodnight." The robot said before powering down.

"Night." Hiro replied before falling asleep himself.

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

On the outskirts of the city, in an abandoned power plant along the river bank, Callaghan faced down his captors.

"Okay, Teach, let's try this one last time." Sue said as the professor struggled against his bonds.

"Are you going to build us a portal or not?"

"Not!" He shouted back.

Sue sighed and rolled her eyes. "Bring her in boys!" She called.

Stu opened the door next to him and in stomped two ninjas carrying Abigail between them.

She struggled to break free from their grasps but they held onto her arms tightly and half dragged her across the ground; stopping in front of Callaghan.

"Abigail!"

"Dad!" She called back and tried to run him but the ninja stopped her.

Callaghan strained against his bonds but he couldn't get any closer to her.

"You monster!" He spat.

"Pot, meet kettle." Sue shot back. "I didn't want to do it, Callaghan. I tried to warn you, but you just wouldn't listen."

"Don't feed me any of those lies. You don't care."

"Oh and you do?" Sue got right up in his face. They were almost nose to nose. "Tell me, that boy you killed last summer. Did his mama cry?"

Callaghan had no words. He hung his head in shame.

"You'll get your daughter back safe and sound once you've built the portal. Scouts honor. Ain't that right Stu?"

"Uh-hun, cross our hearts." Her grandson said as he ran his finger over his chest and gave a scout salute. "I was a cub scout once. We always keep our promises."

Callaghan rolled his eyes. Stu was too dim witted and starry eyed to be a threat really, but he'd do anything for his nana, without question, and Sue was not to be trusted. But what else could he do?

"Alright." He agreed.

"Good. Finally you're seeing sense." Sue smiled. "Stu untie the man so he can get to work. As for the girl, you two make sure she's well taken care of."

"She stays with me." Callaghan insisted.

"Oh so you're giving orders now?" Sue asked. "I told you. She goes free once you're done. Take her away."

And with that the ninjas dragged Abigail back out of the room. Callaghan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out her cries for help. He couldn't fight back against all four of them, but soon he would make them all pay. He swore it.

[aesthbaby]

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event. 

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that. 

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her.  He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of  babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

 Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.  

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips.  You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward,  “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage. 

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob  @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425  @fanfictionfangirl04  @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl  @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby​

[perseusannabeth]

My Hunger Knows No Bounds - Part 2

Okay, so this is based off a prompt I got, asking me for an Elriel labour fic. I kinda had to end up splitting it in two, because I'm still writing, and this would get super long otherwise. Part 3 is coming soon, I promise! Also I've not properly proof read this so I'm sorry for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Read on AO3

Ever since Elain had knocked on his door to ask for some food, they had set up a routine. They hadn't told anyone else about it, especially not their siblings. Cauldron knew that they were all a bunch of busybodies, and would ruin a perfectly good thing with their meddling. Azriel could already imagine his brothers with their knowing looks and raised eyebrows, and he didn’t want to imagine what Elain’s sisters would say or do, especially not Nesta. He knew that they meant well, but there was no way that he was ready for his brothers to start talking about the possibility of him being in a relationship again, and he knew that was exactly what Cass and Rhys would start talking about if they heard about the set up he had with Elain. 

Plus, with Cassian and his big mouth, there's no way Mor and Ciara wouldn't find out. While he knew that he could get Mor off his back easily enough (just tell her about Amren's secret relationship), Ciara was a whole other ball game. Unfortunately, with three older brothers, Ciara had figured out very early on in life how to get what she wanted. With their big age gap, the girl was able to get pretty much anything she wanted and get away with murder. He didn't always regret it, but when she turned to use her big fake innocent eyes on him, he wished he was less of a sucker for her games. He even knew she was playing him, and still fell for it.    

Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure exactly what his relationship with Elain was. They spent some time together with their family, but that wasn't the same. They spent many evenings together, eating and laughing and talking, just the two of them. Azriel had made quite a few recipes from the blue cookbook his mother had given him. He knew without a doubt that if it hadn't been for Elain, he wouldn't have touched it after the one time he had cooked the biriyani. He found it was quite nice to cook for Elain and to have a secret time that was just for the three of them. The baby was so active that you could never forget about the third person (not quite) in the room.

Elain was so easy to talk to. That wasn't something that he had ever found in a person, not his brothers, not his mother, not Rhys' mum, but somehow, Elain made even quiet, stoic Azriel want to talk. He couldn't quite believe it, but they spent most of their time alone just talking about anything, and he was more than capable of carrying a conversation, and participated in it just as much as Elain did, something which he had never been able to do before, and was very proud of.  

They would talk about so many different things, some topics light and fun, some topics dark and heavy. Azriel found himself wanting to share things with Elain and looked forward to these evenings often. To this day, not even his brothers knew the full story about what had happened to his hands. They had pieced things together from what Rhys' mother had said, and when Azriel used to wake up with nightmares, and his aversion to fire. With Elain, he had been the one to bring it up. She had made it so easy to talk about, he hadn't even noticed the phantom pains he got when he usually thought about what had happened, because she had been holding his hands. He hadn't noticed the tears streaming down his face either until Elain had wiped them off his face so heartbreakingly gentle. He had felt at peace when he had told her what had happened like a weight had been lifted off his chest and he could finally breathe.  

Perhaps it was the fact that he knew Elain would never judge or pity him because her situation made people judge and pity her. She knew how dirty and horrible the judgement and pity made him feel, how he would do anything to not feel like it was his fault it had happened.  

Azriel hadn't wanted to pry about the father of the baby. He knew that Elain had recently moved to the building and that she lived alone. Her sisters would go with her for any baby-related appointments, and Nesta was Elain's birthing partner, much to everyone but Cassian's amusement. Nesta had been so horrified by the birthing video, that she had refused to have sex with Cassian for a week. Both Azriel and Elain had been shocked that they had even lasted a week without jumping each other. 

Elain had opened up slightly about Graysen, her ex-fiancé who had left her because his family had put pressure onto him to marry someone more suitable. Azriel couldn’t help but get angry at Graysen whenever he thought about it, because how could someone not have the backbone to stand up for the woman he loved to his family. His father did sound like a piece of work, and Azriel was glad that Elain wouldn’t have to deal with that, but he pitied Graysen for being stupid enough to give in to the pressure and give Elain and the baby up. How this man, who claimed he still loved Elain, could give her and his child up was beyond Azriel, but he was almost selfishly glad of it because, without that, he would never have his nights with Elain. 

Social interactions often left Azriel feeling tired and drained, even if the interactions were with his family and friends. It wasn't something that happened all the time, and his family and close friends were very good at reading the signs of him hitting his limit, depending on how sober they are. A drunken Cassian, for example, cannot read any signs of anything, and even if you tell him outright, he still might not understand. A drunken Cassian should never be let into your bedroom at 3 am because he 'missed his favourite broody brother'. It is a scam, and he will cling to you like a koala clings to a tree.  

Azriel never felt drained when he spent time with Elain. It wasn't that he felt energised after being with her, he was pretty sure that was a myth. But he did feel calm and at peace after spending time together, happy even. Although his family and friends could make him feel like that, it was different with Elain. She made him feel like that every time they were together. He couldn't quite explain it, but he knew that their dinners were some of the most relaxing evenings he'd had in a while.  

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he got excited whenever Elain text him to ask if he was cooking for her. Today was no different. When he had seen that she had texted him, he instantly felt the corners of his mouth start to rise. It had been just over a month of knowing Elain, and he had never said no to her. He was pretty sure that it was illegal to say no to a pregnant woman anyway, but he had never been tempted. Elain was just so sweet, how could anyone say no to her? 

When Elain had texted him today, he had been having a boring day. Cassian was off work because Nesta was doing some fancy pants lawyer stuff today, and Cassian was a good boyfriend who was going with her to support her. With Cassian gone, Azriel had nobody to laugh at for being an idiot. Rhys was in meetings all day, so he couldn't laugh at either of his brothers for being love-struck fools who smiled dopily at their phones every time their significant others text them. Azriel tried to tell himself he wasn't jealous of what his brothers had.  

Azriel had had to get his head down and do some paperwork which had been mind-numbingly boring, and the reason why he had been putting it off for so long. He had text Mor to see if she was around to save him from being bored, but she apparently had to do inductions for some newbies. Ugh. He hated how everyone in his family had responsibilities.  

Just after lunch which he took with Nuala and Cerridwen, where they had a catch up (no Mor it isn't gossiping), he got a text from Elain, asking him if he would cook for her again. Azriel couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, even though Nuala and Cerridwen gave him some funny looks for it. Thankfully, they had been friends with Azriel long enough when to comment on something or not. He had no illusions that they would let it go, they would simply bring it up at a time when he had to answer. They were just so good at getting information out of people.  

He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of which other recipes he could cook for Elain, and what ingredients he had in the house. He probably wouldn't need to go shopping, but he didn't mind if he did need a thing or two. These days, however, he tended to keep his apartment well-stocked in case he needed to cook for Elain at short notice.  

Elain had said she had been eating cup-a-soup for the past 2 days and would be for lunch too because, although it was just water and those gross dried ‘vegetables’, that was what she seemed to be craving. He needed to feed her something nutritional because he knew those stupid powered 'soups' had no nutritional value. Over the past month, he had been googling what was good for the baby, as well as making sure that it didn't make Elain feel sick. If he was going to cook for Elain, he might as well make sure that it’s good for her.   

He decided that he would also make dessert for Elain, which was something he didn't do as often when Elain had dinner with him, mostly because she would usually want to have something that she had baked. He and Elain had figured out the perfect system so that she didn't feel guilty about eating his food, since there was no way he would let her give him money for cooking, or even for ingredients. He would cook the main meal, and Elain would bring over whatever she had baked. Today, however, Azriel had told Elain he would cook desert himself today. He wanted to surprise her with a dessert from his mother's cookbook. Elain had been enjoying milk flavoured things a lot lately, drinking it at any given moment, even having it with her meals, so Azriel had decided to combine her two favourite pregnancy cravings, sugary things and milk, making a dessert called rasmilai which was a sugary, milky dessert with strange little dough balls in it.  

It had been one of Azriel's favourite deserts as a child, and had been craving it himself lately, but had decided to make it for Elain. He knew if not for her, he would have never made it because he was too lazy for that, but making it for Elain was so rewarding that he enjoyed cooking for her. The way Elain’s face lit up was exactly the same as the first time she had eaten his cooking. He wasn’t quite sure what it did to him when she was so happy at the sight of food in front of her, only that it made his chest feel weird and tight. 

Azriel decided to finish work at 4, which was early for him, and definitely earned him a few more strange looks from Nuala and Cerridwen but he ignored them with ease. He knew he would be getting grilled about his strange behaviour in a few days after they had snooped around and asked his brothers and Mor about what was going on with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Azriel drove home, now not even attempting to hide the smile on his face. He seemed to smile more since he met Elain, another thing he didn’t really focus on too much. Or something he didn’t want to focus on. He seemed to be doing that a lot, but then again, Azriel was the master of avoiding thinking about his own feelings. It was definitely not a problem, his siblings had no idea what they were talking about. 

Azriel sent Elain a quick text to let her know that he was home and going to start cooking, just in case she wanted to come over and keep him company. It had happened often enough now, Elain laying on his sofa and talking until she fell asleep while he cooked. Azriel would notice she had gone silent and cover her with a blanket, making sure she wasn’t lying in a way that would cause her or the baby any discomfort. 

Elain replied as he was getting the milk into a pan, with a ridiculous amount of sugar to boil away, telling him that she would be coming over soon, with a share bag of prawn crackers, that she would not be sharing. Azriel let out a small laugh when he saw her text. He was never sure if Elain was having cravings, or if she just used them as an excuse and this was how she ate normally. Since he had never known her before she was pregnant, he couldn’t quite say for sure. 

Thinking about Elain’s pregnancy, Azriel couldn’t help but think about how big Elain was. It was the one thing that put him on edge around Elain, how she looked like she could topple down at any moment and not get back up. He tried not to be overbearing and annoying, but he was always worried something would happen to her and the baby. He had spent more of his free time reading up about pregnancy than he would care to admit. He certainly understood why Nesta had refused to have sex for a week when he had watched a video of a woman giving birth. He definitely did not envy Elain for that. 

A knock on the door pulled Azriel from the swirling thoughts in his head. He opened the door, instantly smiling as Elain waddled in, still eating her prawn crackers. He couldn’t help but laugh as she eased herself onto the sofa, still eating. 

“Az, the baby likes the smell of whatever you’ve cooked today.” 

Azriel couldn’t help but blush at the casual use of his nickname. “Tell the baby thank you, I’m glad someone appreciates my cooking.” 

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[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 12 - Year 2: Summer

(ao3 link)

He was coming.

Dressed all in black and poised as a knight in glimmering darkness would be. His power was overwhelming: unforeseen before this day and age and nearly unstoppable. Nothing in his path would be saved. 

Friends, foes, strangers… All of them dead and not to the passion of yellow eyes of hatred, but hopeless and never-ending black lenses.

He would be their undoing. 

“If you are not with me… You are my enemy.” 

He snapped into full consciousness.

Other screams echoed down the hall from him, residual aftershocks from a recent admin to the highest security level of Azkaban. It was here that only the most vile prisoners existed- those that committed such atrocities that deemed them unworthy of ever seeing light ever again- not even by the means of a small window.

This, he concluded, was wise, because no space would be too small for him to worm his way through.

The dementors were coming.

What could they take from someone who never had anything?

Glowing yellow eyes bore into the wall across his cell, finding their focal point in a small newspaper cutout that billowed slightly in the ever-present wind that consistently raged through the prison. Over the ticking years of his capture, he learned that it was wise to always maintain focus- lest the physicality of the drains become too consuming. That was never to say it was pleasant, but he prided himself in never requiring positivity or happiness to thrive. 

Unlike many of the bottom-dwellers that filled the triangular structure in the middle of the North Sea, he knew he had a purpose. 

And that purpose had always been to stay hungry; so mind-numbingly starved that it was impossible to satisfy his appetite. He thrived in the sort of lust that was always searching, but never fulfilled in true. That was the mind of the hunter.

The impenetrable gate to his cell swung open, yet he remained seated patiently with crossed legs on the floor- back to his enemies- as he always did. He used to fight, because that’s what the hunter did: they fought. However, extended torture offered him something convenient: it offered him the perspective of the prey. 

He never had anything to give the dementors- no happiness or positivity of his own, leaving them often dry and unsatisfied from their routine visits to his block. This time, as the writhing flow of darkness and despair filled the space of his soul, finding corners and pockets once inhabited, he had to fight back a smile.

His imprisoners would call him crazy- driven to the brink at their own hand- and would laugh merrily at the mere thought of it, because he deserved what he got. But he knew above all else that they were fools for not killing him dead in the first place. Instead, they allowed his search of purpose to fester in the obscurity until grasping it with unyielding fingers. 

He dropped to the ground unceremoniously, gasping for breath and keeping his head down. He could get up. He could fight, but he learned something about hunger over his capture and that was the control of keeping it at bay. 

Their time would come.

His skin itched at the blissful thought of ripping them apart. 

After the shrouded floating embodiments of torture drifted down the hall to a more promising victim, he lifted his head to gaze up at that singular picture on his wall.

A boy smiled widely with a fluttering owl on his shoulder- full of life… hope… destiny. It was the picturesque sort of Daily Prophet image that foolish readers ate up in efforts to forget about the perils of their world. 

This boy was the one to fulfil the great ambitions of the Sith, to bring Salazar Slytherin’s true vision into place with complete superiority. It seemed impossible to see in such youth, but he didn’t doubt his master’s foresight for one moment. Sidious was always operating several steps ahead of everyone else. He had once believed that he was to be a crucial part of Sidious’ plans, but was cast aside like a worthless sea urchin. 

His stomach growled and he rose to his feet. 

“You should have killed me, master.” He said softly, never taking his eyes off the picture, feeling that pleasant swell of burning hatred coursing through his veins. It was so overwhelming that he almost laughed, but such a display would draw attention that he could not risk. 

He never had his own happiness, but was always ravenous for someone else’s. And with that, his purpose was renewed. 

He would take and take until there was nothing left of his master’s plan- until there was nothing left of this boy. 

Anakin Skywalker would soon find that Maul was not unlike a dementor. 

***

It was an uncharacteristically sunny day as young Anakin Skywalker raced across the street. Several paces back was his mother who managed to grab his arm and pull him back just in time to save him from an oncoming bicycle.

“Anakin, be careful,” She chided, guiding him rather purposely onto the sidewalk.

“I had it under control!” Anakin declared although his heart was still beating a little too fast. After all, Anakin and his mother weren’t normal pedestrians, they were wizards. What’s the worst that could happen to someone like them? Anakin may not know many spells yet, as he was only about to begin his second year. However, when he looked up at the faded sign dangling haphazardly above them, he knew where he could find much more skilled magic users if something were to happen.

“I’m beginning to wonder if I should accompany you after all,” His mother was looking down at him with concern.

“No, no! I’m old enough!” He stood a little straighter, maybe leaned forward on the tips of his toes a bit, “I’m already 12! All I have to get is a bunch of new books anyways, not like last time,” He bounced a little bit, eager at just the thought of what other sorts of wizard things he might get a chance to look at unsupervised, “And if anyone knows where to buy books, Obi-Wan does.”

“Well alright dear,” Shmi smiled as he staggered a little. She ran her fingers through his hair, likely trying to flatten it down as it was always rather unruly, “I suppose when I was your age I was allowed to traverse Diagon Alley by myself,” Anakin gazed up at her with curious eyes. His mother still never spoke much of her own time in the wizarding world, “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re too old for your dear mother,” He shook his head frantically, hugging her tightly around the waist.

“I’ll never be too old for you!” He admonished and she laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Off you go, Ani,” His mother sighed, but when he pulled away, she was giving him a firm look, “It would hardly be proper for you to be late,” He nodded in excitement before pulling open the door to the pub, but not without one last wave back.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was just as dim as last time. However, this time he felt a few pairs of eyes flicker towards him, whispers he couldn’t quite make out hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if they would be talking about how he was part of the group of students to oust Dooku, or about his status as the chosen one.

Either way he puffed his chest a little bit and walked through the room like he’d been there hundreds of times before. He tapped into the bricks in the back just as he’d practiced a dozen times before in his room and the wall melted before him. Bricks turned and fell until there was a good-sized hole in the wall. His mum had insisted they walk there, as Floo Powder was a luxury and she said she only kept some for emergencies. It didn’t bother Anakin as he was completely fine with reliving the charming experience that he’d first witnessed last year.

Not much had changed about Diagon Alley and he doubted it ever really did, like a time capsule. Older witches and wizards still walked around in ridiculous outfits while the young wore muggle clothes to seem more inconspicuous or school robes to break them in. Anakin had grown a little bit and was probably due to exchange his old robe for one of a bigger size, though his mother was sure he’d grow out of it again by the end of the year. Perhaps he could learn a spell to make clothes bigger, that would surely impress her.

“Anakin!” He turned and saw Rex Fett waving at him from in front of a little red shop on the right.

“Rex!” He ran over quickly and found himself in a chokehold alongside his best friend.

“There’s my star beater,” Cody greeted him before dropping the both of them, “I hope you’ve still got it because I’ve spent all summer planning the perfect comeback for Gryffindor!”

“That and running me ragged,” Rex complained, but he was grinning as he turned to Anakin in excitement, “Dad gave me money for my own broom!”

“That’s great!” Anakin, though happy for his friend, felt a little green with envy as he thought about the dusty old brooms at Hogwarts.

“I can’t wait to try out for the team, then we can beat the other houses together!”

“Sounds great!” Anakin nodded, “Do you-”

Before he could continue the wall to Diagon Alley opened again. Satine tucked her wand in her hair when her eyes landed on their little trio.

“Satine!” Cody pushed past the younger boys to crush his friend in a hug.

“Already visited the Quidditch store I see?” She smiled glancing around, “Ben’s not here yet?”

“Gotta make sure I’m up to date on all the new gear,” Cody stated as if he ever wouldn’t be, “Not yet, but I’m sure he’s just caught in Floo Powder traffic or something,” Anakin opened his mouth to ask about how such a thing would work anyways when something caught his eye. Turning, he watched as a shopkeeper pulled down the old broom displayed in the window.

“Oh no way,” Rex’s eyes lit up, “They weren’t supposed to come out with a new model until spring!”

“What’s this one?” Anakin followed Rex up to the window.

“Oh!” Cody pressed close to the glass, “This handle shape can really only mean it’s a Randolph Spudmore!” Rex nodded and Anakin looked at them in exasperation.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” He gazed down the length of the broom, it certainly looked impressive either way, but just what sort of differences could there really be between brooms.

“It has to be the Firebolt Supreme,” Cody gushed, “Rumored to fly up to 200 miles per hour, much faster than its predecessor, non-slip grip and impressive ironwork!”

“The Bulgarian Quidditch team already stated they wanted some before they were even announced,” Rex told him, “It’s supposed to be the smoothest broom experience ever, a potential game changer.”

“Wow,” Anakin felt like he was seeing the thing in an all new light, if this broom was that impressive it definitely felt like something he would love to ride, “Rex you should get this one!” Rex gave a startled laugh and looked at him like he’d grown antlers.

“This broom is going to cost an arm and a leg,” Rex shook his head, “No way that’s affordable for a school-aged kid.”

“I wish,” Cody said longingly, “Still, we’ll get ya something worth riding, Rexy. Maybe last year's Cleansweep model, or a Starsweeper. I’m quite partial to the Thunderbolt line myself.”

“Cody, you have a Comet 295,” Rex crossed his arms.

“Obsolete!” Cody waved a dismissive hand, “We gotta get you a broom that’ll last mate, they don’t grow on trees after all.”

“Well, they are made of wood,” Anakin pointed out and Rex laughed.

“Maybe we should make our own,” He suggested much to Cody’s look of annoyance, “It could be revolutionary.”

“Yeah ‘cause the next best broom is really gonna come from a couple 2nd years who barely know how to charm a teacup,” Cody huffed, “Broom making is an art-”

“We could call it the Skywalker,” Anakin continued for Rex, “Who knows, I am supposed to be all powerful, that might include making my own super broom.”

“Right mate,” Rex rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Obi-Wan when you need him,” Anakin gazed back at the Firebolt Supreme, “He’s rich, maybe he’s taking requests for Christmas presents.”

“Yeah, your Christmas present for the rest of your life maybe,” Cody crossed his arms, “In case you’ve forgotten he already had to get a new broom himself last year.”

“What’d he pick anyways?” Anakin asked.

“Nimbus line, 2005” Cody answered with a shrug, “He’s always had a Nimbus, figured he wouldn’t want to try anything else.”

They turned back to oogle the broom once more before sighing.

“I suppose we should save the fun shopping for last,” Rex lamented pulling the same list Anakin had received in the mail out of his pocket.

“Boo,” Cody complained, “But alright, why don’t you two run along and I’ll go hunt down my missing friends,” Anakin looked up to see that Satine was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she’d gone off in search of Obi-Wan in lieu of talking brooms. Anakin couldn’t really bring himself to care much about it, they’d surely all run into each other again.

***

“Diagon Alley,” Obi-Wan spoke in a firm, clear voice. Loud enough for the green flames before him to teleport him to his location, but soft enough that they wouldn’t echo throughout Kenobi mansion. His parents wouldn’t be too pleased if he interrupted them with his departure. The Floo network was second nature to him at this point in his life, although Satine, who had only gotten to try it once or twice, claimed it to be an odd out of body experience.

Obi-Wan deftly stepped out from the fireplace. Peering around, it seemed he had landed himself in the robes shop. Nodding towards the wizards measuring students for their new robes, he dusted himself off and stepped out on the cobblestone street. Despite what many would assume, he didn’t spend a great deal of time in Diagon Alley. There were other wizarding areas his mother used to take him shopping at, and it was really only once or twice a year he was able to come to Diagon Alley on his own account. It was such a great coincidence that he managed to plan such a trip when his friends would be there. Though he supposed his parents would be interested to hear that he met Anakin on his day out.

“There you are,” His heart leapt in his chest as he turned. It was Satine as expected, but there was something a little bit more elegant about her. Gone was any lankiness or lingering awkwardness, instead she looked exceptionally radiant in a way he hadn’t seen prior. It was rare indeed that he saw her dressed down to a casual muggle look and he tried desperately not to stare.

“Satine, it’s-”

“You’ve got a little something there,” She leaned into his personal bubble with practiced ease and scrubbed at his nose with her thumb, “Really now,” She stepped back as if admiring her work, “I’m disappointed that even someone as prim as you can’t manage the Floo Network without getting soot stained.”

“Prim? I think not,” He crossed his arms, “At least I know it’s best not to store my wand so haphazardly.”

“Really you don’t think it suits me?” She tipped her head to the side and he frowned.

“What suits you best is your head still attached to your shoulders,” Though the light brown shade of her wand did look rather beautiful in contrast to her blonde waves.

“Have you no faith of my magical control?” She countered.

“Even the most talented witch could accidentally cast a spell,” He chastised.

“Good to see you again too,” She rolled her eyes and tugged him gently by the arm as they started moving further down Diagon Alley.

“How’s your summer been?” He asked her, eager to hear what sorts of fun muggle activities she’d been privy to.

“Bo was off to camp again,” She shrugged when he winced, “Left a lot of time for me to catch up on my readings I suppose.”

“Did we not finish the summer’s readings prior to leaving Hogwarts?” He asked and she nodded.

“I’m talking about muggle readings,” She explained, “You know our dusty old wizard school can only teach us so much. I want to keep track of a little science knowledge, biology, and a little chemistry at least,” Such things Obi-Wan wasn’t privy to knowing about, but he committed to memory to ask her a million questions about it on the train.

“Surely you did more than just read over the summer?” Obi-Wan prompted and she glanced at him.

“That’s rather rich coming from you,” And he knew this would be the most she referenced his own summer vacation.

“I’m only curious,” He grinned innocently, “If you’d rather tell me about biology, I’m all ears,” Her cheeks had gone a little red for some reason.  He hoped they weren’t walking too fast.

“I did go on a short holiday with my mum,” She shrugged, “Nothing fancy just down to Brighton for the beaches,” She studied him a moment before nodding and continuing, “You would have liked it I’m sure, there were lots of quaint, little stores.”

“I’d love to see such a sight,” He was sure of it, even if he had no real visual to what Satine was talking about.

“There was this tall observation tower,” She tried to explain, “You ride an elevator up and can see 360 degrees. It feels like you can see for miles,” He nodded trying to figure out what such a structure would look like.

“Fascinating!” She looked at him with a small smile.

“Perhaps one day we could go together?” She suggested and Obi-Wan grinned at the thought.

“That would be rather wonderful. I’d love to travel.”

“But you’ve travelled,” Satine easily put him under scrutiny.

“A few times yes, but never anywhere really new,” He shrugged, “Wizarding towns are very similar, you know,” She nodded slowly, before looking into a shop window with not very well disguised disgust.

“What the bloody hell do wizards need an entire store revolving around jellied eels for?” She wrinkled her nose and he couldn’t help but laugh at her expression.

“An eel can be a delicacy, my dear,” Obi-Wan gestured towards a rather offending pie in the window, “Surely you’ve had a meat pie?”

“I’m not so sheltered,” Though she looked a little green as she stared into the beady dead eyes of the eels, “Though I’m pretty sure this is a crime against food.”

“You could say that,” A newcomer came up behind them and Obi-Wan turned with a smile.

“I thought you’d eat near anything, Cody,” He greeted and Cody shook his head.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at me,” He grimaced, “Have you ever eaten them?”

“I have,” He admitted and both of his friends took a step away from him, “Hey! No need to act like I’ve committed some crime.”

“I dunno mate,” Cody looked towards Satine.

“It should be,” Satine looked at him like he was some poor ill cat, “We’ll get you some real food one day.”

“I believe I’ve had plenty of real food,” He crossed his arms and Cody and Satine both shook their heads much to his chagrin.

“Eating the Great Hall out of sweets doesn’t really count.”

***

“Alright now we just have to find copies of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2,” Rex read off his list as Anakin juggled two stacks of books.

“We’re going to spend all this money on books we won’t even want to read,” Anakin complained as he tripped over his own feet and the books went sliding across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” Rex sighed, bending down to help Anakin pick them up.

“Hey what’s this?” Anakin picked up a faded and incredibly yellowed journal-styled book. Rex took it from him and inspected the front and back and then flipped through the pages.

“Doesn’t look like much, mate,” He shrugged, “It’s likely a magilingist’s journal,” At Anakin’s confused look he clarified as he tucked the book back into a shelf at random, “They travel around studying other languages of magic. There’s not much of a market for it, but there are usually a few copies created.”

“So there are different types of magic?” Anakin asked as he stood again, this time letting Rex carry his own stack.

“Yes and no,” Rex clarified, “There are debates about it, but all magic seems to connect at its core. There are different ways to use magic however. England sure isn’t the only country with magic.”

“So are there other magic schools?” Anakin asked as Rex beelined towards the charm’s textbooks.

“Yeah, Hogwarts has been known to do events with some of the European schools like Beauxbaton, which is in France,” Rex answered as he dropped the rather heavy grade 2 textbook into Anakin’s unexpecting arms.

“Oof!” Anakin wavered, but managed not to drop the books again, “Does the French school learn different spells then? Are they all in French?”

“I think they're Latin based like us,” Rex shrugged around his books, “If you’re so interested maybe you should buy that journal.”

“More reading? No thanks!” Anakin laughed, “I want to save any extra sickles for some sweets from Sugarplum’s.”

“Maybe save it for the trolley witch,” Rex suggested, “It’s a long train ride.”

***

“Ben, is this any good?” Satine held up what she could only assume to be some sort of Wizard romance novel.

“Do you really expect me to have read all these books already?” He asked her exasperated, but still he looked at the cover and cringed, “Get this one instead,” He pulled a different book from above his head and handed it down to her. It seemed to be a romance between a wizard and a mermaid if the cover art was to be trusted.

“It’s bad enough we have to buy textbooks,” Cody complained as he leaned against the shelf between them, “But why must we shop for additional books?”

“Because-” Satine began, but Cody didn’t even let her finish before groaning dramatically and sinking to the floor.

“Ok, ok! I know! But why am I here?” Satine looked down at him and tapped him lightly on the head with the novel.

“Because, we need someone who can reach the top shelf and it certainly isn’t going to be Ben.”

“Excuse me, I can reach!” Ben was looking at her with a rather offended expression, but there was something about his disposition that made her laugh. Maybe it was because he looked like the youngest professor ever with his sweater vest and slacks combo.

“You’re hardly going to be as tall as Qui-Gon,” She shrugged.

“Maybe I will!” He yanked out a book with more force than was necessary and almost stumbled backwards, “I’m certainly taller than you!”

“Yes, and?” Satine raised an eyebrow, “You’re still shorter than Cody.”

“Magic!” Ben spat out suddenly, “We’re wizards, we can use magic to reach the top shelf.”

“That’s a fair point actually,” Cody perked up, “So I’ll just leave and-”

“Don’t you dare,” Satine pointed a finger at him, “We’re almost done here. I don’t want to hunt you down again.”

“Hunt me down? You’re the one who left me to find him,” Cody jabbed a thumb at Ben.

“I didn’t want him to get lost!” Satine tried, her cheeks felt a little too warm so she turned swiftly and pulled another book at random.

“I’m certain, Mr. Pureblood here, is not about to get lost in Diagon Alley,” Cody teased.

“Certainly not,” Ben sided with Cody.

“Ok we’re done here,” Satine set off towards the register, “I’m in need of a butterbeer before we meet up with Anakin and Rex.”

“Why on earth would she think I’d be lost?” She overheard Ben murmur to Cody and she felt her cheeks practically glow as Cody responded.

“She didn’t, she just missed you,” Cody chuckled.

It took little time to check out and then books were deposited in their respective bags, all enchanted to hold many things and weigh almost nothing. The sun was edging towards late afternoon, but still shone brightly off the silver barrel of the butterbeer store.

“Oh, Satine look,” Ben pointed out with a smile, “I’ve never really noticed that it’s referencing the Fountain of Fair Fortune, just like our Halloween ensemble,” Satine was caught up in his expression and the sound of her rapidly beating heart. She found herself unable to respond for a couple seconds.

“Ah, yes, I- I’ve not noticed that before either,” She hid the stumble in her speech with a cough.

“It’s a much better connotation now,” Ben said and she felt Cody’s eyes flick between the two of them, “Since I know the real story.”

“Yes, no muggle murder here,” Satine tried to give him a smile rather than choke on her memories of that night.

“Quite excellent,” He pondered the sign once more, “Let’s go in shall we?”

***

“You got Butterbeer without us?” Rex was much more offended than Anakin, though he craved trying the famed drink.

“You weren’t around,” Cody shrugged as he drank the last bit of his before Rex could yank it from his hands.

“It’s still a little sweeter than I expect,” Satine commented, “I’m surprised every time.”

“It’s wonderful,” Obi-Wan looked extremely pleased at the thought, his own glass sat empty in front of him.

“That’s because of your incessant sweet tooth,” Satine complained though she slid the last bit of hers over to him anyways.

“There’s still time don’t you think?” Rex pleaded, “Can’t I get one to go?”

“Sorry little bro,” Cody shrugged, “Hevy expects us back in about 5 minutes and if we’re not there you know he’ll come searching. Plus we gotta stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies on the way out.”

“I must be off too,” Obi-Wan lamented. He finished off Satine’s drink as she watched him just a little too closely, “My parents do expect me to be home for dinner.”

“Don’t worry, Rex,” Anakin whispered, though maybe a little too loudly, “We’ll find a way when we get to school.”

“I rather hope you’re not planning to sneak into Hogsmeade in front of two prefects,” Obi-Wan frowned. Yes, he’d definitely whispered too loudly.

“Of course not, Obi-Wan,” Anakin gave him a very serious look, “I’d never break the rules.”

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” Cody laughed before standing up, “Well, Kenobi, Satine, I’ll see you lot on the train.”

“Likewise,” Obi-Wan stood nodding to Cody and Satine, before sticking Anakin with a stare, “Do be on time.”

“I’m not going to miss the train Obi-Wan,” Anakin rolled his eyes.

“See ya, Anakin!” Rex waved as they departed leaving Anakin alone with Satine.

“I suppose we should head out as well,” Satine nodded towards the wall as she stood.

“This place is so cool,” Anakin took one last look around, “I almost never want to leave!”

“I had the same feeling coming here the first few times,” A nostalgic look fell across her face, “I suppose in a way that feeling never leaves. It’s not the same way of seeing things as Ben or the Clones.”

Even if Anakin had grown up with such sights, he wasn’t sure he’d ever run out of things to look at. Still he watched the wall fall closed behind him with a sigh and followed Satine through the Leaky Cauldron. The customer base seemed to be growing as it reached sundown, but they paid him little mind, more interested in their drinks this go around.

“Ani,” His mum waved at him from the street corner just outside of the door. He ran to her with a smile, “Did you get all your things?” He nodded.

“Yep, I’m ready to go!” Grabbing his mum’s hand they set off.

[vannahfanfics]

Teenage Angst

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hitoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa

The taiga biome is the largest terrestrial biome, occupying large regions of Europe, North America, and Asia, often abutting tundras. These biomes are also known as coniferous forests or boreal forests. They experience short, wet summers and long, cold winters… 

Hitoshi threw his biology textbook across the library table with a snarl. The pages flapped in the air as the textbook somersaulted, and it landed face-down on the smooth wood with an almost depressing flop. Hitoshi’s lavender eyes regarded the educational tome with disdain, while it just sagged pathetically back. He wondered if the Hero Course students had to slog through boring lectures about global biomes and habitats, or if certain aspects of general education were omitted in favor of more practical hero-based education. 

He lightly slammed his forehead down on the table with a groan. He’d thought that making an upset in the school festival would entice the admission committee to reconsider his placement, but it seemed that he’d been overshadowed by the flashy members of Class 1-A. He pounded his forehead against the smooth wood several times, trying to beat the frustration out of himself. It just ate him alive, slaving away in the General Studies Course while what he desired most remained tantalizingly out of reach. 

He rolled his head so his cheek rested against the table and his lidded purple eyes stared at the book. Maybe I’m really not hero material, he thought, his lips twitching down into a frown. He thought that more often than he’d like to admit. He just couldn’t help but think that sometimes, perhaps as a defense mechanism to appease his sadness. If anything, it just made the frustration that much more potent. It roiled in his belly, slowly clawing away at his insides like a poison. 

“I see you’re absolutely riveted by your studies.” 

Hitoshi rolled his head the other way, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, to see Class 1-A’s instructor, Shota Aizawa, standing beside his table. His dark eyes were lidded as he stared at Hitoshi blankly, the lower half of his face hidden by the large coffee cup he was sipping from. His other hand was buried in the pocket of his baggy black jumpsuit, crinkled as he slouched lazily. 

“Well, you know,” Hitoshi grunted as he slowly forced himself to sit up, “I do so enjoy learning about boreal forests.” 

“Oof. Biology. What a bore,” the teacher huffed, the corners of his lips peeking around the cup as he scowled in distaste. 

He then walked to the end of the table to pick up the upended book, carefully smoothing down the creases and closing it before setting it down. He stared at the book for a moment before exhaling deeply, pulling out the chair opposite Hitoshi and sinking into it like he was exhausted. Hitoshi doubted he’d done anything of substance today, except maybe deal with the rowdy bunch in 1-A. Actually, that probably was exhausting. 

“So, let me guess… You are frustrated that your escapades during the school festival didn’t have the desired results, so now you can’t see any worth in your studies and are embroiled in teenage angst?” the teacher said, staring at Hitoshi with a blankly bored expression. Hitoshi grimaced at the strange way he uncannily voiced the source of Hitoshi’s foul mood. 

“A weird way to say it, but yes. How’d you know?” 

“I understand that reading about boreal forests is mind-numbingly boring, but I don’t think it necessarily prompts throwing a book across a table,” Eraserhead shrugged. He set his coffee cup down with a gentle thunk, then leaned forward, clasping his hands as he stared at Hitoshi levelly. “The bottom line is that you want to be a hero because you internalized all those comments about your Quirk and want to show the world that it can be used for good.” 

“Stop psychoanalyzing me. You’re too good at it,” Hitoshi frowned, squirming uncomfortably. Was it that obvious, how much ill content he possessed? Still, “teenage angst” was a strange way to put it. Then again, Eraserhead was a pretty strange dude, dozing in a sleeping bag and wriggling around like a worm while he sucked on baby’s applesauce packets… Seriously, who allowed the employment of this dude? 

“I’m not psychoanalyzing,” Eraserhead said, showing the first hint of emotion through the entire exchange in the form of a smirk. “People used to say the same thing about my Quirk.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. I got a lot of comments about how frightening it could be, rendering heroes powerless and allowing other villains the chance to gang up on them. As much as you try to brush it off, it gets under your skin after a while, and soon you start to even believe it.” 

Hitoshi sunk down in the chair, forehead furrowing into a frown. Maybe I’m really not hero material. He hated how often he thought that, how he believed it more every day. Anxiety began to prickle underneath his skin. Had Eraserhead come to tell him that too? Had he come to tell him that his Quirk was useless and he could never be a hero? A small tremor gripped his body, and he swallowed thickly, unable to look at the hero sitting across from him. He trained his gaze on the library table, tracing the patterns of the grain, round and round in circles. Was he getting dizzy, or simply nauseous with fear? 

“For the record, I don’t believe that your Quirk is only suited for villainy.” 

The cold sweat that had gripped Hitoshi dispelled in an instant. He whipped his head up with a small gasp to see Eraserhead smiling kindly at him, his dark eyes glittering with something like fondness. Hitoshi’s heart thrummed with hope, and he found himself leaning forward, eyes widening as he hoarsely whispered, “You don’t?” 

“No. It’s a unique Quirk, but with the right training and support equipment, I think it could definitely be polished into a very heroic Quirk indeed.” 

Hitoshi smiled shakily, tears beading in his eyes. He’d never really idolized Eraserhead or anything, but… having a bonafide hero telling him that his Quirk wasn’t evil, that he could be a hero, sent joy singing through his body. He shook in the wooden chair, tears dripping from his eyes to roll down his cheeks. They dropped down to a puddle on the library table, and for a second, Hitoshi felt a little embarrassed for crying. Eraserhead’s expression never changed, though. He just continued to smile softly, reassuringly. 

“I appreciate that,” Hitoshi said, gathering himself with a sharp inhale, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m in the General Studies Course. I can’t take the hero licensing exam, at least not now.” 

“That’s true,” Eraserhead said, leaning back in the chair and drumming his fingers on the table. “However, if you were to switch courses, you’d have all the avenues open to you.” 

“Is that possible?” Hitoshi gasped, practically jumping across the table in excitement; his belly dug into the edge of the table and his hands slapped down, scattering the tears that had puddled on its surface. 

“It’s uncommon, but that’s why we allow all the courses to participate in the school festival. Accepting forty students to the Hero Course per year forces us to exclude students with a lot of potential… The school festival gives such students a second chance,” Eraserhead explained. “As much as we like to keep the classes balanced, there have been instances where we invited students into the Hero Course in their second or third years.” 

It was then that Eraserhead smirked, and the look in his eyes made adrenaline surge through Hitoshi’s body. Did this mean…? 

“I was impressed by your performance in the school festival. It’s no small feat to fight your way to the one-on-one battles, and you put up an impressive fight against Izuku Midoriya, who’s no slouch, especially in the combat department. As such, I’ve approached the administration about possibly transferring you to the Hero Course next year,” the teacher revealed. “It’s been approved.”

Hitoshi’s breath left him in a long, shaky exhale, deflating him like a balloon. He flopped back against the chair, body shaking and making the wood rattle against the floor. He clenched and unclenched his fingers in the fabric of his uniform pants, scratching into the skin of his thighs. The dull pain bled through the shock, but he didn’t wake. This wasn’t a dream. Eraserhead really just told him that he would be going to the Hero Course. 

“I…” Hitoshi started, but there really were no words for the sheer elation and triumph he was feeling. His lavender lashes fluttered, causing more tears to drip down onto his cheeks. “I don’t… I’m…” He blushed in embarrassment, hiding his face with his hands and rubbing at his teary eyes with the heels of his palms. “Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” Eraserhead chuckled in amusement. “I can only imagine how gratifying it is.” 

He allowed Hitoshi to gather his thoughts for a moment; the boy closed his eyes, taking very deep breaths to squash down the overwhelming happiness. He still couldn’t keep the giddy smile from playing over his lips. 

“Now, don’t think that you can just waltz right in,” Eraserhead warned when Hitoshi finally looked back to him. “Your peers will be leagues ahead of you as far as combat ability and tactical sense. For the rest of the semester, you’ll be training directly under me to hone your skills.” 

When Hitoshi raised his eyebrows in shock, the hero’s smirk widened. 

“We thought this would be best given the versatility of your Quirk as well as… personality attributes.” Now that Hitoshi thought about it, he did vibe well with Eraserhead. They even kind of looked alike, with the messy hair, sleepy gaze, and perpetually bored look. Ugh, does that mean in twenty years I’ll be shirking my work to lounge in a sleeping bag and living on coffee and baby’s applesauce packets? I’m not sure I like this. As he internally berated the teacher, Eraserhead picked up on his attention lapse and rapped his knuckles against the table. 

“Following your training, we will hold a joint training activity between Class 1-A and 1-B, in which you’ll participate. This will see which class you build the most rapport with and how easily you can integrate into their rhythm, which will determine which class we place you into next year.” Shinso scowled at that; he didn’t exactly want to make friends, but cooperation was a necessity in hero work, so it supposed it couldn’t be helped. 

“Does all of that make sense to you?” Eraserhead asked, and Hitoshi nodded. 

“Yes. I’m incredibly grateful, Eraserhead… You really stuck your neck out for me,” the purple-haired boy smiled gratefully. The pro hero turned a little pink and shyly rubbed the back of his neck, looking down into his coffee cup with a faint smile. 

“Like I said… I’ve been where you’ve been, and I thought you had potential. It made sense to advocate on your behalf after watching you in the festival. Besides, it didn’t take much convincing. It isn’t often that a General Studies student makes it so far against the Hero Course students,” he said, a hint of pride bleeding into his voice. His expression then hardened. “We’ll start tomorrow afternoon. It’ll be hard, so be ready.” 

“Of course. I’m no slouch either,” Hitoshi smirked, echoing his previous praise of Izuku. Eraserhead smirked, tapping the table twice before standing. He sipped at his coffee, then grimaced. 

“I need more espresso if I’m going to make it through the afternoon,” he grumbled as he sauntered away. Hitoshi chuckled, shaking his head. Eraserhead’s blood was probably coffee at this point. 

Hitoshi sat there for a moment, basking in the gift he’d just been given. He would be joining the Hero Course. He was going to be a hero. That giddy smile stayed on his lips, making his facial muscles burn a little, but he was too euphoric to really make note of it. He was going to be a hero! 

His gaze dropped to the biology textbook still resting at the other end of the table. His smile took a wan turn as he reached out, dragging it across the wood toward him. It’s true he would join the Hero Course eventually, but he supposed he needed to pass the classes he was in now, “teenage angst” and all. It was a drag, but it was a bit more tolerable knowing that better pastures were just around the bend…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[kelseaaa]

Together with the Sundown

Day Three: Precipice

Part 4/4 | Masterlist

Pairing: Lieutenant Oliver Cochrane x f!MC (Abigail Bellamy)

Word Count: 10,707 (oof I know)

Warnings: nsfw ;)

Series Summary:  This story takes place on Lieutenant Oliver’s ship just after he saves the Poseidon’s Revenge’s crew from the island and before they get to Port Monarque in Chapter 13. Since the book says that it takes a few days to get to the port, I wanted to expand on what might happen on the ship between Oliver, MC and the crew. I headcanon that it took them three full sea days to arrive at the port and this story will give insight on what might have happened, specifically between Oliver and MC.

~~~~~

Tagging:  @jaxsmutsuo​, @krishu213​, @greedy-choices, @imrookieramsey, @choicesficwriterscreations​

~~~~~

Abigail could count every hangover she’d ever had on one hand. And out of all those times, this one was the absolute worst.

She tried to squeeze her eyes shut tight as the sunshine filtered in through the tiny porthole window. When that didn’t work, Abigail rolled over in the bed to face the cabin wall, hoping that would be enough to block out the hellish rays that beamed into the room. But when that failed, she shoved her head under her pillow, and for a moment, that seemed to help.

But then someone knocked on her door - loud. Or maybe it was just an ordinary knock, but in Abigail’s hungover state, it sounds like a cannon shot repeatedly directly next to her ear.

Abigail groaned then pulled the pillow tighter against her face. She decided to ignore the asshole at the door and hoped they would take the hint and walk away.

Knock knock.

She clenched her jaw but didn’t move. She wasn’t going to give in that easy. After a few seconds, she finally started to relax again and willed her body to sleep.

Knock knock knock!

“Oh, for the love of!”

Abigail flung the pillow across the cabin then untangled herself from the bedding. Preparing to berate whoever was on the other side, she swiftly strode across the room and threw open the door. 

“What?” Abigail asked through gritted teeth.

“Well, good mornin’ to you, too, love.”

Abigail winced at the cheery tone from the Quartermaster, who was standing just outside the door. Charlie smiled then took a bite from the apple in her hand before pushing past Abigail and walking into the room. Abigail blinked once, twice, then finally closed the door and made her way back to her bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Charlie questioned as Abigail tried to bury herself under the covers. She had given up on retrieving the pillow - it was too far.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Abigail questioned back, turning over so her back was now to her pirate friend.

Abigail could hear the huff come from the woman behind her. Then the sound of boots walking closer to the bed before the blanket was seized from her body.

“Charlie!” Abigail yelped. She sat up in the bed - too fast which made her head swim - and glared at her friend. Charlie merely smirked, then took another bite out of the red fruit.

“Sorry, love, but ‘tis time you get up. Can’t have you loungin’ ‘round all day while us hard workers toil away.”

Abigail wanted to scream. But the thought of any further loud noise just made her cranium throb further.

“Here, drink this,” Charlie said, pulling a flask out of one of her hidden pockets.

Abigail nearly gagged at the sight of the thing. “No way. I’m never drinking again.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Yer loss,” she replied before taking a sip from her flask.

“How can you even drink this early?”

“I’m a pirate, Abigail,” Charlie answered as if her response didn’t require further explanation. Abigail was so tired and achy and annoyed that she didn’t bother to question it further. “Now come on, get dressed. Let’s go start the day,” Charlie said as she tucked the flask away and took a few more bites of her apple.

At that, Abigail looked down and realized she was dressed only in her undergarments. She was embarrassed for a brief moment, but between the pounding headache and her dry mouth, she decided she didn’t care. Though her body resisted at first, eventually Abigail crawled out of bed again and she grabbed her clothes. She got dressed then followed Charlie out of her cabin.

“Where did you get that?” Abigail asked Charlie as she gestured to the apple in her hand.

“Henry had a few of ‘em stashed back in the galley,” Charlie replied. “He was movin’ a bit slow today so I was able to snatch one. I’ll get another one for ye.”

Abigail nodded, “thanks.”

The pair reached the top deck of The Intrepid and Abigail had to cover her eyes with her arm. The sun, which was well high in the sky and blisteringly hot, bore down on her skin. Abigail wondered if jumping overboard would be a better fate than facing the world today.

Also, everything above-deck was loud. Mind-numbingly loud. A jump into the ocean sounded better and better by the minute.

Charlie took off for the galley as Abigail made her way over to Axton and Maggie. Abigail was surprised at how jovial the pair seemed. Had she been the only one to get truly hammered the night before?

“Mornin’, Abigail!” the two other pirates greeted.

Abigail winced. “How are you all so damn cheerful today?”

Maggie’s smile faltered. “What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her tone to something more soothing.

“It’s nothing,” Abigail lied. “I could sure go for some Tylenol right about now, though.”

Axton and Maggie exchanged a befuddled look between each other before turning back to Abigail with confused expressions.

Abigail sighed. “Nevermind.”

Before either of them could speak further, Charlie sauntered up and shoved a bright red apple into Abigail’s hand. “Here you go, love.”

Abigail shot her an appreciative smile then took a bite of the delicious fruit. She hummed to herself as she took several more bites.

“So,” Maggie began, “any word from the Lieutenant?”

Abigail swallowed the bit of apple left in her mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Hasn’t been out his cabin all mornin’,” Axton replied nonchalantly. “His men say that he was still sleeping when they checked earlier.”

“Look at that, you might have found your equal,” Charlie jested, jabbing her elbow into Abigail’s side. Abigail rolled her eyes - which hurt... a lot - and continued to eat her apple without a word.

“Maybe you should check on him, Abigail?” Maggie suggested with a sly grin. “You two seemed pretty chummy when ye left last night.”

Abigail was sure her face had turned the exact same shade as the fruit in her hand. Her memories were a bit hazy, but she could vaguely remember how close she and Oliver had been while sitting in the mess hall the previous night. She could remember the look he had given her. Remembered grabbing his hand.

Her cheeks only darkened further.

“Were we that obvious?” Abigail asked. To her chagrin, all three other companions nodded their heads. “Well, guess I’ll go wake him up, then,” she replied before taking one last bite of her apple and throwing it over the rail of the ship. Somehow in her state of stupor she was feeling surprisingly bold.

Without another word, Abigail turned away from her friends and made her way to the Lieutenant’s sleeping quarters. She stood outside the door and debated whether to knock or to just go inside, deciding on the latter.

The lanterns were off but the sun still streamed in from the windows, illuminating most of the room. It was quiet, save for the small snores coming from the man lying in bed. Abigail silently made her way to the bed where Oliver was fast asleep.

The first thing she noticed was his hair. His blonde locks were out of his usual bun and were now cascading all around his face, neck and pillow. His lips were parted just slightly. He looked peaceful. Angelic. Perfect.

Her eyes roved down his body, taking in the bandage that was now loosely wrapped around his waist. She frowned when she saw the dried blood around the area where the wound was. 

She continued to assess his sleeping form, her eyes traveling further and further. Her eyes stopped just as she saw the spot where his hips met the blanket. She felt her cheeks flush with warmth and had to push out the depraved thoughts filling her mind at that moment.

Without thinking, Abigail sat on the edge of his bed. She reached her hand out and gently pushed back several strands of hair. Then she ran her fingers down his cheek to his jaw.

She wondered if she could stop time right then and there. If she could be frozen forever in this moment. Forever with him.

But then he stirred, making Abigail instinctively pull her hand back. She watched as Oliver slowly blinked his eyes a few times, adjusting to the light. She could see his body tense as he realized someone was there, but then he relaxed once his eyes met hers.

“Abigail?” Oliver’s voice was still husky with sleep. He rubbed his eyes and yawned then winced in pain as he tried to sit up.

“Hey, careful,” Abigail’s voice was soft and nurturing as she leaned over to help him up. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” he answered through a hoarse laugh. He finally sat up enough to prop his back against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, this ship can’t very well run without its captain,” Abigail joked as she turned to face him more.

Tilting his head back against the wood, Oliver hummed thoughtfully before closing his eyes. “You don’t want to take over for me then?” he asked, his face neutral.

“I can’t tell if that’s a joke or not,” she said as she furrowed her brows. Oliver simply smiled, causing Abigail to roll her eyes. “Well, either way, you should get up.”

Abigail stood from the bed and made her way over to the pitcher of water. She grabbed some clean cloth before sitting on the bed again. Oliver opened one of his eyes and glanced sideways at her. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Cleaning your wound,” she said resolutely. “Now lift your arms so I can remove the bandages.”

Oliver complied, holding his arms up so Abigail could work on taking off the soiled bandages. Once they were removed, she tossed them aside then inspected the cut. She breathed a sigh of relief as she realized it was mostly healed over and didn’t look to be infected. She grabbed the cloth and dipped it into the water before wringing out the excess.

“This is probably-”

“Going to sting?” Oliver said with a smirk as he finished her sentence. “Don’t worry, I trust you.”

Abigail gave him a warm smile before pressing the wet cloth to his skin. He didn’t jerk but she could feel his muscles constricting below her touch. She wiped away any remaining dried blood until all that was left was the laceration.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” she asked him as she cleaned her hands with the remaining water and put the pitcher and soiled cloth away on his shelf.

Oliver raised his brow. “The good first.”

“Okay,” she began, sitting back down on the bed to face him, “It looks to be healing well and you shouldn’t need any more bandages.”

“That is good,” Oliver agreed as he looked down at the wound. “Now, the bad?”

Abigail looked at the wound then back up to Oliver’s face. “You’re going to have a real nasty scar.”

Oliver chuckled then reached out and grabbed Abigail’s hand. He laced his fingers with hers and smiled. “Now I’ll always have a piece of you with me,” he replied. His voice was so sweet and tender that Abigail thought she would melt into a puddle right then and there.

“Now then,” Oliver began as he rubbed his thumb along the inside of her wrist, “how are you, today?”

It was as if Abigail had forgotten all about her pounding headache until that moment. Now that the attention was on her, the pain was back in full force. “I’ve been better,” she admitted.

Oliver frowned. “What’s the matter?”

She laughed lightly to herself. “I had way too much to drink last night,” she said, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. 

“Ah, yes, I know the feeling,” Oliver chuckled. “Why don’t you get some rest?” 

Abigail shook her head. “No, it’s alright. I should get out there and face the day.”

Oliver smiled then pulled her hand to his lips and placed a few kisses on her knuckles. Abigail returned the smile then gingerly unclasped their hands and stood from the bed. She started to walk towards the door then turned around when she didn’t hear him move.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

Oliver gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ll meet you out there,” he answered but when she didn’t budge, he sighed. “I need to get dressed,” he said, motioning to his body while looking at his Navy uniform that sat on his desk.

Abigail’s eyes wandered to the neatly folded pile of clothes. She felt her face burn and eyes widen with realization. “Oh,” she stammered out, then turned so she was looking away from him. “I won’t look.”

She heard him laugh then shift and stand from the bed. Then she heard his footsteps and the rustling of clothes behind her. A few moments later she felt his hand slide along her lower back.

“Ready?” he asked. His lips were right by her ear and his voice was low. It sent a shiver down her spine. She nodded her head in response and together they made their way out of his cabin and into the waiting sun beyond.

~~~~~

“How was your evening?” Abigail asked Adelia as they made their way into the mess hall for supper.

Adelia had been missing for the majority of the day. Once she finally made her way out onto the deck, she had been less than helpful. It normally took her only a few minutes to jump up to the sails and work the rigging, but it took her nearly thirty minutes just to climb up the mast. She had a look as if she was floating on air. Her mind obviously somewhere else.

Even now, as Abigail and Adelia walked into the mess hall, Abigail could tell that her friend was not paying attention. She repeated her question, which was ignored again as Adelia’s eyes lit up at the sight of Officer Alvarez sitting alone at one of the tables. Without a word, Adelia made a beeline to the Navy man, leaving Abigail standing by herself in the center of the mess hall.

“Good chat,” Abigail mused to herself.

She rolled her eyes then made her way to the galley to grab her dinner rations for the evening. “Hello, Henry,” Abigail greeted the old pirate as she took a plate of salted meat from him. They had run out of hardtack biscuits and leavened bread that morning. Thankfully they should be docking in Port Monarque the following morning to resupply and hopefully end this with the Admiral.

“Evenin’, lass,” Henry grunted, barely taking his eyes away from the smooth stone he was using to sharpen his hook.

She gave him a small smile then turned away with her food. She looked around the hall, looking for the one person she really wanted to sit with. It felt like being in the high school cafeteria all over again, trying to find a familiar face to sit with. She shuddered at the thought alone. She wasn’t ready to relive any of those memories.

Abigail frowned once she realized that he wasn’t there with them. Instead, she saw an open spot with Jonas, Ginny and Axton, and decided to join them.

“‘Ello, Abigail!” Ginny greeted her with a big grin.

The rest of the table welcomed her as she sat down. As she ate her food, they each started to talk about their day which eventually evolved into their plans for tomorrow once they finally reached land.

“As soon as we reach the port, I’m headin’ to the closest tavern to get me a real meal,” Axton said while pushing his untouched plate of meat away from himself. 

“You should be grateful ye even have somethin’ to fill yer stomach, lad,” Jonas argued, “When I was yer age I’d go weeks without food.”

As the two men started to bicker, Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to face Abigail. “Men,” the little pirate said with disdain. Abigail nodded her head and together they both laughed, breaking the men out of their argument.

“What?” Axton questioned, confusion written over his face. Abigail and Ginny only laughed more.

Ignoring his question, Abigail reached out and grabbed Axton’s plate. “Are you done?” she asked, motioning to the still full plate. Axton nodded his head and Abigail stood up from the table. She said her goodbyes and made her way out of the mess hall and up to the quarterdeck, plate in hand.

“Well isn’t this a lovely surprise,” Oliver said as he caught sight of her walking up the steps. He stood tall and proud against the helm. He looked so perfect - so right - holding onto the wheel. It made the butterflies in her stomach flutter impossibly hard.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” Abigail greeted as she made her way over to the helm. “I thought I’d find you here. I brought supper.” She thrusted the plate of rations his way.

He looked away from the sea in front of him to look down at the plate. Slowly his eyes wandered up to her face. “Thank you, Abigail. But I can’t exactly take my hands off the wheel.”

Abigail gave him a demure smile. “I could feed you?” She offered and she relished in the laugh that escaped his lips at that.

“That’s not necessary,” he countered, though she didn’t miss how his face flushed at her comment.

“Fine,” she relented, “then let me take over the wheel.”

He looked like he was about to argue again but she silenced him but ducking down under his arm and squeezing into the space between his body and the wheel. She stood firmly between his arms, facing him with her back to the helm. She watched him swallow, his throat bobbing ever so slowly.

“I insist,” she said, pushing the plate his way again. Finally, he let go of the wheel, his fingertips brushing against her sides, as he moved to grab the plate from her hands. She smiled triumphantly as she turned to take the helm for him. “That wasn’t so hard?” she chided.

“No,” he began as he stepped away to lean against the rail next to the helm, “I suppose it wasn’t.”

As he ate, the two filled each other in on what they had done that day after they had parted ways. Oliver asked how she was feeling and Abigail was happy to say she felt much better. She wouldn’t admit it, but being out in the sun and working hard might have just been the best hangover cure she had ever heard of.

“I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better,” he said as he finished the last bite of his meal.

“And how are you?” she asked, glancing over to his ribs. The familiar feeling of dread crept into her mind but she quickly pushed it out when he smiled at her.

“Fantastic,” he said without contempt, “I had an excellent doctor.”

She rolled her eyes but her heart hammered in her chest at the look he gave her. It was full of care and affection and maybe even…

No, she wasn’t ready for that yet. They weren’t ready for that yet.

The sound of him clearing his throat knocked her from those thoughts. She welcomed the reprieve and focused her attention on him. She watched as he set the now empty plate down on a nearby barrel and turned back to her.

“Would you join me? Tonight after Alvarez relieves me?” Oliver asked. She was surprised that he actually seemed nervous.

Abigail gave him a warm smile. “Of course. Our usual spot?”

“Actually,” Oliver began. She could see the twinkle in his eyes which only made her heart pound rapidly in her chest. “I was hoping you would meet me in my cabin. I would like to show you something.”

She was intrigued, wondering what he could possibly want to show her. “I would love to.”

He beamed at her then walked around so he now stood behind her. “Wonderful.”

His hands made their way to her hips and her skin burned with his touch. It sent a thrill down her spine and she leaned back into his chest. “Is this fine?” he asked and Abigail could only nod in response.

They stayed that way for a while as a comfortable silence fell between them. His fingers drummed across her skin as if he was playing along to some old sea shanty that was stuck in his head. She wondered, if she tried hard enough, listened long enough, if she could understand the melody he was playing against her skin.

All worries about the Admiral and Robert seemed to dissipate. With the ship’s wheel in her hands and her body nestled in Oliver’s arms, everything else felt like a distant memory. One that she hoped she would never remember. But then...

“Miss Bellamy!”

That was until she heard the unmistakable voice of the Poseidon’s Revenge’s captain belt out her name from below the quarterdeck. She felt the warmth of Oliver’s hands and chest disappear from her body and she silently cursed herself for missing it so much already.

She turned her head slightly to face Oliver who was now coming beside her to grip the wheel. “Go, I’ve got it,” he said.

“Fine,” she replied, reluctantly letting go of the wheel to let Oliver stand in her place.

As she started to walk away she heard him call out to her, “I’ll see you in an hour’s time?” Though he tried to look stoic and professional, she heard the underlying excitement in his voice.

She smiled and gave him a curt nod before making her way down the steps to the top deck. She walked over to Edward who was standing near the mast. He seemed distant, not all there, which concerned her. “Yes, Captain?”

“Walk with me,” was his only response.

Edward didn’t say another word before he turned and made his way down the steps towards the gundeck. Abigail looked back up to Oliver at the helm. He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. She gave him a brief wave and then made her way below deck.

“So, what are we doing down here?” she finally asked once she had caught up to the captain.

Edward was standing near one of the many cannons that faced out to sea. His fingers slowly grazed over the brass material. He was quiet, which wasn’t unusual. But for some reason, Abigail couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever purpose he had called her down here, it would not be good.

He continued to run his hand upon the giant weapon as he spoke, not bothering to even face her. “Do you remember what I said to you? Back on the island?”

Abigail knitted her brows and she thought back to their harrowing time on the wretched island before they were rescued by Oliver. “You said many things, Edward. You’ll have to be more specific.”

She tried to play off how nervous she was actually feeling. She knew the man could be gruff and hard, but she had never really been afraid of him. Save for maybe the first time she saw him fighting on the Admiral’s ship.

Finally, Edward turned to face her. His face was cold, unreadable. “I had asked if you were letting your heart influence your head,” he reminded her.

The crease in her brow only furrowed further. “What are you going on about?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Miss Bellamy,” he retorted, his expression turning more irate by the second. “Need I remind you that we are on a mission?”

She could feel the blood in her veins start to boil. She knew what he was accusing her of. And it was bullshit. “You do not need to remind me of anything. I am well aware of this mission and what’s at stake here.”

“Could have fooled me,” he mumbled under her breath. But she heard it. And she was furious.

“This is about Oliver, isn’t it?” she asked. By his silence, she knew she was right. “I don’t see you berating Adelia!” She felt awful for throwing her friend under the bus like that, but she wasn’t going to put up with Edward’s double standard.

Edward wiped his hand over his face. He let out an exasperated sigh before pacing up and down the wooden deck. “That’s different.”

“How?” she exclaimed, raising her hands up in question.

“It… It just is!” he countered, his voice rising several octaves. “Adelia isn’t the reason we’re chasing after the damn Admiral. I can’t have you losing focus now that we’re so close!”

Abigail inhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes. She dug her fingernail into the palms of her hands, taking several steps forward until she was right in Edward’s face. She was angry - livid - and about to combust.

“Don’t even think you can pin this all on me,” she punctuated her sentence with a jab to his chest. “Whatever you’re feeling, or not feeling, you just need to get over it.” Another jab. “Just because I care for Oliver, does not mean I will let anything interfere with our mission.” This time she used her whole hand to push him back. He staggered, the back of his legs hitting a cannon but he stayed upright.

“Abigail...”

“No! You don’t get to say my name,” she protested. “I’m going to go back out there and we’re going to pretend that this little spat never happened. You’re going to get over whatever issue you thought you had between Oliver and me.”

She turned on her heels and made her way over to the step. Just before she ascended the staircase, she turned back around to face her captain. He was still back against the cannon. His expression was grave but also surprised - defeated. She frowned before adding, “Don’t let your heart influence you, Edward.”

And with that she went back upstairs, leaving Edward alone.

~~~~~ 

When Abigail made it to her cabin, she finally broke down. The tears flowed freely as she buried her face into her pillow. She wasn’t just feeling hurt or sad. She was furious. So angry that all her emotions came rushing to the forefront so she let herself sob openly.

After a while, her sobs slowly changed to sniffles until her tears seemed to stop entirely. All that remained was her damp pillow and the feel of salt on her cheeks. She hated that Edward’s words had gotten to her. She hated how he made her feel weak. She hated the fact that maybe he was right.

Abigail quickly shook that thought from her mind.

No. She would not give in that easily.

She stood from the bed and made her way to the metal mirror that hung from the wall. She wiped away any remaining tears, determined to not show any sign of her weakness. Then she unworked the braid from her long hair, letting the waves and curls cascade down her back and shoulders. She grabbed her brown belt from the floor and wrapped it around her waist.

With one final nod to herself in the mirror, Abigail turned around and made her way out of the cabin and towards Oliver’s quarters. As she sauntered across the deck, she waved at the remaining crew that was milling about. She stopped and talked to Maggie and Kendrick who were going on and on about rope tying techniques. After a few minutes, Abigail broke away from them and continued on. She glanced up at the helm where Officer Alvarez was trying to focus while Adelia hung all over him.

“Hey! Make sure we don’t crash, please!” Abigail yelled at the two though she was smiling the whole time. Alvarez waved sheepishly and Adelia gave a mock salute before wrapping her arms around the officer again. Abigail rolled her eyes and continued walking.

She knocked three times on Oliver’s door and waited with her hands behind her back. A moment later the door swung open and Oliver stood in the doorway. His eyes lit up the moment they landed on hers and Abigail instantly forgot all about her worries and her argument with Edward.

“Good evenin’, Miss Bellamy,” he greeted with a bow.

Abigail couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her lips. “Evening, Lieutenant.” She jokingly held out her hand to him which he deftly took, brushed his lips along her knuckles, and gave her a warm smile.

“Please, come in,” he said, stepping back from the door to allow her to walk inside.

“So, what is it that you wanted to show me?” Abigail asked once the door was closed.

Oliver smiled and walked over to the other door in the room that was set between the two windows. He opened it and gestured for her to follow him. Soon, she was stepping onto a small balcony that jutted out from the back of the ship. It was as long as the stern but only wide enough for two people to stand side-by-side. From the railing, there was an unobstructed view of the ocean and the sky stretched out over the horizon.

The sun was dipping low before the ocean. The sky was painted a multitude of colors. Rich purples and pinks dotted with white specs as stars started to twinkle high above them. Warm golds and oranges radiated on top of the water. It was stunning, breathtaking.

Abigail’s lips parted in amazement. “Wow.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice a mere murmur against the loud crashing of waves below them.

Abigail broke her gaze from the view to look up at Oliver who was already staring at her. His eyes held an almost boyish gleam and his smile - that damn smile - made her stomach do somersaults. The gentle breeze wafting from the water’s surface tousled his hair just so making her breath catch in her throat. Just the sight of him left her reeling.

And when the words escaped her, all she was able to do was nod her head to his question. All she could think about was how she absolutely liked it. How she adored it. How she simply loved it. Though she wasn’t sure if she was thinking of the view anymore.

After a few minutes of staring out behind the ship in comfortable silence, Oliver finally spoke up again. “I suppose this is technically the last leg of our tour.”

Abigail chuckled. “I knew you were holding out on me.” Oliver returned the laugh and Abigail relished in the warmth she felt when he moved his body closer to hers.

“To be fair,” he began, his fingers drumming against the wooden rail, “I’ve never actually brought anyone out here. Even my own men have never set foot on it.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

He was silent. For a moment, Abigail worried that maybe she had asked too much. Maybe she had misread all the signs of the past few days. Maybe he was just being nice. That he didn’t actually care. She was making herself dizzy with all the speculation and doubt that she almost missed when he cleared his throat and spoke again.

“This place is special to me,” he spoke with conviction. “It’s where I do my best strategizing. Where I come to calm down after an especially harrowing day. It’s where I come to think.” Another beat of silence and through the corner of her eye, Abigail could see that he was staring at her, though she didn’t dare to look at him right now. He continued, “It’s… it’s the first place I came after I met you.”

His voice was so soft - so sincere. Her chest felt so tight as she listened to his words. She finally tore her eyes away from the sea, just to get lost in his.

She wanted him to continue. Wanted to ask him question after question but her tongue, lips and mouth stopped working. Thankfully he must have known - the mind reader that he apparently was - and spoke up again. She silently sighed in relief.

“I was torn, that day. After I met you in that tiny port town. After I learned who you were. I had never been so confused and angry.” He paused and closed his eyes. Still, she didn’t speak, and silently waited until he continued. He exhaled slowly then opened his eyes and spoke again. “I was angry at myself. Angry at the situation. Angry that I had to follow my orders and chase down the pirate ship that held the woman who had so clearly stolen my heart.”

She finally found her voice, only able to croak out a near-silent ‘Oliver’ at his admission. 

He wasn’t done yet, though. “Abigail, I need you to know, before whatever happens tomorrow - before we reach port and we find my father - that I care a great deal for you.” She felt his hand rest against her cheek and he slowly turned her head to face him head on. 

“I… I’ve always been the man that got everything he wanted,” he said. There was so much tenderness in his voice that Abigail had to steady herself against the rail for fear of falling over. “It comes with the status and all. But... if you tell me right now that you don’t want this - want me - then I will honor your wish.” His thumb swiped along her skin. “I’m just happy to have met you, Abigail Bellamy.”

Abigail’s heart strained heavily against her ribcage and it took every ounce of strength to not let her legs buckled beneath her. She wasn’t sure what tomorrow held. She wasn’t sure what the days that followed would bestow upon them, either. And she certainly didn’t know what the future would look like for her now. But none of that mattered right now. At that moment, she only knew one thing for certain.

“I want you,” she admitted without hesitation. “Oliver, it’s always been you. Before I even knew you, truly knew you, I wanted - needed - you.”

And when he smiled again, she knew that every single barrier and wall she built inside her were gone and destroyed. Hopefully never to be risen again.

“Abigail…” The hand he held to her cheek slowly snaked around, finding its way to the nape of her neck. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled her towards him until their foreheads rested against each other. “Tell me again.”

“I want you,” she repeated more confidently than before.

His breath tickled her nose as he spoke again. “Tell me.”

“I need you, Oliver.”

The hand at the back of her neck tightened slightly, as his head pressed harder against her. His eyes were closed, but hers were trained to his lashes, his nose, his lips.

The words out of his mouth were so low - so quiet - she almost missed them. “May I kiss you?”

Instead of answering with words, Abigail leaned in slowly - tentatively. Only when her lips finally brushed against his did she close her eyes. She heard a soft, strangled sigh come from the back of his throat as their lips met. This kiss was sickening sweet, a stark contrast from the first one that they shared in Tiburon. His lips were soft against hers, only growing harder and more needy as time moved around them.

His free hand found purchase on her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric. She traced her hands up his chest where they rested against his thundering heartbeat. Her exposed skin was cool from the ocean spray below, but she was warm all over from his touch and his lips and just him.

Abigail needed to breathe. She tried to inhale through her nose but her senses were filled with leather and salt and skin. It was intoxicating and all too much. Her head spun and she reluctantly pulled her lips away from his. They both gasped for air as she opened her eyes to see he was already staring at her with eyes half-lidded. They untangled their hands from each other though stood only inches apart.

As Abigail’s chest heaved with heavy breaths, she racked her brain to find something - anything - to say to him. She wanted to convey the exact words and feelings she really held for the man in front of her. The noble Lieutenant that somehow stole her heart, as well. So she said the only thing that came to mind. The only thing she could say to prove how much she cared for him.

“Oliver... Kiss me again.”

And in seconds his hands captured her face and his lips crashed - like the unrelenting waves below them - to hers. Her body went where he guided her until her back pressed against the door that led back into the cabin. His lips grew hungry, greedy, but she willingly gave what he took. Abigail grabbed the front of his jacket, fingers bunching into the fabric, to pull him closer to her.

Ever so gently, Oliver’s hands traveled down from her face, making their way over her shoulders then down the grooves of her spine. One hand landed on the small of her back and pulled her flush against his body as the other hand opened the door behind her. Then in one fell swoop his hands rested against the back of her thighs, lifting her from the floor. Abigail wrapped her legs around his hips as the two made their way back into his cabin. Without breaking the kiss, Oliver pushed the door closed behind them with his boot then made his way over to the bed. Only when he sat her down on the edge did they break apart. Her legs fell from his waist but he stood his ground between them.

Oliver moved his hands to her upper arms, his thumbs gently rubbing against the white fabric. His gaze on her was intense, unwavering, and it made her skin tingle and the heat inside flare. Without breaking eye contact, Abigail brought her hands up to the belt around her waist. She watched his throat bob as she started to unclasp the buckle, throwing it to the ground once it was undone.

His hands roamed down her arms then made their way to the newly exposed fabric of her blouse. His fingers dimpled against her skin as he leaned in again, kissing her once, twice, then speaking against her ear.

“I need you to tell me, Abigail.” He kissed her cheek, making her shiver. “I am yours. Your eternal servant.”

Abigail’s heart was about to burst into a million pieces. They would be scattered across the entire Caribbean and not even the best pirate crew would be able to find all the buried pieces. And Abigail thought that maybe, she would be okay with that.

She grabbed Oliver’s face and pulled his mouth back to hers, leaving a searing kiss to his lips. “I already told you,” she began when they pulled apart. Her hands went down to the hem of her shirt, batting his hands away. “I want you.” She deftly pulled the blouse up and over her head, tossing it somewhere behind him. “I need you.”

She watched as his brown eyes grew almost entirely black with desire. He reached his hands up but paused just before touching her skin. “May I?” he asked.

Abigail nodded. “Please.”

His hands were warm as they caressed the skin along her waist. His calloused fingers traced the grooves of her ribs as they moved up her body. When they reached the fabric of her lace bra, his expression morphed to one of wonder.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” he claimed. His fingers continued to graze along the lace material until his thumbs ghosted over the front, causing her to let out a breathy moan.

Abigail’s mind was clouded with lust as she tried to think of an answer that would satisfy his curiosity enough. His hands glided up the straps and he slowly slid them down her shoulders. His lips followed the trail, leaving her completely speechless. She needed a distraction. Her hands went around to unclasp her bra where she tugged it off, letting it fall to the floor to join the rest of her discarded clothes.

It worked.

Soon his lips were latched to her skin where he left tender kisses along the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His fingers grazed over her the newly exposed skin of her chest, cupping and squeezing just so that made needy whimpers escape her throat. She could tell with each new sound she made, it only made his touches and kisses grow more heated.

As Oliver laved over her chest and neck, she wound her hands around his waist - minding his wound - to bunch the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. “Oliver…” she started to plead until his teeth grazed the column of her neck, causing her to yelp. “Oliver, please. I need to touch you.”

He pulled away from her skin and nodded wordlessly. Abigail smiled and leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers. Her fingers found the buttons of his jacket where she deftly undid them. Soon he was shrugging out of the uniform, letting it hit the floor. 

Abigail’s hands travelled greedily over his body. She reveled in the feel of his muscles moving and contracting under her touch. Her fingers traced down his chest, slowly gliding over his stomach until they reached the hem of his trousers. Before her fingertips could delve past his waistline, his hands gently wrapped around her wrists, pulling them away and pinning them back to her sides.

“Not yet,” he stated when she gave him a questioning look. “I told you, I get what I want,” he said as if that was answer enough. “And what I want, more than anything,” he released her hands then moved them so they rested on her waist, his thumbs dipping under the waistband of her pants. “Is to watch as I make you come undone.” He kissed her softly before murmuring against her lips. “Do you want that, too?”

Abigail would have given him the entire world if he had asked her in that same way. Would have wrangled all the stars in the sky to please him.

“Yes,” she replied, leaning into another kiss.

She could feel him smile against her lips. When he dug his fingers further into her waistband, she lifted her hips, allowing him to pull her black pants down her legs. Left in only her underwear, Abigail continued to brush her lips to his. His hands landed on her knees, using them to push her legs further apart. Then his hands ran over the expanse of her thighs, slowly caressing her skin, until his fingers played with the band of her underwear.

Oliver broke away from her lips and stared into her eyes reverently. She could tell he was searching, silently asking, so she showed no hesitation. Then, his fingers trailed down, and slowly - painstakingly slow - he made contact with sensitive skin.

The next thing she knew, she was on fire.

The pads of Oliver’s fingers stroked slowly along her slick folds, rubbing tantalizing circles that made her entire body shudder in response. Abigail bit her lip as she choked back a groan, knowing full well that there would be people just outside the door.

“Don’t,” he admonished, though his words were soft and without chasten. “I want to hear all the lovely sounds you can make.” As if to prove his point, Oliver’s fingers slipped inside, making Abigail gently cry out at the sensation. “That’s it,” he said as his hand moved slowly in and out. “That’s its, darling. Let me hear you.”

Abigail needed something, anything to grab to steady herself. She quickly found his shoulders, placing her hands onto the muscled flesh and dug her blunt nails into his skin. Now that she had found leverage, she started to rock her hips, meeting the thrust of his hand. Soon they found a steady rhythm and Abigail gave up on holding in her moans, allowing them to escape her lips freely.

With every thrust and stroke her movements only grew more erratic. Oliver’s free hand snaked into her hair, fingers wrapping around the strands to pull. She keened as his tongue traced up her neck, moving to the spot just under her ear. Her body shuddered at the sensation, only making his pace quicken.

She was teetering on the edge, her body dangerously close to spilling over. She pulled him close, capturing his lips into a blazing kiss. She trailed her lips down his jaw and chin, making her way down his throat, leaving a fiery trail in her wake. He redoubled his efforts, using his thumb to gently stroke against her sensitive skin.

It was too much but also not enough. She wanted more but her aching body couldn’t take it. She tried to hold on but he felt so good and everything else felt so right. Soon she was gone, coming undone just like he wanted. Her teeth dug into his bare shoulder as she cried out in pleasure.

Oliver continued to coax out more wanton moans and whimpers from her lips and he helped ease her from her high. Soon his hand stilled before removing it to place it on her trembling thigh.

“Brilliant,” he exhaled slowly before pulling her face to his so he could press a kiss to the corner of her parted mouth. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

Abigail agreed wholeheartedly, considering every ounce of air seem to have dispelled from her lungs. As she worked on catching her breath, her hands roamed down from his shoulders, leading a path down his abdomen and stilling on his waistline again. This time, he didn’t object when she started to tug his trousers down. He let them pool at his feet before kicking out of them. Soon he was completely bare before her and she couldn’t help but stare.

“Breathtaking,” she parroted back to him. The indulgent smirk that crossed his lips made her body shiver and she decided that she couldn’t hold back anymore. “On the bed,” she demanded as she slid forward to stand.

Oliver didn’t argue. He pulled her in for a heated kiss before climbing into the bed, propping his back up against the wooden wall at the head of the bed. He turned to where Abigail still stood next to the bed and reached his hand out. She quickly removed her underwear before grabbing his hand and letting him pull her up onto the bed.

She settled on her knees between his parted legs. When his hands went up to touch her, she swiftly grabbed his hands and pressed them back to his sides. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Hands to yourself.”

She watched as his fingers dug into the linen at his sides, but he obeyed her command. “Abigail…” The timbre of his voice was low, hoarse.

She rested her hands against his chest then leaned in and captured his lips with hers. She moved down to his throat to suck the supple skin there, leaving treacherous marks that would surely be seen by the rest of the crew. She didn’t care.

Soon, her fingertips grazed down his chest, over the taut muscles of his stomach and the lean cut of his hips. She heard him hiss as her nails raked over the tender flesh of his thighs. She could see the white on his knuckles as he continued to refrain from touching her.

She kept one hand splayed on his thigh as the other made its way to where he needed her most. When her fingers gently wrapped around him, he jerked upwards once before quickly stilling himself.

Abigail unlatched her lips from his throat, marveling at the colorful marks that remained, and stared into his eyes. His lashes fluttered as her hand continued to move tortuously slow, up and down.

He was a vision - cheeks tinged pink, lips parted and pupils blown wide - just for her.

“Can I make you feel good, Oliver?” she purred as her hand continued its deliberate slow pace. He wordlessly nodded his head but Abigail stopped her ministrations, causing him to groan at the loss. “Tell me, Oliver,” she commanded, the hand on his thigh squeezing tight, “I need you to say it.”

She watched him swallow - his Adam’s apple bobbing so deliciously that she debated on if she should actually wait for him to speak.

“Yes, please,” he said softly.

With his answer, Abigail started to work her hand again. She placed featherlight kisses across his chest, tongue slowly gliding down his abdomen. She shifted in the bed, lowering herself until her head lined up where her hand was starting to increase its movements.

She looked up one last time through her lashes, catching his eyes, then lowered her mouth over the head of his length. She heard him mutter a curse and her tongue swirled and swiped over his sensitive skin. Her hand stroked at the base as she bobbed up and down.

Her name fell from his lips over and over as if it was the only word he knew. Her free hand moved from his thigh and found its way to one of his hands at his side. She laced her fingers between his and he squeezed, the moment so surprisingly affectionate that her chest tightened and filled with warmth.

The noise from the world around them was gone. Left with only lewd sounds and heavy panting that only made Abigail move faster against him. She took him further and deeper than she ever thought imaginable. When his hips bucked up to meet her, she moaned around his length, only causing him to buck more. Her eyes watered as she swallowed him whole, his hard length pressing to the back of her throat.

“Abigail...” she could hear the warning in his near quiet voice.

Then she felt his fingers running through the loose strands of her hair. He pulled her head up and away from him until she released him from her mouth. She was about to protest when he eagerly pulled her lips to his. His other hand broke away from hers to wrap around her waist. Soon, they were flipped and Oliver was draped over her body as her back hit the mattress.

“Wha-” she couldn’t finish as his lips met hers again. His kiss was demanding, all tongue and teeth, as he nipped and pulled at her lower lip. Each whimper and moan he coaxed from her throat was captured by his lips and Abigail could do nothing but give in.

His hands traveled the length of her body, running along her arms, ribs, waist and finally her hips where they stayed. His fingers gripped her flesh so insistently that they were sure to leave bruises. Again, Abigail didn’t care.

Abigail mewled as she felt his hardened length press against her waiting sex, still hot and wet. “Are you ready, love?” he whispered against her ear before sucking the skin just below it. 

Humming a yes against his skin, Abigail threaded her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips. He teased her entrance, causing a strangled groan to rise from her throat. She could feel his smirk against her neck and she tugged at his hair in retaliation. His usual bun became loose and tendrils of pale, blonde locks framed his face.

Finally - finally - he relented, pushing forward until he was enveloped entirely in her warmth. They both inhaled sharply at the sudden peak of pleasure. Oliver sucked the skin of her neck, moving to her shoulder then down her collarbone, leaving a trail of glistening red marks that matched his own that dotted his skin.

Soon he was moving, bodies dancing between the sheets like they were made perfectly for each other.

“Extraordinary. Beautiful. Perfect.”

He articulated each word against her skin between punctuated thrusts. Her toes curled, legs pulling him closer and deeper. His hands ran down her thighs, gripping almost painfully, digging blunt nails into her flesh that were sure to leave crescent moon marks. The thought alone made a broken moan pass her lips.

She wanted more. Need to feel the full extent of what he could do. But her brain refused to cooperate and she was unable to use her words to tell him exactly how desperate she was for him. Instead she raked her nails over the planes of his shoulder, down the sinew of his back, urging him closer.

He continued his hedonistic pace, languid thrusts hitting all the right spots but not nearly enough. Soon, she found her words. Just enough to get her point across.

“Oliver… I need…”

And thank the lucky stars he could read her mind so well. He leaned up, placing one hand next to her head to steady himself, and kissed her deeply. His other hand reached down and connected where their bodies met and Abigail cried out in sheer, unadulterated bliss. His hips canted forward, his thrusts growing rapid against the rocking of her own hips.

“Yes, just like that,” she encouraged through strained breath. “I’m so close.”

Oliver’s thumb and hips only moved more frantic, hitting every spot that made her keen. She was burning up, their bodies slick with the humid, Caribbean air. She wasn’t going to last much longer and by the movement of his thrusts, neither was he.

She locked eyes with him, his eyes so dark with lust that the warm brown color was almost completely gone. She reached her palm up to his cheek where her thumb stroked soft circles against his chiseled skin. She pulled his face down to hers, pressing their foreheads together. She kept her eyes trained on his, not daring to move away even when the pressure became too much and she came, his name falling from her lips in an endless prayer. She felt his body shudder. A few more hard strokes and he was spent, stilling his movements before slowly rolling off to lay in the bed beside her.

They laid there together in silence, the only sound beside creaking wood was the hoarse breaths and pants coming from their lips. They both stared up at the ceiling, Abigail’s mind fuzzy and reeling as she tried to catch her breath. Until finally...

“Bloody hell,” Oliver exhaled.

A small smile played across Abigail's lips as she turned her head. She could see his eyebrows raising ever so slightly and his lips curling into an almost goofy smile. “Everything alright, Lieutenant?”

Without a word, Oliver reached his arm out, wrapping it around her shoulder to pull her close. Abigail went willingly, fitting perfectly against the crook of his arm and the curve of his side. She rested her head against his chest, leaving tender kisses on his skin. She felt her hair ruffle as he sighed, then kissed the top of her head.

Abigail’s hand traced patterns across his skin. Running along the invisible lines between each freckle and scar that graced his body. Connecting the dots to form a picture that only she could see. Imagining all the constellations in the sky that they would stare at each night along their journey.

Soon, she felt Oliver’s hand gently run under her chin, tilting it up so they were now face to face. “You are amazing,” he admitted as he pulled her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Slow, steady and unbelievably delicate. When he eventually pulled away he sighed against her lips and closed his eyes. “I want to thank you, Abigail.”

Abigail knitted her brows, her fingers coming up to brush back several strands of hair from his face. “What for?”

He grabbed the hand that played with his hair and brought it to his lips. He left a quick kiss on the palm of her hand before intertwining their fingers together and resting them on his chest, just above his steady, pounding heart.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he began, as he kissed her temple. “Thank you for allowing me to prove my worth to you. And thank you for being with me tonight.”

She wanted to huff a laugh at that last statement, but then he kissed her again, just as soft as before. Any witty remark she might have had quickly died on her lips.

“You don’t have to thank me, Oliver,” she said. “I should be the one thanking you. For rescuing and aiding us. I owe you so much.”

Oliver stared into her eyes, the hand that laid against her back slowly rubbing circles into her skin. “Don’t,” he whispered against her forehead. “Abigail, I would do it all over again given the chance. I would do anything for another moment just like this with you.” he stated brusquely. “You owe me nothing.” Her chest swelled and she leaned in for another kiss, this time more deep and passionate than the others.

They continued their conversation, conveying all their thoughts and emotions through kisses and touches rather than words. Each kiss was a promise and each touch was a solution to whatever issue may lie ahead. Soon, when they were both truly tired and spent, they fell asleep, blissfully in each other's embrace.

Tomorrow would come, that was the only guarantee they knew. But for tonight, they had each other. They would worry about the distant shores in the morning.

~~~~~

E P L I L O G U E

Darkness.

Cold, eerily cold darkness surrounds Abigail as she trugs through long corridors of brick and stone. The smell is old, musty, as if no one else had stepped foot here in centuries.

There’s a glow from up ahead. Blue and shiny at the end of the tunnel.

Abigail walks towards the light, unsure of what lies in front of her. Then she feels it, a warm pressure against her lower back. Her breath catches as she turns around. Only to be greeted with warm eyes and a brilliant smile.

“Darling?” Oliver says, taking in her haunted expression.

Abigail breathes a sigh of relief at the sight in front of her. “Oliver!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him in for a tight embrace.

“Are you alright?” he asks once she finally releases him. She nods her head then turns back around to face the glow at the end of the hall.

“Come on,” she demands as she laces her fingers with his. “We must go this way.”

She goes to step forward but is pulled back, weighed down by the man behind her. She turns her head to see a grim expression on his face. “Oliver? What’s wrong?” she asks, the worry evident on her face.

She reaches out for him, but he falls, collapsing to the floor, hand clutching his side.

“Oliver!”

The dim corridor and glowing light disappear, fading back to the strange darkness, leaving Abigail cold and alone.

~~~~~

Abigail was jarred awake from her sleep, panting heavily as her eyes adjusted to the early morning sun that barely peaked in through the windows.

Windows. Plural.

She was still groggy, but soon remembered she wasn’t in her own sleeping quarters with the tiny porthole window. She was still in Oliver’s room - Oliver’s bed. She moved her hands, soon realizing she was alone as her fingers splayed over the cold space next to her.

Then she remembered her dream. Abigail’s eyes grew wide and panic filled her body. She tossed the covers off her bare body and shifted to the edge of the bed. She stood up but still held onto the mattress, her legs still weak from her night’s activities.

It was still relatively dark in the room and she grabbed the first bit of cloth she could find - her underwear. Next she spotted his Navy jacket which was now hung on the back of his desk chair where it was most certainly not left last night. She sighed in relief, hoping that he must have laid it there not too long ago. She grabbed the jacket and threw it over her shoulders as she walked around the room looking for the rest of her clothes.

She didn’t make it far before the sound of the balcony door opening caught her attention. When Oliver walked inside, stopping just short of the doorway when he saw her standing there, all worry was erased from her mind. In an instant she ran towards him, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. Thankfully he was quick, grabbing onto her thighs to hold her up.

“What’s this, darling?” he asked as Abigail buried her face into his neck. She tried to control the few tears that threatened to spill, but unfortunately a few escaped her eyes and landed on his bare chest.

“I’m just so happy to see you,” she answered, not prepared to go into detail about her dream. Vision? Premonition? She hoped not.

Oliver walked them to the bed, perching her on the edge just like the night before. He pulled her face between his hands, his eyes searching hers. She could see the evident worry in his knitted brows and the slight frown on his lips. “What’s wrong, Abigail?”

She surged forward, capturing his lips into a searing kiss. An attempt to make sure this was real - he was real. She was thankful he didn’t pull away. Thankful that her tears stopped as his lips continued to devour hers.

When they finally broke apart, she smiled slightly, the nauseating worry that was there earlier finally disappearing. “I just had a bad dream,” she finally admitted and almost laughed at the exasperated frown that greeted her.

“But you’re alright?” he asked, and the sincerity in his voice just made her kiss him again and again, hoping that this action alone would convey how ‘alright’ she was. When she pulled away again, she nodded her head and was relieved to see him smile, a genuine, pure smile.

“You know,” Oliver began, his fingers running across the lapel of her jacket - his jacket. “It would cause a great scandal if someone were to see you wearing this.”

Abigail’s lips quirked in delight. “Even more of a scandal than a Navy Lieutenant consorting with a pirate?” she mused.

Oliver chuckled lightly and leaned in to nip along her jaw to her ear. His lips brushed against her lobe and just before he could open his mouth to speak, a loud knock rang through the cabin.

“Sir, it’s Doyle. We’ll be reaching Port Monarque within an hour’s time.”

Oliver sighed, the grip he had on her bare thighs tightening just slightly before he let go and stepped back. “Thank you, Doyle,” he barked out towards the door. “Please leave me, I will be out shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” Officer Doyle replied before footsteps leading away from the door could be heard.

Abigail hopped off the edge of the bed and shrugged out of the jacket and handed it out for Oliver to take. “Duty calls,” she said in an amused, mocking tone and she moved around the cabin to grab the rest of her clothes.

The pair dressed in silence, exchanging flirty glances and an occasion touch or kiss. It took longer to get dressed than normal, but neither of them cared. Once they were completely dressed, Oliver held his arm out to her. Abigail smiled, looping her elbow with his as they stood in front of his cabin door.

“Well, Miss Bellamy, ready to see what the future holds for us?”

Abigail forced a smile, swallowing the pain and fear that came with that sentence. She would tell him the truth, soon. She only hoped that it wasn’t too late for him to forgive her. 

“Ready, Lieutenant,” she replied.

Oliver beamed at her then placed a chaste kiss to her cheek and together they walked out of the door and towards their future.

~~~~~

A/N: If you’ve come this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! This was an idea I had the moment I read this chapter and I’m so glad to have written it out. I definitely think more happened on that ship so this is my retelling of it :)

I want to give a HUGE shout out to @thealia for beta reading this story. You are amazing and give the best advice so thank you, thank you, thank you!

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment, like or reblog <3

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[calumcest]

there’s no time for running away now

so me exposing myself: yes i write fics that i never post. here is one of them that i’m pretty sure i wrote while completely out of my fucking mind at like 2am and have not re-read or edited so? absolutely cannot guarantee the quality of this fic in any way shape or form please do not hold me accountable for any of its content. unless you like it in which case please do hold me accountable because i require at least 3 doses of validation a day to survive. also this fic was literally me coming up with the final line and then writing 2.4k just to have a reason to have it

It’s three a.m., and Ashton’s awake. 

On the surface, that might not appear to be a problem. And ordinarily, it wouldn’t be - ordinarily, Ashton would either roll over groggily, will sleep to come with every fibre of his being and maybe a quick prayer or two, or read something mind-numbingly boring like his urgent work emails to send him back to sleep. This, however, isn’t the most ordinary situation. 

Ashton is awake because of Luke. 

And, okay, that’s a bit of an unfair characterisation. It’s actually Ashton’s racing thoughts keeping him up, but since Luke’s the focus of said thoughts swirling in a huge cluster through Ashton’s mind, overlapping and interlocking so Ashton can’t pick them apart from the love love love that’s threading through them all, he’s going to blame it on Luke. And it’s not exactly Ashton’s fault he’s in love with Luke, is it? He’d challenge anyone to spend years crammed in tight spaces with Luke Hemmings and not fall in love with him. 

(Michael and Calum don’t count, obviously. Ashton’s never seen two people so blinkered by love in his life, and he’s equal parts envious of their deep, easy love and grateful that they’re not his competition. He’s not sure he could take on Calum’s thoughtfulness if it came down to it.) 

The real problem is that Ashton’s alone. They’re in a hotel, some shitty place in northern England that Ashton can’t even remember the name of, but they’d all been so ecstatic to find out that they had a room each (each!) that they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to care. They’d all hopped straight in the shower, washing off three days’ worth of sweat and grime, and then one by one dropped out of the group chat (Ashton had heard Calum’s door clicking open and shut, muted footsteps and muffled voices), until Ashton thought he was the only one left awake. 

When Ashton’s squashed in a tour bus with God knows how many other six-foot-something men in their twenties, there’s nothing he wishes for more than a moment to himself. He sneaks the moments in when he can - a few minutes backstage, a few moments on the bus in the morning before anyone else has woken up, before Luke comes padding in with bleary eyes and a sleepy smile that makes Ashton’s stomach flip - but it’s never more than ten minutes, never enough time to feel the solitude. Now, though, he’s got nothing to do besides let the seclusion envelop him, listen to the silence and his tinnitus and let the ringing infiltrate his thoughts. 

It’s been so long since Ashton’s been on his own, really been on his own - usually on hotel nights, he’s so exhausted and grateful for a proper bed he falls asleep fully-dressed and wakes up disoriented - that he’s kind of forgotten what it’s like. He’s forgotten the way that his thoughts start to squirm around in his mind, all clamouring for his attention, one following the other in such rapid succession that Ashton barely has the time to process them before the next one is already gripping him by the throat and forcing him to look at it. He’s forgotten how fucking overwhelming it is, how it makes his breath catch in his throat, his stomach churn, thinking himself in spirals that he can’t think himself out of. 

The fact that Luke’s next door isn’t exactly helping matters. The hotel walls seem to be a product of a scientific experiment into creating materials that are one atom thick, so Ashton can hear every move Luke makes. He heard it when Luke padded into the bathroom for a shower, when Luke ambled over to the desk, heard the entirety of the news that Luke had on for about twenty minutes (apparently the Queen’s giving a speech tomorrow, and the EU are looking to pass a law about interest rates). He heard it when Luke got changed, heard his fucking jeans drop to the floor, heard him tossing and turning trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. He can hear every creak of Luke’s bed, can almost make out Luke’s deep breathing if he really strains his ears, and it’s making it impossible not to think about him. Not that Ashton’s particularly good at ever not thinking about Luke. Luke Hemmings is definitely the majority shareholder of Ashton’s mind. 

Now, though, at three in the morning, in a shitty hotel room in God knows where, a country that isn’t home and never will be, on his own with nobody there to ground him, it feels frightening, more overwhelming than Ashton could ever put into words. He’s so in love with Luke, so fucking in love with Luke, and it puts everything on a knife’s edge. His sanity, his friendship with Luke, his career - everything’s on the line because Ashton can’t say no to those baby blues.

At half-past, when Luke rolls over in bed and makes a little noise of contentment, duvet rustling as he moves, Ashton breaks. 

“Wha’?” Michael says groggily when he picks up, sounding too sleepy to be annoyed. 

“Are you awake?” Ashton says, as quietly as possible, gnawing at his lip. 

“No,” Michael says, and then the line cuts out. Ashton hates him. 

“Are you up?” Ashton asks, when Michael picks up again, on the first ring. 

“Am now, dickhead,” Michael grunts. “‘s up?” 

“Luke.” There’s a pause, then a rustling sound and quiet footsteps, and then the sound of a door locking. 

“Ash, it’s three thirty in the fucking morning,” Michael says, and his voice echoes strangely, bouncing off the walls of what Ashton can only suppose is his en-suite, but it’s soft, understanding. He knows why Ashton’s still up, why he’s getting a call from across the hall at three-thirty in the morning. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands yeah, that’s why I’m this fucked up. Everything feels worse at night, when Ashton doesn’t have the bright light of day to convince himself that it’s not that bad, he’s not going to fuck everything up that badly. Michael sighs, and it’s tinny and a little staticky, and Ashton’s suddenly struck with the thought that Michael’s voice is being beamed up to a satellite thousands of miles away before being sent back to Ashton, even though he’s about five strides away. It makes him feel a little sick, that level of removal between the two of them. Michael’s a few metres and yet thousands of miles away. 

“Ash,” he says gently, which is never a good sign from Michael. “You’ve got to stop torturing yourself like this.” Ashton bites at his thumbnail. 

“‘m not torturing myself,” he mumbles. 

“Oh?” Michael says, a note of scepticism in his voice. “You’re not lying in bed at three-thirty in the fucking morning thinking about how in love you are with Luke, convincing yourself you’re going to fuck everything up because of it?” Ashton hesitates. 

“Fuck you,” he says eventually, and Michael doesn’t even retort, just sighs again, heavy and sad. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he says. 

“You’re not seeing me,” Ashton says, a little childishly. 

“You know what I mean.” Ashton does, and he hates it. It adds a sheen of guilt to all the other confusing emotions bubbling through him, that Michael’s got to deal with this, got to walk the tightrope of being between his two best friends. 

“Sorry,” Ashton says, a little too meekly. 

“Don’t,” Michael says sternly. “You’ve got to do something about it, Ash. You can’t spend the rest of your life stuck in perpetual limbo.” Ashton tears at a hangnail, relishing the way it stings when he rips it. 

“Do what?” Ashton says. “‘s not like I can tell him. Could fuck everything up.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Could fuck your life up.” 

“You think that matters more to me than your happiness?” Michael says, sounding genuinely incredulous, and Ashton loves him, absolutely fucking loves him, and absolutely doesn’t deserve him. 

“I love you,” he tells Michael, who snorts, the sound echoing strangely in the bathroom. 

“You’d better,” he says, but it’s fond. “C’mon, Ash, you’ve got to talk to him at some point. What the fuck else are you going to do? Sit around and wait for Luke to get married and have two-point-five kids?” Ashton blinks up at the ceiling, stomach churning at the thought of Luke with a faceless spouse and a white picket fence. 

“Maybe,” he says, counting the stains on the white paint to give him something else to think about. “Doesn’t sound like the worst plan in the world.” 

“No, Ash, it does,” Michael’s tinny voice tells him. “Christ. You’re such a fucking emotional masochist.” Ashton sighs, and casts his gaze down to the hem of his shirt, picking at a loose thread.

“What the fuck would I even say?” he says. It’s not like he’s never envisioned it; a grand declaration of love - always returned by Luke, of course - but in his fantasies, it’s a certainty that Luke’s going to feel the same way, so there’s none of that gut-wrenching, stomach-rolling uncertainty, no bile rising in his throat, no clammy hands and dry mouth. 

“The truth?” Michael suggests. Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Mike, I can’t just waltz up to Luke and tell him I’m in love with him,” he says.

“Worked for me,” Michael says, and Ashton can almost hear him shrugging. 

“That’s different,” Ashton says, because it is. Michael’s not a massive fucking overthinker. 

“Is it?” Michael says, a little shrewdly. “I didn’t know if Calum felt the same way. But what else was I gonna do, wait around the rest of my life wasting my time on him? I needed closure either way. Would’ve spent the rest of my life making myself miserable living off hope otherwise.” Ashton knows he’s right, knows from the way his stomach sinks and his heart speeds up, but hates it, wants to rationalise why he doesn’t need to tell Luke, why he shouldn’t. “You’re overthinking it,” Michael says into the silence, like he knows exactly what’s going through Ashton’s mind right now, and Ashton scowls. 

“Right, fuck me for overthinking something that could end my career,” he hisses, gripping the phone tighter than necessary because his hands are a little cold and clammy now at the thought of having to actually stand in front of Luke and say the words I’m in love with you. 

“You’re such a fucking drama queen,” Michael says, tutting. 

“Are you insane?” Ashton demands, incensed, and this is good, this is safe. He can redirect all the discomfort and anxiety into righteous anger; he can handle that. That’s well-worn territory with him and Michael. 

“I’m not doing this, Ash,” Michael says sensibly, because he knows Ashton far too well for Ashton’s liking. “You can’t keep running from your feelings the minute they get too heavy for you to bear. ‘S never gonna get any better if you’re not letting yourself process it. It doesn’t go away on its own.” 

“I know,” Ashton says hopelessly, because he does, and it’s what he’s been trying to run from. He knows he can’t live in this limbo forever, but he can’t bring himself to take a step in either direction. “Fuck, Michael. I don’t know if I can do it.” 

“You can,” Michael says, gentle, encouraging. 

“It’d fuck everything up,” Ashton says. 

“It won’t,” Michael says. “You’re both mature adults.” He pauses, and Ashton knows they’re thinking the same thing, and then he adds: “Okay, well. You’re a mature adult. I’ll drag Luke into maturity kicking and screaming.” Ashton can’t help but huff out a laugh at that, chest warming as he hears the meaning behind what Michael’s saying - I’ll fight your corner. I’ve got your back. 

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Ashton says, biting his lip. 

“Then at least you know,” Michael says. “And you can start moving on.” Ashton swallows, ignoring the pain of the lump in his throat. 

“I don’t want to,” he says, and it comes out a little strangled. 

“I know,” Michael says. Ashton waits for something else, for him to justify it, but there’s just staticky silence from Michael’s end of the line. 

“That’s it?” 

“What, you want a deep, motivational speech as to why you should tell him?” Michael says. “I’m not going to give you that, Ash. Do it or don’t, it’s up to you. But you’ll never be able to rest, never have your mind to yourself, until you do it.” Ashton exhales shakily. 

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice cracks, because God, it’s fucking terrifying, thinking that he might have to face Luke and say the words I’m in love with you in order to get his own sanity back. ���You’re right.” 

“I know,” Michael says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh to cover the flutters of panic in his chest. “Can I go back to sleep now?” Ashton blinks, and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says again, voice a little steadier this time. “Sorry.” 

“‘S okay,” Michael says through a yawn, and Ashton has to stifle a yawn of his own. Christ, he’s actually fucking drained. Overthinking should qualify as a sport. “Love you. Not as much as I love Calum, though.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Love you too. But not as much as I love Luke.” 

“I’d fucking hope not,” Michael says. “Don’t want you to be fantasising about fucking me.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“I don’t want to fantasise about that either,” he says. 

“So don’t.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Good,” Michael says, stifling a yawn. “Don’t fantasise about Calum, either.” 

“Why the fuck would I fantasise about Calum?” Ashton wants to know. 

“Hey,” Michael says, sounding a little affronted. “What the fuck are you trying to say?” 

“I’m saying neither you nor Calum are exactly at the top of my fantasy list when Luke’s right there,” Ashton says. 

“That’s fucking rude,” Michael tells him. 

“What the fuck? You just told me-” 

"Yeah, but on principle you should want to fantasise about us,” Michael interrupts. “You just aren’t allowed.” Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not fantasising about anyone except Luke,” he says. 

“I don’t want to know that.” Jesus Christ. Michael’s fucking impossible. 

“Go to fucking sleep,” Ashton says, because arguing with Michael is a waste of time on the best of days, let alone at four in the fucking morning. 

“I’ve been trying,” Michael says, and there’s rustling sounds as he gets to his feet. “Night, Ashton. Love you.”

“Night,” Ashton says, but Michael’s already hung up. 

He plugs his phone in and rolls back over in bed, the emotional exhaustion starting to kick in, and he closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep, when from Luke’s room he hears a very, very clear-

“Night, Ash.” 

Fuck. 

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