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januaryembrs · 4 months ago

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YOU CAN HEAR IT IN THE SILENCE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [9]

description: the TWO big steps you take together.

word count: 13.5k

trigger warnings: entire mr scratch episode including drugging and suic!de, gore, violence, blood, mention of Diana's schizophrenia, mention of hotch's upbringing

author's note: lets do this again UGH. also set throughout season 10 so even though it seems like a jump its been a whole year bcus I can't write about every day my babies spend together.

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‘Cause you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out,

You’re in love. True love,’

The one where you meet his mom. [you have the parenthood talk]

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumbnail instinctively picking at the side of her forefinger as her eyes trailed over the dress in the mirror.

It was a little too chesty, were the sleeves too short? Would his mom not like that it was backless? Backless meant suggestive to some people. Would she hate her piercings? She could take out a couple of her earrings just for one day, cover the hole where her nose ring slipped in with foundation easily.

Smile, she needed to remember to smile, not that god awful resting bitch face that Elizabeth used to say looked like she’d sucked a lemon between her cheeks. Smile. No, not like that, that looks fake and awkward.

Was her make up too much? She would hate for Spencer’s mom to think she looked like a hooker. A cheap one at that.

She felt his hands on her shoulders before the throes of her vicious mind could nab her once more, and her eyes trailed behind her in the reflective, if not slightly fingerprinted, mirror.

“You’re thinking loud,” Spencer said as if it was a fact, though that tended to be the way with him, since he knew damn near everything there was to know. Especially about her. “Why are you so worried, it’s my mom. Besides, what’s not to like about you?”

She huffed, shaking her head even though she really tried her best to give him a smile, instead turning to look down at her hands with wincing, cynical twinge of her lips.

“Maybe my tattoos or my make up or my slutty dress or my piercings that make me look like I just raided Penelope’s collection of ‘goth chic jewellery’, her words not mine,” She said pessimistically. She didn’t want to dampen the mood, honestly she was looking forward to the woman who graced the world with Spencer Reid (she wondered if a handshake or a hug would be appropriate, she would ask Spence in the car she decided,) “People don’t tend to see me the way you do, honey, I can be blunt and rude and snappy and cold. And it’s your mom, she’s like the most important person in the world to you.”

“She’s joint first, actually” Spencer corrected, trying to lift her spirits even a little. He knew none of the things she was saying were necessarily true. He suspected that voice that had overcome her was not her own at all, more likely her own mother nagging into to her for years to sit up straighter, smile more, make an effort to network and socialise, or any other piece of shit observation about how she acted for Elizabeth to badger her about.

But then she smiled at him, her eyebrows drawn together a little like she guessed he was lying or perhaps sugarcoating things.

“You’re allowed to have her first, you know,” Bugsy reassured him, her eyes melty and soft as she looked at him and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her stomach, almost like he was trying to suck the negativity out of her whole body through diffusion of their skin alone. “She’s your mom,”

“I know,” Spencer said simply, their eyes never breaking the gaze at one another, and Bugsy felt herself warm inside when she saw just how besotted his forest hues were, “Please stop worrying, she’s going to love you,”

“You can’t know that for sure,” She pushed back, because when had she ever allowed herself to enjoy a good thing when she had it. She knew she was being somewhat of a Negative Nancy, and she didn’t mean to be, truly. But Diana Reid was possibly the most significant person in Spencer’s life, despite what he said. And Bugsy was… Bugsy. All teeth and chaos and bite and vicious tongue when she didn’t mean to be.

If Diana didn’t like her, she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to look at Spencer again without blurting out the million ways she’d try to make it up to him.

“Oh, I do know for sure actually,” He said, spinning her around so he could see her first hand, not in a reflection or a mirror image, and she smiled despite herself, pressing into his lean body and taking a big whiff of his freshly washed clothes. It was the same detergent she used, the same one he’d always used, and yet it was so Spencer it made her skin crawl with what she thought felt like warm goosebumps.

“Oh yeah?” He nodded proudly, and she progressed to a grin, her chin leaning against his chest as she spoke, and he stroked her neatly braided hair away from her face to see her better, like he’d won the second he saw her smile properly, “How do you figure that one out, wonder boy?”

“I’ve mentioned you in almost every single letter I’ve written to her for three whole years. When she saw the photo of you I sent her, she asked if I’d cut you out of a vogue magazine,” Spencer said and she burst out laughing. He couldn’t say he blamed his mom, the photo he’d sent had been one of Bugsy’s best, but then he’d be willing to argue all of them were just as newsworthy as the last. And nothing compared to the real thing. “You make me happy, happier than I ever thought I was allowed to be. Believe me, I know she’ll love you, because I love you,”

Bugsy smushed her face into his sweater to hide her modesty, and she pressed a small, barely there kiss to where her lips met even if he wouldn’t feel it.

“Does my hair look okay?” She checked again, her voice muffled by his thick knitted clothes, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking a gentle hand down her spine.

“You look beautiful,” He said softly, pulling her away from his body and holding onto her right hand, “Give me a spin,”

He lifted her hand above her head, despite the fact she seemed reluctant and embarrassed, “Spence,”

“We’re not leaving until you give me a spin,” He teased, and his smile was infectious as she twirled around beneath his grasp, the long, floral, sundress fanning out around her knees, “And back again!”

“Spencer-” She said with a chuckle, but he seemed to ignore her, or judging by his smile that spread across his whole face he didn’t care.

“Sorry, it’s just the rules,” He said, though she was almost certain there wasn’t ever such a thing as a rulebook on how to make your girlfriend less of a whiny bitch.

He spun her back around, and by the time she whirled around to face him a second him, his arm dropped down to secure around her waist, yanking her towards him to press a scorching hot kiss to her lips.

She kissed him back, her tongue trailing against his lip and Spencer’s obscenely large hand released her waist, trailing up her sides to cup her cheeks. Spencer kissed her like she was sucking air right out his lungs, like he was receiving life saving medicine, like he was being graced by an angel, a non-believer, a man of science reaching out to the white gates of heaven as if they were about to disappear under his touch.

They parted with a small smack that reverberated in the bathroom, and Bugsy looked at him as if he’d infected her with a drug, because truthfully that was how his touch, his kiss, made her feel.

They settled in his car, a few soft and loving affections later, because she really did look beautiful and he could apologise for smudging her lipstick another time, and Spencer it was the first time in a long time that Spencer felt like his future was laid out in front of him.

–

She fretted some more in the lobby, the woman behind the desk at the sanitarium lighting up at the sight of Spencer walking towards her with a smile.

“Dr. Reid,” She enthused, noting the woman next to him that squoze a book to her chest tightly like she wasn't sure what her fingers might do if they were let loose, “She’s been so excited to see you, her doctors said she’s responding well to the new medication,”

“I heard, I’m glad to hear she’s feeling calmer,” He said, his eyes trailing past the brunette who tapped away at her keyboard idly, “Where is she?”

“She’s just in the sunroom. She’s been learning how to crochet, just like you said,” The receptionist smiled kindly at Bugsy, who looked all but terrified, though she hid it well through tight lips.

Spencer nodded, reaching up to put a hand between Bugsy’s shoulder’s to lead her through the lounge area where a few other residents watched a black and white movie.

“Are you sure my make up looks okay, my mascara hasn’t ran has it?” She whispered, because a few other people, some even her age, were sitting in comfy armchairs flicking through books.

Spencer smiled at her, because she was so cute when she was nervous, usually it was the other way around, “You look lovely, you always look lovely,”

“I believe that’s what’s called voter bias, Dr Reid,” She said, because jokes and wit always seemed to release the pressure on her head when she was stressed.

He chuckled, opening the door to a large room filled on all sides with windows, and the cosy heat hit her in the face, “Not if what I’ve said is a verifiable fact.”

“Who’s your secondary source, Dr?” She said, because they seemed to fall into a nerdy sort of teasing when they were like this. Facts and figures were predictable, getting your boyfriend’s mother to like you based entirely on your personality was not.

“My mom,” Spencer said, and her head whipped to his, ready to protest when he led her to the corner of the sunroom, where a woman sat with her ocean blue eyes screwed up in concentration where two blush pink hooks were crossing and bobbing between a cream thread of yarn, “Mom,”

Her eyes flew up from where she sat, immersed in the delicate movements. Spencer had said a few weeks ago her hands were becoming stiff on her new tablets, that the side effects were making her circulation poor and so Bugsy had been out to help him pick up a crochet kit from Walmart the very same day.

“Mom, this is Bugsy,” He said, and it was his turn to be almost shy as he gestured to the young woman. “The girl I was telling you about,”

Diana stopped for a moment, as if assessing the new face, the way her hair fell around her ears, and Bugsy clutched the hardback tighter to her chest, thinking that maybe she should have gone for something a little fancier than the small piece of twin that wrapped around the present. First time meeting his mom and this was the best you could do, really Bugsy? Where’s the flowers or even another ball of yarn to keep her occupied?

Bugsy swore her breath caught, her brows furrowing together worriedly as she went to hold a shaky hand out to Diana, but then second guessed herself when she wondered if the loathing of spreading germs was shared between Spencer and his mom. She’d forgotten to check when they were in the car- stupid- stupid girl.

“H-hello, Mrs Reid,” She said quietly, shakily, holding out the book to the woman. Diana Reid looked good for her age, considering Spencer had told her on numerous occasions that she struggled to pretty herself up the way she used to before her Schizophrenia had spiralled. But her hair was a warm blonde with only small traces of grey in it, short around her neck likely for practicality, and despite the fact her face seemed somewhat grumpy, though Bugsy would describe her as lost more than anything, she lit up like a damn firework on the fourth of July the second she saw her son.

“Spencer!” She exclaimed, holding a hand out for her son to take, which he did so without hesitation. Bugsy thought she might be going in for a hug, maybe that she’d missed the hint that Bugsy was trying to greet her, which the young girl didn’t mind one bit. She was well aware she was stepping on their time together, “Help me out of this chair, I left my glasses in my room, I want to see her,”

Bugsy felt heat rush to her cheeks as Diana all but threw her crochet set to the little table beside what seemed to be a lukewarm mug of coffee, and Spencer helped her out of the recliner, Bugsy holding out another hand in case she needed it. She was tall once she stood to full height, taller than Bugsy would have thought she would be, and hands were on her shoulders the second Diana had released her son.

“Oh, look at you!” Diana exclaimed, and Bugsy tried not to falter with embarrassment under her words. But his mother’s hands were soft, if not rough on the tips where she had spent her life flicking through pages on pages of literature, “I’ve always told Spence he was a looker but, my god, you’re a catch even for him,”

“Mom,” He said indignantly, but Bugsy chuckled through flaming cheeks. Diana waved him off in favour of smiling at the girl, and the second she met eyes with the woman who had raised Spencer Reid she saw where he got his good heart from.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Reid,” She stumbled over her words, trying for a second time to give her the book, and Diana looked almost aghast that she had brought her a present, “Spencer said you’d finished all your books they let you keep here so I bought you one of my favourites-”

“How could I resist The Great Gatsby,” Diana said, running a polished thumb over the gold printed writing, a small smile playing at her lips, “I’ve been meaning to brush up on Fitzgerald,”

Spencer smiled at his mother, who seemed more full of life than she had in weeks, before she waved her hand in front of the two of them, and Bugsy wondered if she had done something wrong.

“And none of this Mrs Reid crap. You're not the IRS, Diana is just fine, honey,” She said, and Bugsy grinned, nodding in agreement with the older woman. “Mom is even better if you’re feeling brave,”

“O-okay, absolutely,” She said, smiling even wider when Spencer seemed almost aghast his mother was being so brazen. Though he needn’t be so prudent, Bugsy was certain she loved her already.

“And how is my big strong FBI agent?” Diana turned to her son finally and he shook his head, his eyes full of boyish affection for the women.

“There’s dozens of words I think would perfectly describe me yet ‘big and strong’ fall nowhere in that category, mom,” He said, smiling widely at his mother who rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. She seemed more like herself than she had in years, her eyes were clearer, her nerves weren’t shot like usual. She seemed like the mother from his best memories.

“Alright, how does ‘contumelious’ work out for you?” She cracked back, and he laughed, shaking his head and he caught the pure warm grin radiating from Bugsy’s direction at the two of them.

And Bugsy saw in the kind, devoted eyes that hid behind Diana’s fluffy white, blonde hair where Spencer got his gentle soul; as if no amount of medication or illness would ever make his mother let up on the tenderness she held for him. She felt it in the air alone, the way they fell into sync only blood could ever achieve, and for a flash of a thought, Bugsy wondered if Spencer would be so doting on their children.

And for the first time all day she didn’t need to second guess herself. She already knew the answer.

–

“And this was Spencer in the mathletes,” Bugsy’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress the ‘aww’ threatening to tumble from her lips, because she knew from the way his cheeks had turned a bright rouge that he was embarrassed and she hated to make him feel like she was finding humour in his shame.

It was easy to see which one was him from the offset. Three college boys who had probably spent the best part of their first years begging sorority girls to fuck them and eating funny brownies stood at the back, atleast in their late teens judging by their late-adolescene acne and braces. Yet there, standing in front of them dressed in a tweed sweater vest and pressed brown trousers as if he was a small grandpa, was a scrawny pole of a boy, peeking out from behind a sweeping fringe in need of a trim and a pair of bubble-like glasses.

He was smiling wide, holding some sort of trophy in between his slender, little fingers, and Bugsy could bet her entire savings that he had answered almost all of his team’s questions.

“Spence,” She murmured, taking the photo gently between her fingertips where she sat in between her partner and his mother at the foot of Diana’s bed, “You were so cute,”

“You can just say dorky,” He corrected, fighting the urge to cover his cheeks with his hands, because he could feel the way they gave away his self-consciousness.

But she shook her head, leaning into him with adoring eyes as she stared at the photo, “No, I mean cute. Look at your little hair, you were so tiny- aw!”

He laughed awkwardly, not missing the way she put a hand on his leg in reassurance, and Diana handed her another photo of a toddler with thick dark hair, those hazel eyes she loved, huge and round on the baby's smiling face. Bugsy melted when she saw the milk teeth gleaming in the midst of his laugh, yet she burst into sheepish giggles when she realised baby Spencer had no clothes on.

Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the thing dangling between his legs as the picture captured him crawling towards where Diana had the camera. “Mom!”

Diana rolled her eyes, producing another one of Spencer watering the flowers with the garden hose, barely one year old in a bucket hat and, yet again, nothing else. “Oh, Spencer, don’t give me that, look how cute those little butt cheeks were,”

Bugsy slapped a hand over her mouth, her brows pulling together at the endearingly innocent photos, and she met Spencer’s gaze again, the urge to squish his cheeks in between her fingers suddenly itching her hands. Though, judging by the embarrassment in his expression, he wouldn’t like it very much even if she did mean the best of intentions.

“You were so adorable,” She confessed, looking back down at the two tiny, round butt cheeks that made something well in her chest because it was Spencer, so small and vulnerable and helpless. She turned to Diana, her eyes wide with love, “How did you not want just millions of them?”

The woman laughed, leaning against Bugsy and palming off another photo, this time of Spencer in swimming trunks at the beach, likely around two or three, a line of white sun cream running down his nose and cheeks as he looked to be grumbling about the sand on his legs.

“Because I knew none of them could ever be as special as my Spencer, and then that just wouldn’t be fair on them.” She said simply, and Bugsy smiled at the woman, truly smiled, because despite everything her illness set against her, she loved her son more than anything in the world. “You don’t win the lottery and then pawn in your rings for a couple bucks, now do you?”

Bugsy chuckled, shaking her head. Elizabeth had never been so doting on her. She knew she shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t compare the two of them because they weren’t similar even in the slightest. Diana was a single mother of a deadbeat husband who left, she battled a disease day in-day out that threatened to eat away at her brain, her memories of her son who thought the world of her, and she was still a better mother than hers had ever been.

Part of her felt that bitter sting that never really left her since she was thirteen, since she saw the maid at breakfast time more often than she ever saw her mother, the kid that got picked up and dropped off in another country like she was furniture, a barbie doll for her mother to primp and clean and boast about her big brain to her colleagues without ever showing a semblance of affection for the girl reading material eight years above her grade level.

Diana was living proof that no matter what, it’s not a challenge to love your children the way Elizabeth had always made it out to be, that she was difficult to love even for her own mother.

Bugsy bit the emotion back, knowing it was just the baby photos ramping up her hormones, and felt herself fall perhaps even more in love with Spencer Reid when she saw the photo of him at Christmas dressed as a Jedi.

–

She was quiet on the way home, her stomach warm with fondness, her hand warm with his palm as they held hands on top of the gearstick.

She watched the last of the sun peek through the trees in a cantaloupe orange and candy-floss pink swirl, and she let herself close her eyes under the day’s worth of laughter.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer said after a moment, giving her hand a small squeeze when she didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if she may have even fallen asleep, feeling immediately guilty for waking her.

She looked at him with an uneasy smile on her face, and his brain threw up a million different reasons for it, almost all of them making him worry.

“I know my mom is a lot,” He said, his tone jittery and she started shaking her head immediately, forgetting he couldn’t see where he was looking at the road, “I know she’s-”

“She’s wonderful, Spencer. God, no, it’s not that. I loved her,” Bugsy cut him off, and his shoulder’s immediately sagged in relief. She moved her hand to tuck a single lock of hair behind his ear, and he nudged into her touch on instinct.

“Then what’s wrong?” He asked, his brows pulled together in worry as they came to a red stop light, and he put the Beetle into neutral. He looked over at her then, and he saw the way the grin had slipped off her face, leaving her with something oddly unreadable, though if he had to put a name to it, he would say doubtful, and she swallowed thickly.

“Do you ever worry…” She paused herself, because she already could see their picture perfect day spiralling down the drain like yesterday’s woes, “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,”

“No, tell me,” Spencer insisted, and the road around them seemed to hold its breath waiting for her reply. He’d taken a nice route home, claiming he wanted to skip the eight pm traffic, whatever that was, had cut through one of those neighbourhoods they show on holiday brochures or estate agents' windows. The kind people with kids and volvo’s and yoga mom groups lived in.

Her eyes snapped out the front window when four young boys zipped past them on their bikes, their knees muddy from where they’d probably spent the day playing soccer, their clothes just as messy and torn, likely waiting to be scolded by their mothers for their recklessness. And pulling up the rear was a kid smaller than the others, jogging after them, wanting to cross the road before the light turned green, his glasses slipping down his nose with every step, and some weird, small part in Bugsy’s gut wanted to throw her arms around him and walk him home to make sure he got there safely.

Spencer’s hand was on her thigh, pulling her out of her thoughts for a second time, and she blinked a little too harshly, wishing she could just enjoy a lovely day for what it was rather than putting such a downer on things.

“I haven’t spoken to my mom since Emily’s funeral,” She said, swallowing heavily, and understanding passed over his face then. He knew he would never have with Elizabeth what they had just had with his mother. Even if she retired tomorrow and wasn’t jetting off to another country every week, Elizabeth Prentiss was a cold, shrewd woman who could make someone, mainly her daughters, feel empty just by being in the same room.

Her damning grey eyes, her tight lips that never smiled, her harsh brow.

“I don’t think she even kept any of my baby photos, none that don’t have her in them at least,” She confessed, and the lights flashed to amber, then green, and he was forced to let go of her for just a moment as he pulled off again, “I don’t… I don’t think she ever liked me.”

He had no idea what to say that would make it better. Usually he was so good at wriggling her problems out from the core, proving all her worst fears were wrong with simple logic. Yet he was at an end. Because Elizabeth had never shown any sign of loving her daughters, truly loving them beyond trophies.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” He tried, pulling over to stop at the curb because he hated speaking to her when he was distracted. “Some people just have a funny way of showing these things,”

But she shook her head, turning her eyes to her lap, “Your mom is… Amazing. And I feel like a total asshole for complaining about mine when yours is sick most of the time. And I know things weren’t great- I mean you were just a kid, you should have never had to look after her, it’s supposed to be the other way around, you know? But you’ll know she’s always loved you, like truly, truly loved you. I mean, you’re her whole world,” She rushed, like the thoughts had been bouncing around her head all day, waiting to burst out at the seams, which they had.

Spencer took the keys out of the ignition, shuffling in his seat to face her, and he only realised then she was watching where the four boys had taken off down the street on their bikes, the smallest one trailing at the back like a lost puppy.

“Don’t you ever worry sometimes I’ll be..” She started, and he knew where it was going before she forced herself to finish. Taking her hand in his, weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing them tight.

“Like your mom?” He said for her because the words were lingering in the air like alphabet soup. She nodded silently, grateful that he always seemed to know how her brain was ticking over. She reminded herself to make it up to him later, “Never,”

“But-” She started, and he grabbed her chin then, forcing her to look at him. He smiled dopily, because usually it was him who needed to be told how other people felt, and she swore his eyes had never looked so sweet.

“Never,” He repeated, feeling the smile spreading under his fingertips as it took the second turn for her to hear it, “If anything, I worry more about becoming like my dad,”

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head again. Sometimes Spencer wondered if she knew she was so expressive. It was one of his favourite parts about her.

“Never,” She echoed back to him, and they shared a sombre smile, squeezing each others hand just that bit tighter, “I tell you what, the second either one of us starts becoming our parents, we have the right to call them a jackass,”

He laughed, nodding his head and leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to hers, “Alright, deal. Although I think I hear Freud rolling in his grave at that statement.”

She kissed him, hard, because she would never be able to tell him exactly how he made her feel with words alone. Over two hundred thousand words in the English Language, at least five other languages she could speak fluently, and yet not one of them knew how to describe this feeling. Like she had been absorbed so completely, effortlessly, by Spencer Reid. That she was disease ridden, riddled with Reid.

And the thought made her giggle into the kiss, because she would have to tell him some other time. Her hand ran through his hair, pulling him closer, and his hand skirted down to her waist to tease underneath her shirt.

They pulled away after a moment, staring with the same dazed look in their eyes.

“We have three more days in Vegas,” She started, fixing his collar and hair with idle fingers and pressing an absent peck to his lips, “Do you think we could go back one more time? To see your mom? If that’s okay with her, of course,”

And he smiled widely at her, nodding and pulling her in for another long kiss. They had a dinner reservation in a half hour, but he didn’t mind being five minutes late for once in his life, not if it meant he was with her.

The one with Scratch. [he buys a ring]

He’d walked past the jewellers three times that week on his way back from the coffee shop. Bugsy had a fair bit of paperwork to catch up on, despite him offering to halve her load with her because Hotch had already warned them once about the complaints he got from the other agents that she was using Reid’s memory as an unfair advantage, although he would argue that her brain was just as capable as his.

So, he’d been sent on a coffee run alone. He wasn’t complaining, it was just down the road, barely even a five minute walk, and it meant he got to look at the range of neatly cut diamonds in peace.

He wasn’t looking to buy it soon, at least that was what he’d told himself the first time he’d seen the pretty one in the corner. He was just having a browse, perhaps just looking at the watches they had on display and his eye had happened to fall to the women’s section below. The second time he’d stopped for a look, it was just to see if anyone had bought that one he’d seen the first time, and when he realised they hadn’t, his heart gave a somewhat relieved sigh that he decided he would confront later.

By the third time, the shop keeper stuck his head out the door, making Spencer jump.

“Either you’re buying or you’re fogging up my window, kid,” The old man’s voice was gruff, but he had kind eyes, that of a romantic, and Spencer supposed you didn’t sell a dozen engagement rings a day and not feel hopeful.

“J-just looking,” He stammered, taking a step away from the rings and double checking he hadn’t gotten any smudges on the glass, “Not to buy right now, just for future reference,”

“No one comes back that many times for future reference, son,” He said with a chuckle and Spencer hated the part of him that said that he was right, “Why not for right now?”

Spencer huffed quietly, wondering if her coffee would be cold by the time he got back at the rate he was going, “It’s still a little early. I don’t want to freak her out,”

She had been his girlfriend for one year, seven months and two weeks (and four days but who was counting). It had been her thirtieth birthday just a couple months ago, as far as he was concerned Bugsy had never dropped any hints about wanting to marry any time soon like he knew other women did at this time in their life.

He was happy where they were, in their apartment, in their semi-public relationship, with their boys that were starting to look a little grey and rickety on their paws. Spencer didn’t want anything to ruin that, even if that one ring did seem to call out to him like a siren song.

The jeweller grinned slyly, like he knew something Spencer didn’t, but he nodded at the kid nevertheless, “Well, that little number in the corner you’ve had your eye on has had two offers already, incase that sways your hand at all,”

And Spencer felt the jolt of injustice in his head at the idea of someone else taking that ring, one that he couldn’t get out of his head the entire way back to the office, one that only went away when he saw her smiling up at him.

One that only dissolved when he imagined how she would look wearing it.

–

“Tell Penelope I said hi,” Director Axelrod murmured, turning on his heel and heading back to his car as Hotch flashed a look down at the paper, the name ‘Peter Lewis’ scribbled out on the line and he passed the paper to Bugsy where she peered around his shoulder.

“Get this to Garcia, Lewis has his final victim already,” He said and she nodded, the two of them heading back to the car. Bugsy pulled her cell out her pocket, immediately calling their tech whizz where the rest of the team were at the office an hour away.

“Peter Lewis, born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. To call him a Math genius would be an understatement,” Garcia reported, her press on nails clicking against the keyboard as she worked in the candlelight since Lewis had hacked into their electric systems.

“Where was he in the foster system?” Hotch asked, Bugsy holding the phone up over the centre console so they could both speak to their team.

“He was… ugh this WiFi hotspot is the worst,” They waited, Hotch heading for the freeway, “He was not in the foster system. He had two very biological parents and they ran the foster home until it- oh dear,”

“Looks like we found Mr Scratch,” Rossi sighed, and Bugsy’s brows furrowed, waiting for a response.

“So one of the boys in the house said Peter’s dad would dress up as the devil then the other kids would follow suit, this has to be where all the victims stayed before they were adopted and their names were changed,” JJ chimed in.

“Did Lewis’s father serve any time?” Bugsy piped up, chewing the inside of her cheek because the whole case had given her the heebie jeebies. Grown ups reporting sights of shadow monsters and waking up with dead loved ones. She thought by now she had heard it all.

“The case was pending and then he was killed in jail for being a paedophile. Peter’s residency is still listed as Florida,” Garcia said, her mouse whirling around at the speed of light judging by the soft ticks they heard on their end.

“He broke into FBI files to find someone in witness protection, did any of the kids from the home end up in WITSEC?” Hotch asked, clicking the blinker down to chand lanes and overtake the ford infront of them.

“That would be… no? No, none of them,” Garcia replied, and the team shared a confused pause.

“Who the hell is he still hunting?”

Hotch spoke up, his own mind whirring as to who could possibly be Lewis’ endgame, “Garcia, who ran the investigation in Florida?”

“Hold on, that would be Dr. Susannah Regan, who went into witness protection on a very nice estate in Columbia, Maryland,” Bugsy and Hotch looked at one another, sharing the same thought and the unit chief floored the gas pedal, knowing Regan didn’t have a whole load of time left if Peter had gotten to her already.

“Send Reid the location, we’re on our way,” Hotch ordered, and Penelope was already ten steps ahead, Rossi and JJ grabbing their vests and heading for the garage.

Bugsy hung up, checking her gun was still holstered as Hotch launched them the final five minutes to Dr Regan’s home.

And yet she couldn’t help feel like they were walking into the belly of the beast the victims had been describing.

–

Garcia hadn’t been kidding when she said it was a nice estate. By the time they’d gotten out the car, the entire street was silent, a quiet only lots of acres and high gates bought you.

“You stay behind me, we watch each other's six. We get Dr Regan and we get out, are we clear?” Hotch muttered, his eyes darling to the living room window where the curtains had been pulled closed, one single lamp left lit.

She nodded, the two of them edging towards the door that had already been left open a crack, “Crystal,”

He took a second to breath, wondering if they should wait for back up, but Savannah didn’t have alot of time, not if the unsub was already inside like he suspected, before he raised his hand up to the knocker and snapped it a couple times, pushing the door open.

“Dr Regan?”

“It’s open, come in,” The woman’s voice called, though it sounded too chipper to be authentic, some sort of uncanny valley as if it was an automated response from an answering machine.

Checking Bugsy was still behind him, he pushed on, his footsteps light and quiet, eyes scanning the large antechamber, the grand piano sat in front of a huge fireplace cold to the touch, the lights all switched off despite the owner being home.

Maybe Dr Regan was cheaping out on her bills. But Bugsy doubted it. Something in her gut didn’t sit right.

“Are you alright?” Aaron called, his torso squeezing against his vest as he scanned what he could see from the room, and she held up behind him, flicking a look over her shoulder every once in a while for movement from the other rooms.

“Agent Hotchner, I got Agent Rossi’s message,” She said, again in that cheery voice, despite her words claiming she understood she was in peril, and the sound of it made Bugsy’s chest seize with suspicion.

“Doctor, you’re in danger, you need to come with us,” She explained, her eyes squinting to see in the damning lowlight of the home.

“I understand,” That robot voice spoke, “I’m in the study,”

They paused for a second, exchanging another look before pressing on because they had no time to lose over silly hesitations. Passing through the entrance into the room lined with bookshelves on bookshelves, expensive tapestry on expensive tapestry, their heads flicked over to a frail older woman that somewhat resembled the woman they’d been sent from Penelope, when she had was freshly turned twenty five with a sparkly new bookdeal under her nose.

She sighed in gratitude when the entered, and Bugsy held back a moment as Hotch moved in, keeping her finger on the trigger, “I’m so glad you’re here, you need to see this,” Savannah produced a long, glass sharp letter opener that could easily pass for a knife with the eight inch edge of it, “He wants you to see this.”

And with that, without hesitation or caution she jammed the knife through her own windpipe as if puppeteered by a master, and Bugsy leapt forward to try stop the bleeding just as Aaron did.

Only she never got that far, because no sooner had she stepped forward a hand reached out from the darkness, grabbing her by the scruff of her hair and throwing her to the floor while she had been caught off guard. Pain exploded behind her eyes as her nose met the hardwood floor, and she swore she cracked a tooth or two. Her hand scrambled out for her gun, only to watch a large black boot stomp down on her digits that made her hiss in pain.

She heard a scuffle up ahead where Peter had managed to grab Hotch equally unaware, and she watched her unit chief tumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table on his way down.

And it was then that she smelled it. A raw chemically odour that ran up her bloodied nose, went into her mouth when she tried calling out for Hotch, and it made her cough up a thick mucus before it had even slid down her throat.

She heard shots fired, and it was enough for her to reach out for her own gun again, hoping that Lewis was distracted enough to not pay attention to her, only to realise somewhere in the scuffle he had kicked her weapon across the floor.

When had he done that? Why hadn’t she seen him? Probably because the pain behind her eyes had damn near wiped her vision into a blur of white.

It was then the nausea hit her, the vertigo washing over her like she’d stood up too fast, only she wasn’t standing up at all, in fact she was pretty sure she was on her hands and knees trying to crawl towards Hotch.

Hotch, who lay on the floor with his own eyes rolling like the room was spinning for him too, and she wondered how on earth anyone could have beaten Hotch. He was a rock, immovable, irreplaceable, forever.

“Hotch-” She garbled out, her voice tragic and weak in a way he’d never heard before.

And he opened his mouth to speak, only to find his own voice gone when he saw the figure leering over her body, a glint of a knife in his hand, and Aaron wanted to know how he had managed to emerge out of the shadows when he could have sworn Lewis was right next to him.

The drug, it had to be the drug. God his eyelids were heavy, what had they been in this house for?

But Aaron felt a scream lodge in his mouth, sounding more like a yelp, something that could have been a mix of ‘no’ and raw anger because Peter had brought one of those big black boots behind him and kicked Bugsy so hard in the gut she flew to her side like roadkill, the wind leaving her lungs with a whimper of pain, and her eyes never left Hotch’s gaze as he did so.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to need some alone time with Mr Hotchner here,” Lewis said, and before Aaron could plea or beg, he watched the man lean down and drive a swift line across her throat, as if he were simply gutting a pig, and her carotid artery was sliced clean in two, her blood spewing all over Aaron’s shoes, seeping into the floor.

And Aaron went to scream, felt the tears well in his eyes because he’d failed her, only this time, unlike Hailey, he was forced to watch every second of life trickle from her face as she bled out onto the floor, choking and clawing at the floor for reprieve.

What would he say to the team, to Spencer? What would he say to Emily?

Aaron let himself sob, shaking his head in denial and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hoping to god medical would get here soon. It would be too late by then, he already knew it.

Bugsy was dead. There wasn’t any miracle fix or band aids that were going to fix that.

And yet in the next moment the sound of her body writhing in desperation against the floor, the sight of which he couldn’t even bring himself to watch, it had gone quiet.

And Aaron peeled his eyes open, wondering if she had passed, if she was still in pain, if she wanted someone to hold her hand as she went, and he urged his heavy muscles to do something god damnit anything to help her, except his body felt like lead and even opening his eyes was too much for him.

But there was nothing there. Not the puddle of blood he’d just watched spill over the flooring, not her hand reaching out for him, clawing at her throat for reprieve and certainly not a body of a girl he once loved like a daughter who would stay with him for a lifetime.

All of it, just… gone.

“Don’t you worry, Mr Hotchner, I’m saving the girl for later. Can’t have a pretty thing like that go to waste,” Lewis smiled toothily, and Aaron wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat, wring the life out of him until he was a crumpled mess on the floor, “But for now, it’s you and me, Aaron. And I think you should answer your phone. Your team are on their way for you,”

–

Her scream was piercing, cut through two walls. He could hear it the second they stepped out of the car. He’d all but thrown himself out the vehicle before Anderson had even stopped, probably would have barged right through the front door without even drawing his gun if it hadn’t been for Morgan grabbing him.

“Reid, Reid, no-” Derek said, even though his voice wavered, his head flicking back at the house, “You can’t just head in there without backup, it could be a trap, man,”

“She’s in there, can’t you hear her?” Spencer said, his eyes wide with terror as the sound of her screaming kicked up a whole other decibel and Spencer's stomach churned at the thought of what might be the root cause of it, “Please, Morgan, I can’t-”

He didn’t even realise his eyes had welled up at the sound alone until he couldn’t finish his words, and Derek was staring at him with an equally solemn expression.

JJ rounded the other SUV, Rossi at her tail, their guns drawn low to their thighs as they gave Derek a nod; ready to enter.

“Just promise me you’ll keep your head, Reid,” Morgan said with a cautious tone. Realistically, Spencer should have stayed back at the office with Kate. He was too emotionally invested in the case, though no one wanted to be the one to argue that with him, knowing Spencer would only fight back that they would all struggle to keep their cool once they entered the house.

Because the UnSub had Hotch and Bugsy. He’d taken family. He’d made it personal.

And then, just as Spencer nodded, unholstering his own gun and making sure his vest was tightened at his waist, perhaps the worst happened.

A shot fired from inside the house, loud and unmistakable over the deafening cries and Bugsy’s screaming stopped.

–

Spencer didn’t even remember entering the house, not really, despite his promise to Morgan. He felt like his heart was in his throat, images of Maeve’s brain matter splattered over the warehouse floor flooding his head, because apparently a revolver can cut through two heads at once and still pack a punch.

Spencer was realistic, had sprung into a clinical sort of worry that told him exactly how many times he’d told her he loved her (two thousand, six hundred and seventeen times) and that maybe that wasn’t enough. It told him the amount of kisses they’d shared could have easily been doubled if he dared to steal them more often before bed, if he’d been honest with her years before he had, if he’d just taken five minutes off his showers.

He had barely survived Maeve dying. If Bugsy was gone… there would be nothing left of him. Nothing important anyway. Just a body, limbs, a heart that would never beat again. He wagered even his blood would stop because the idea of her gone from the world had already made him cold.

He heard movement in the living room, and judging by the way Derek’s head whipped over to their right, he had too. And before they could raise their guns up to aim, Derek edging forward to kick the door in with pure, simmering rage, a voice sounded out from the other side.

“In here!”

Hotch. Hotch, who sounded like he was weeping, or at least had a frog in his throat, hummed his words almost. The men drew a breath of relief, Derek reaching forward to open the living room door, his weapon still tight in between his fingers as he pushed.

“Hotch?” He said, though Spencer’s eyes cast around the room the second he confirmed his unit chief was okay. He had a nasty gash on his head, likely from where he’d fallen, and his pupils were dilated. Drugged. “Hotch, where’s Bugsy?”

“H-he took her-” Aaron slurred, attempting to get to his feet, holding out a hand to the sofa and using the furniture to claw himself up to a stand, “Upstairs I think- I need to get her- Where’s my gun-”

Morgan rushed in to grab Hotch under his arms as Rossi and JJ burst in from the kitchen, Rossi calling out behind them for medical attention.

“Hotch, you’re not going anywhere, you need to- Reid,” Morgan yelled, but Spencer ignored him. Because he could apologise later.

Lewis had Bugsy alone, had taken her upstairs, that was what Hotch said. And Spencer couldn’t stand by and wait while they had no idea what was happening to her. He heard JJ’s footsteps pounding behind him, following him up the stairs, and he knew he should be paying more attention for any hint if Lewis was still in the building. But he didn’t. All he could think about was those screams. Raw. Guttural. Like she was being skinned alive.

His eyes trailed the empty bedrooms, any sign of movement whether it be Lewis or the woman he would trade his own life for in a heart beat if it came down to it. But there was nothing there, not even as JJ swept the other handful of rooms, leaving them with one small storage room at the end of the hallway, and the two of them cast a glance at one another.

JJ nodded to him, and he reached out a shaky hand, praying on everything in the vast universe he’d spent his entire life learning about that someone heard him begging to keep his Bugsy alive.

He slid the door open, cocking his gun up to the figure in the corner, his own weapon at his feet as he smiled in a smug manner.

JJ took stock of their surroundings, waiting for the trap they were walking into to spring, only he held his hands out in surrender.

Because he had already gotten what he wanted. He had killed Dr Regan, and taken two cops down with him.

“Where is she?” Spencer spat, handing JJ cuffs as the woman grabbed him harsher than she should do, because the pleased look on his face was infuriating, only made worse by the chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth.

“She’s in the closet,” He nodded his head to the smallest bedroom, and Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “She sure is a darling, isn’t she? So easy to tame once that smart mouth of hers was gone,”

Spencer wanted to shoot him between the eyes there and then, put him down like the sick dog he was, but instead he fled after where Lewis had directed him, because he didn’t know if she was injured herself or if it was already too late.

For once in his life, Spencer Reid knew nothing.

–

And then he saw her.

She was alive, thank god she was alive, a dent in her nose that suggested he’d thrown her to the ground face first, her knees skinned, her palms scratched.

But that wasn’t what worried him.

Because no sooner had he opened the door to the closet, reaching forward to yank her hands off her ears, or maybe pull her for a hug, or maybe break down into sobs and tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t have stopped any of it, she’d started screaming again.

He didn’t think after so many years on the job he’d ever heard something so gut-wrenching. For a moment he thought he might even be sick. Because it was full of pure terror. Not the childish fright you get from a scary movie or a loop de loop on a rollercoaster, but blood curdling fear like he had never heard before.

It was enough to have Morgan running up the stairs with his gun drawn, only to see Spencer frozen, his hands reaching out to grab her, and it was only then the agent realised Reid was trying to speak to her.

“Baby, baby it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Spencer, you know me,” He said, his lip quivering, his words warbling with tears, “Please, please come back to me, I don’t know what to do- please just tell me what to do-”

“Reid, she’s not herself. Hotch said Lewis made him see things, awful things, just like he did with the other victims,” Morgan said, holstering his gun, his own resolve crumbling when he came closer and realised she had her eyes screwed tightly shut, curling herself into a ball in the corner like a kid trying to hide from the boogey-monster.

But Spencer didn’t listen, he couldn’t accept that they had found her alive and still he had been too late, didn’t want to accept that he had her in his grasp and yet she was still living her a personal hell with no end in sight.

“Please, please, come back to me,” He sniffled, leaning forward onto his knees to try hold her hands in his, maybe get her to hear his voice and wake up from whatever nightmare she was stuck in, “Come on, I got you,”

“No, no, no, you’re not real, you’re not real,” She screeched, shoving his hands off her, and it was then he saw the dribble of tears running off her nose, “You’re not, I won’t kill him, I won’t-”

It was the ravings of a mad woman. But Spencer didn’t doubt for one second that whatever was happening inside that big brain of hers felt entirely real. He heard Morgan draw a sharp breath, turning to face away from the girl and steady himself where his dark eyes lined with woe and salt.

Spencer hated seeing her cry, hated not knowing how to help her even more, and he didn’t care if she pushed him away even more. He had to hold her, hold her and make her listen, make her understand she was safe because he was there.

Spencer swore then and there that he wouldn’t let anything touch her ever again as long as he lived.

It took everything in him to ignore the way her hands scratched at his wrists desperately, and he wondered if in her mind he’d taken the form of some beast ready to swallow her whole. But he was sure he could calm her down with some coaxing, get her to see what was real if he was patient and gentle enough. He scooped an arm under her legs that shook, and it only took him a second to realise he had peed herself in the throes of her nightmare, the sight of it causing another cry to roll from his tongue. He didn’t care about the mess, because his entire focus was on her as her hands thrashed against his chest, trying everything to get him off her, even when his other hand wrapped around the back of her head and pressed her tightly into his shoulder, squeezing her against him in his lap like she was an inconsolable child.

“Please, please, I can’t, I can’t do it again, I don’t understand,” She wailed, her voiced croaking and pathetic and he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d damaged her vocal chords, “I don’t understand,”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” He cooed softly, pressing his head next to her ear and rocking her slowly, “It’s me, it’s Spencer. I’m real, this is real,”

Her hands stopped their fight against his body, his own grip tight and not showing any signs of letting go any time soon as he waited for her to wear herself out, for her body to lose its adrenaline and slip out of its fight response. She pushed him limply a few more times, with little more than the strength of a toddler, and he knew she was coming back down, at least something close to it.

“I’m so tired,” Her voice was muddled with tears, slurring and stumbling over each other and it was then that JJ walked in with three paramedics behind her.

The blonde’s face evened out when she saw the girl was alive, nothing but a few surface wounds, but it was then she saw over Spencer’s shoulder the way her eyes were clenched tightly together, the red marks on Spence’s alabaster skin where she had put up a fight behind cradled in his arms.

And JJ knew then that something inside Bugsy had changed that day.

“I know, you were so brave, you were so brave for me,” Spencer nodded, his cheeks flooding as he tried to keep his tone strong, stroking the back of her hair softly, “You did so good, I’m so sorry,”

“I’m so tired and I don’t understand,” She said, like she was putting sentences together for the first time, and it was like suddenly the fight had been sucked out of her as she slumped against him, not even realising in her haze that she needed to be showered off desperately.

“I know, honey,” He murmured, sniffling and pressing his face into her neck, “You can sleep now, I got you,”

She hummed like she didn’t quite believe him, like she still thought he was some figment of her imagination, but she hadn’t the strength to fight back, to call his bluff. And so she drifted in and out of sleep, as the paramedics got her on a stretcher, Spencer hovering over her face incase she woke up in a panic again, cracking her eyes open right as they got her on the back of the ambulance and suddenly it wasn’t Spencer’s face she saw flitting in and out of her eyeline, it was Hotch.

“Hotch-” She tried, her hand swinging out at her side with her attempt of grabbing onto his face because there was a trail of blood down his cheek. Her voice was fried, just like Spencer had suspected, her words sounding as if she had swallowed stones, “Hotch, your head,”

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I should have known he would be there,” Hotch said, as her eyes rolled back, straining desperately to keep herself awake. But she had said it herself. She was just so tired. “I shouldn’t have taken you in there,”

“I don’t think I like dreaming anymore,” She garbled childishly, a small frown on her face, and Hotch bit his lip to hide a whimper, raising a hand to her cheek, and Spencer sat at the foot of the stretcher, his neck and wrists sore where she’d clawed him, but he didn’t care.

Hotch gave her a long kiss to her forehead, one Spencer pretended not to see for the sake of paperwork, because he knew Hotch needed it, even as she’d been sucked right back into the reverie of sleep, their eyes never left her frail form, not even when the paramedics started hooking things up to her wrists to take her charts.

Spencer knew then he should have bought that ring.

–

She’d been staring at the ceiling for about five minutes before he tried to pry an answer out of her.

He’d tried not to smother her the second she woke up, had seen the hesitation and distrust swirling in her gaze when she saw him there, and he wondered if she thought it was another one of her dreams she had yet to wake up from. But he was real, and he was worried, and he loved her. God, did he love her. Loved her so much he couldn’t stand for one more moment to see her so dissociated from a world where she was his and he was hers and everyone was missing her.

“What did he make you see?” Spencer tried, his voice as soft as he could try make it without crying, because her gaze remained in her lap, the side effects of the drugs making her a little woozy, “Baby, I can’t help you unless you talk to me, please just, let me help you,”

Her throat was in agony the second she opened her mouth to speak, ripping with pain when she cleared her throat and in an instant, Spencer’s hand was on her thigh drawing comforting circles with his thumb.

“Emily was there, she came to- r-rescue me,” She started shakily, her hands trembling beneath the covers and she breathed slowly through her mouth, “S-she wasn’t wearing a vest, and when I asked her she said she’d gotten the first flight out of London to get me; and then… Doyle,”

She swallowed, and he took her hand in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and she tried not to let her eyes well up only to find it was already too late.

“He stabbed her like he did that night, but it was different this time. She was on the floor, trying to get away, begging me to call for help but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything, and I was trying so hard to scream and tell someone, but I couldn’t…” She sniffled, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, but he didn’t care, “And he wouldn’t stop. He just kept going, over and over again, and I had to watch every second of it knowing it was my fault,”

The floor was red, a horrible midnight ichor of Emily’s blood seeping from her body, more blood than a person should ever be able to hold. Last time Doyle had killed her, there had been a hairline chance that she would pull through and Emily had beaten all the odds stacked against her.

But this wasn’t like last time. There was no miracle escape to Europe. Bugsy would be surprised if there was even anything left of her to put in the casket.

Her eyes were terrified as she watched Doyle drive the knife into Emily’s skin, the scream lodging in her throat for a reason she couldn’t place. She begged herself to do something, say something, tell the man that she would rip him limb from limb if she ever got the feeling back in her legs, wail for help because that was her sister, her big sister, and she’d stopped moving a while ago.

Stop, stop it, stop it.

But the words wouldn’t come out. She was frozen. Numb. Like someone had unplugged her from the socket, and the only part of her that did work was her eyes, why did it have to be her eyes.

And the blade was red, so red she thought she’d never see anything else other than red again, as so was the floor, and his arms, and Emily’s clothes. Red. All over. Driving into her stomach with a wet squelch that made Bugsy want to vomit.

Over and over and over.

She burst out crying then, the first real emotion she’d shown in days, and he was out of his chair in seconds, cradling her to his chest and shuffling to sit next to her on her bed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it wasn’t real, baby,” He soothed, and she shook her head, her tears soaking his shirt through, and all he could do was stroke her hair down and press gentle kisses to her brow, “You were so brave,”

“And his face changed, and he wasn’t Doyle, it was Hotch. And he-he gave me his gun, and said I had to pick between him or you because one of you had to die and-and I wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t pick-” Her words warbled into his shirt, an amalgamation of sobs and deep breaths in between sentences, but she needed to get it out. It would eat her alive if she didn’t.

“Choose,” It was Hotch’s voice. The same rough edge, same bite he used with the UnSubs they chased, the tone he’d never used on her.

She shook her head, because the feeling had tingled back up her spine into her neck by now, and with it brought her voice, her sorrow.

“No, no, Hotch, please don’t make me, I can’t, I won’t-” She sniffled, looking at the thunderous eyes of her unit chief she’d known for years. He didn’t look like himself, like someone was wearing him as a mask, yet she knew it was him by his steady hands that drew his gun from its holster. He had always been sure of himself.

How had she got here? Had Lewis got to Hotch, brainwashed him into slaughtering and terrorising his own team. Whatever it was, Bugsy knew in her chest that whatever was standing in front of her was not Aaron Hotchner.

“Me or him,” He said simply, as if it was that easy, as if he wasn’t pressing a gun to Spencer’s head.

The sob fell from her lips before she could help it, looking to Hotch’s feet where he held the love of her life bound, his eyes rimmed with fear.

“I can’t, please, I can’t,” She wept, her cheeks soaked, the salt trickling down her neck and into her shirt. Or was it blood. Had she hit her head? Why did her head hurt?

She couldn’t care, couldn’t think of anything other than the fact a monster had taken over the man she thought the world of. She knew if anything happened she would never be able to hold it against him if anything happened, even if it would always be his face in her mind killing Spencer. Because it wasn’t him. It was Lewis. It wasn’t him.

Hotch’s finger clicked a bullet into the chamber, pointing the gun at Spence’s crown, and she warbled in protest, because her legs were still numb, her body from the waist down useless, but this time she could scream and fight and yell all the ways she begged for this to stop.

“Hotch, please, please don’t. It’s not real, it’s not real,” She yawped, her chest in agony, her head spinning because she could have sworn Emily was just here, could have sworn she had been coming to save her. Why was Emily here? And she’d usually be embarrassed to admit it at her big age, but she wanted her sister. She wanted her big sister more than anything, “Hotch,”

But the man who looked and sounded like Aaron Hotchner wasn’t listening. Instead he looked at her with a steely glare, cocking the gun once more between his fingers, “If you’re too much a spoiled little bitch to choose, then I suppose I’ll have to do it for you,”

And with that he pulled the muzzle away from Spencer’s head, and before she could say another word, utter another plea, he angled the weapon under his chin, pointing it straight for his brain, and pulled the trigger.

She thinks she screamed, though her hearing had gone with a staticky blur, his blood spraying across the wall like something out of a slasher movie. She remembered howling in shock, her face soaked with ichor and salted tears, and she expected Spencer to rush forward, grab her in his arms and cradle her with soft words.

But he did. Those hazel eyes she would know in every life time stared blankly at her, all trace of terror gone from his gentle face, and in a whirl of movement, he was standing where Hotch had been, his body gone in a wisp of smoke, like he was nothing more than a magician’s magic act, like her chest hadn’t just cleaved in two at the sight of him dying.

And Spencer took his place, the lips she’d kissed a thousand times pressed into a scowl, the hands she wanted to melt under, to hold her and tell her he was going to fix everything and make it make sense again holding the loaded gun.

And at his feet, bound by the same rope he had been was JJ. Freightened, beaten. Mother, wife, best friend, sister. JJ.

“Choose,” Spencer said, but it was cold and unfeeling. Nothing like the saccharine tone he used with her, and she felt the pit of pain and suffering and dread that had opened in her stomach grow only deeper, “Me or her,”

–

She had cried for about two hours after that, and he had held her for all seven thousand, two hundred seconds of it, stroking her hair, reassuring her that Lewis was gone, the drug disposed of, and more importantly, telling her he would never let anything like that happen to her again, over his cold, lifeless body.

And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer would never let an UnSub get so close to harming the woman he loved. Not a bruise, or a cut. Not even a scratch.

And for the three days they’d kept her in for observation she’d slept, and slept some more like she hadn’t known a wink of rest in years. And with it came the nightmares, of all the people she loved splattering their own brains over the walls, Chose, chose, me or them?

But by the fourth day she was allowed more than one visitor in her room, the spot that had solely been filled by Spencer, who would take to his grave that he’d gone home and washed their clothes of the mess she’d made when she wasn’t herself.

And on that fourth day, the team had arrived with love by the bucket load, because Bugsy was family, and family never let each other suffer alone.

“Oh, look at you!” It was Penelope first, ofcourse it was Penelope first, “Spencer, where’s that cardigan I told you to bring her, she could get cold, and that purple is so her colour- oh what am I saying, come here!”

Penelope bounded over to her bedside, not completely blind to the way Spencer tensed up as she threw her arms around the girl, fighting his urge to chide Garcia into being more gentle because he knew he’d been hogging time with her while the others had been forced to wait.

“Pen,” Bugsy said, breathing out and hugging the woman back as hard as she could, “Why do you smell like lavender?”

Garcia released her clutches (reluctantly) and produced a big tote bag of trinkets, one of which Bugsy suspected was a candle.

“Spencer said they might be keeping you another couple of days and so I brought you some goodies to cheer this place up,” She said with a chirp, reaching in her bag for two stuffed teddies, and Bugsy’s eyes melted when she realised they resembled Niko and Sergio, their colourings not quite identical but the thought had been there, “So you don’t miss your boys too much.”

Bugsy smiled, her chest spreading with warmth “Thankyou so much, Penelope,”

And Garcia went to respond, her smile wide and relieved, when another voice spoke up behind her, “Quite hogging her, mama, there are people waiting to see the kid,”

Penelope rolled her eyes which made Bugsy snicker slightly, moving out the way for Derek to lean over her bedside and give her a tight squeeze.

“You gave us a scare and a half, baby cakes,” He said with a sigh, and she hugged him back the best she could, though his arm muscles were the size of her head.

“I’m sorry,” She murmured, and he patted her on the back gently, before letting her go for the next person waiting to pounce on her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to be sorry,” JJ shushed, her slender arms all but crushing her into her chest, and she heard the breath of relief from the woman’s throat as she stroked a hand over her spine, “Just get better for us, okay?”

And Bugsy knew she didn’t mean the crack in her nose Peter Lewis had given her when he’d grabbed her by the nape of her neck and slammed her face into the wooden door the second Hotch’s back was turned. She meant the screaming. The nightmares. The chill that ran down her spine even now when she looked at every one of her friends and remembered that night. Picturing their brains on the wall, their blood on her face-

“Henry drew you a picture,” JJ said, pulling away and presenting her with her own gift basket full of homemade goodies and fresh pyjamas because the ones she had from the hospital were starting to itch, “He said you needed magic kisses,”

Plucking the card from the front of the wrapping, her lips quirked into a smile when she saw two stick figures, a small dot with yellow hair labelled ‘henry’ with an arrow, and a tall woman with a triangle dress and two glittery wings labelled ‘bugy’, and she was almost certain it was because they had played fairies and princes the last time she had gone over.

She flipped the page, and saw his hand writing scrawled in a green crayon, a few spelling errors here and there where he had tried his best.

‘to bugy

mommy said you wer hurt at work and needed somethink to make you happy agan.

I gave the card majick kisses before mommy takes it to the hospital to make you better agan.

also plees coud we play princes again some time soon.

Love Henry’

She chuckled, her finger stroking over the letters gently, because she could imagine him at his little blue table writing it out for her, and she handed it off to Spencer to put on her bedside table.

“Thankyou JJ,” She said earnestly, and the blonde nodded, squeezing her leg under the blanket gently before she moved over for Rossi to shuffle in, ruffling the girl’s hair because he would joke later that his back couldn’t handle all the movement when really he felt like she’d been mauled with enough affection for one day.

“You okay, kid?” He said, his eyes roving over the bruise on her nose that had bled into her eyes, and she nodded, smiling up at him somewhat convincingly.

“I’m still kicking aren’t I?” She said, and the older man chuckled, shaking his head, “Can’t get rid of me that easily,”

And it was almost true, the small seed of double planting in her own head because for a second in that house she had thought things were done for her. And Spencer had thought the same, judging by the way he nervously cleared his throat, playing with the collars of his shirt.

But Rossi nodded with her, “You kidding? There’s enough life left in you to resurrect all of my dead end marriages,” The team snickered, Rossi squeezing her arm the way grandads do, “Kate sends her love, she had to take Meg to her dance recital, she said she’s dropping by later with good coffee,”

Bugsy took a sigh of pleasure, because she would kill for a steaming cup of good coffee, and Rossi smiled at her attitude they’d all missed in the office.

And then there was Hotch, who looked damn near like a dog with a tail between his legs, sporting his own jagged forehead wound that had been stitched up, his lips pulled into a guilty pout unlike everyone else's grateful beams.

“Bugsy,” He started mournfully, and he swallowed heavily, “I’m-”

“Don’t-” She shook her head, looking up at him from where she’d sat up in the bed to accommodate everyone’s hugging, “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t give me that. He caught us both of guard,”

But he still didn’t look like he quite accepted that answer, settling to reach out and squeeze the hand that was laying across her stomach, his skin warm and rough as he held her like she was cracking glass under his touch.

She realised she had been wrong that day with Lewis, when she’d been damn near shaking in her spot because of the man who looked so much like Hotch, and she saw the fatal flaw that gave it all away.

His face was set in a frown more often than not, and it was for that reason a lot of the agents on the other floors lived in fear of SSA Hotchner’s thunderous tone and barking attitude, but Bugsy knew that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Because while he could be cold and domineering and bossy, his eyes told her all she needed to know.

He was hurt. He was guilty. He was worried. He was mourning. He couldn’t stop seeing Peter Lewis slitting her throat in that flash of a blade. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her incase it was all a dream in itself, that they had never been found, he had never woke up, they had never saved her.

His eyes were haunted by the past twenty years of his life, perhaps what happened even before then because she wasn’t so stupid to miss how he was more rough on child beaters and abusive fathers than he was their usual UnSubs, how he was so extra gentle with Jack, how he hated raising his voice. And inside the big scary exterior, Bugsy saw a boy who only wanted to save everyone because no one was ever there to save him.

She squeezed his hand tightly in hers, pulling him towards her and he’d resisted hugging her to start with because he knew the frog would leap into his throat, but he could never deny her. And he didn’t, he simply leaned over, caressed the back of her head over his shoulder with one of his enormous palms and gave her a warm hug no monster or demon or whatever she had seen could ever be capable of.

And Bugsy felt stupid for ever believing anything she’d seen.

–

They stayed for another hour or so, Derek running out to grab Bugsy a subway because the food at the hospital hadn’t been the best, and she had devoured the steak and cheese footlong so fast Rossi’s brows had raised into his hairline. Spencer handed her a strawberry flavoured pudding pot, the lid already peeled open for her and a spoon.

And it was then a figure came rushing through the door, so fast they were surprised they hadn’t heard the heels on the linoleum and the whole room stopped for a breath, Bugsy dropped her pudding cup down her shirt, barely even making her first bite count.

“Why did no one tell me those two were screwing for eight months?” Emily barked, gesturing between the two agents that cuddled up on the hospital bed, and almost as soon as the pure joy to see her older sister had flooded her body, it ebbed again, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“Eleven hour flight, Em, and a buttload of head trauma and that’s all you have to say to me?” She snipped, mopping up her pudding with the edge of her finger.

“I got weekly updates about the consistency of Sergio’s bowel movements but this you missed out?” She threw her hands up, sighing in contempt and almost immediately the girls were bickering like they hadn’t spent a single day apart from one another, but then Spencer supposed that’s what happened when you were blood.

And part of him wondered just who was going to tell Emily about the proposal, the same small part that had gone and bought the ring just yesterday while she’d been sleeping.

He supposed he could live with it being his secret for a few weeks longer.

TAGLISTS:

@littlemadamred @stainedpomegranatelips @mcntsee @release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @busy-buzzing

#spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew grey gubler x reader #emily prentiss x sister!reader

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writingrock · 3 months ago

Text

part one: the tale of two lovers

notes: strangers to lovers, fantasy universe, bakusquad, slow burn, fluff, slight angst, draconic language and culture, other tags to be added ... status: ongoing - this will be updated weekly, every Tuesday.

part list

pairing: barbarian!Katsuki Bakugou x fem!reader

chapter list

chapter 1

↬ excerpt:

The bard shrugs, resting his elbows on the table with an air of quiet conviction. "Stories are what keep us alive. They remind us of where we’ve been, what we’ve survived, and inspire others to forge their own paths. Besides," he adds with a grin, "I have a feeling your story is one worth hearing."

chapter 2

↬ excerpt:

Denki and Sero exchanged glances, both grinning now as they walked behind you. “I think they’re gonna get along just fine,” Sero whispered.

“Or kill each other trying,” Denki added with a laugh.

chapter 3

↬ excerpt:

There were a couple of things Bakugou noticed about you. It was natural that he was slightly curious about the latest addition to the party. After all, he needed to know if you’d be a threat to them, whether you were loyal, or if you’d bolt if the second things got too rough. Being suspicious of people was second nature to him—he didn’t know anything about you, and you weren’t exactly an open book either.

chapter 4

↬ excerpt:

“She’s not what I expected. That’s all. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But the Veil—” He trails off, his thoughts drifting to the dense, dangerous forest. “The Veil isn’t a place for anyone who isn’t serious. She’s not just a mapmaker. She’s… stubborn. Determined. Like she’s got something to prove.”

“Well then,” the bard asks, his voice softer now. “Did she prove it?”

chapter 5

↬ excerpt:

As more time passed, more facets of your character and abilities were unveiled, particularly within the complexities of the woods where your skills were most apparent. The group grew increasingly curious by your depth of knowledge and confidence with which you navigated both the physical and mystical aspects of the forest.

chapter 6

↬ excerpt:

“Karshoj, I thought you were an expert on these shitty woods!” Bakugou cursed, his voice smouldering with frustration as he kicked a nearby rock, sending it skittering across the ground. His fiery eyes locked onto you, anger practically radiating from him.

chapter 7

↬ excerpt:

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice slipping back into its usual hardness as he took the lead once more. And Bakugou’s quest was barely halfway done. There were still more artefacts to find, more trials ahead. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. And right now, the biggest obstacle to overcome was getting his group together and getting out of the caves.

chapter 8

↬ excerpt:

A day of rest was long overdue for the team. Especially after getting lost in those cave systems for god knows how long. Navigating through those tunnels had drained the group’s energy and dampened their spirits. Leaving them in desperate need of a break. It was clear to the group that they needed time to recover.

chapter 9

↬ excerpt:

“This is it,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath as you took in the serene beauty of the heart of Niniel’s Veil. The clearing before you was unlike anything you’d ever seen. A perfect circle enclosed by towering, ancient trees that seemed to watch over the space with silent reverence. The air was dense with magical energy, making every breath feel as if you’ve inhaled fumes of pixie dust.

chapter 10 [upcoming]

↬ excerpt:

Bakugou’s response was immediate and predictable, his brows furrowing as he let out a sharp scoff. “Hell no. You think I want her tagging along, running her mouth at every turn? She’s got a real attitude problem. Always got something to say, always pushing my buttons.”

comment if you want to be in the taglist for this series

taglist: @/chocogoldie @/devils-adversary @/l0kisbitch @/miikii0 @/onlyisaa @/sleepisfortheweakpooh @/helena-way07 @/enzstr @/qardasngan

#x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugo katsuki #masterlist #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader

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ragingbookdragon · 11 months ago

Text

It all happens so fast. She returns from the trip she’s been on for the last few days only to be arrested and put in federal custody for exposing secrets on NEST. She’s tough, seen war zones, fought extra-terrestrial alien robots, and stood before evil unafraid, but this scares her to tears. Men she works with day in and day out, in her face, yelling at her to come clean about selling secrets and all she can do is plead innocent.

But then they start asking her where she was, and she snaps her mouth shut on the answers. They dig into her, asking her if she was meeting with a contact, who it was, where she was. She keeps silent and it’s only until they decide to charge her with treason that she offers a simple answer.

“I was with someone, but it wasn’t for any type of secret meeting or sharing of intelligence.”

They press her over and over and over and it ends with her in a dark room, alone, cuffed to a table. It’s technically false imprisonment and cruel punishment, but she knows she doesn’t have much of a choice given the fact of how difficult a position she’s in.

She thinks of him. No doubt the rumors have already spread around the facility. She wonders if he has heard anything, if he has already said anything. She knows she can’t say anything, knows she can’t tell the entire truth—they won’t understand. How could they? They’re two completely different species.

Her spirits begin to dampen when a crash echoes outside and the roof of the darkened room is ripped from the walls. She covers her head the best she can, fear gripping her as light pours into the room and she squints as his face becomes clear to her.

“Optimus?” she breathes, and he reaches down, snapping the cuffs on her wrist like they were toothpicks before he picks her up and pulls her out, setting her down on the ground.

Guns are pointed their way, and she can’t help but hide slightly around the leg that is suddenly in front of her, guarding her. And then all of the Autobots are squaring off against the human soldiers, protecting her. Lennox somehow ends up in the middle of a multitude of aliens and humans, yelling at both sides to lower their weapons.

“Alright! Everyone put your guns down!”

There’s a breath and then the humans lower theirs followed by the Autobots.

Lennox looks at her. “You know I trust you, I know you wouldn’t do what they’re saying, but if you have a true, factual alibi, you have got to tell them. Now.”

She purses her lips, thinks for a moment, then looks up at Optimus; he gives her his own calming look and a nod. “She and I were both recently out. We were together.” He looks down again, kneeling enough that he can take her hand in his larger one. “We are navigating a difficult and new relationship between two different species.”

“Optimus,” she whispers. “I—you don’t have to tell them this."

His pointer gently brushes her temple. “If telling them our truth means it protects you, then I shall.” Optimus looks at the higher-ups she answers to. “If you mean to punish someone, then it will be me. But know this, she has not betrayed your trust and remains a trusted agent.”

It’s quite a commotion and the night ends with her job and security reinstated and a new manhunt for the double agent; she sits outside in the field, far enough from the facility that she doesn’t have to worry about being questioned anymore. The crunch of the ground comes behind her and she doesn’t look as Optimus sits down beside her on the grass.

“I am sorry that this is how things have come to light,” he murmurs, staring up at the sky. “It is not how I would have wished it.”

She sighs, not tired of him but of the entire thing. “It’s not your fault, Optimus. I think I should’ve told Lennox that I was out before we left. If nothing else, just to let him know that I wasn’t doing anything malicious.” She looks at him. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not your fault, my spark,” he says and shifts a leg until she is between his, his hands are wrapped around her, thumb brushing her thigh. “I should’ve done more to protect you.”

“Have they said anything since this afternoon?”

“I would not be surprised, but I was once taught to listen to all but only take few as truth.”

She leans back against him. “Thank you, Optimus.”

“Always, my spark.”

#optimus prime x reader #optimus prime x reader imagines #optimus prime x reader imagine #optimus prime imagines #optimus prime imagine #optimus prime #optimus x reader #optimus x reader imagines #optimus x reader imagine #optimus imagines #optimus imagine #optimus #transformers #transformers bayverse #bayverse transformers #transformers x reader

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bestiesenpai · 5 months ago

Text

sukuna bridgerton au pt2

Writing this immediately after posting the first one because this brings me so much joy. The dress I had in mind for the wedding was the one worn by Princess Charlotte in 1816 so if you’d like a visual please refer to that

part one — part three -- part four

Link to the ring i mention here

You managed to push the appointment with the modiste to a further date, reminding your mother that Sukuna hadn’t even proposed yet.

“Oh but he will!” She countered, giddy as could be. “At the coming ball he will.”

“Did he tell you himself?” Crossing your arms in resignation, it felt like you were the mother and she the child with you trying to quell her excitement over something that hasn’t yet happened.

“He did! Asked your father for permission to propose the day after your first meeting!” That made your jaw drop and any further words you had to say were quelled, the fire inside you dampened for a moment.

On the night of this fateful ball, it was forced upon you to wear Sukuna’s family color, Prussian blue. To have gloves or a purse of the color would have been fine with you but a whole dress was too obvious and put you at risk of embarrassment should he decide not to propose after all. But with your parents too blindsided by this burgeoning royal connection there was no hope of talking them out of it.

“(Y/N)!” Walking into the party, you immediately sought out your friends. A few of them had actually been proposed to already and you marveled at their rings decorated with beauties such as emeralds and rubies.

“You’ll get yours soon enough!” They teased, making butterflies erupt inside you despite your best efforts. A fit of giggles took over you as you thought about what the ring might look like.

“We shall see, girls!” Wiggling your bodies, you made your way to the refreshments table, eager to fill your stomachs before descending upon the dance floor. A few men filled your dance card as you ate and you danced with them gleefully. This felt like your last night of freedom before Sukuna caught you within his grasp.

The party was just about in full swing when the Queen and Sukuna made their entrance, causing everyone to pause for a moment to greet them properly. You were just in the throws of a spirited dance with an older male acquaintance when it all stopped. Out of breath and with a ditzy smile on your face, you curtseyed just as every other woman did, barely paying any attention to Sukuna’s long look in your direction. Once the music started up again, instead of coming to him like he assumed you would, you returned to dancing.

“Jealous?” The Queen quipped with a teasing smirk on her face.

“No. Never.” Quickly fixing his gaze to what was ahead of him, Sukuna shook his head. “Come, let's find our seats.” He ignored the chuckle behind him as he led the way and he staunchly ignored the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach - that was something he would rather die over than confront.

After finally finishing every dance with the men on your card, you were able to slink away and find respite. You were admittedly a little tipsy from the Italian ratafia, the cherries in it slightly addicting and adding to the flavor of the pastries you were becoming so fond of.

“Miss (Y/N), His Highness wishes to see you.” A footman interrupted your period of indulgence and motioned to the perch at the head of the room where Sukuna was standing and waiting.

“Please inform His Highness that I am preoccupied at the moment and shall see him when I’m ready.” Giving the footman a curt smile, you snagged another pastry and drink and walked off into another area of the party where some games were being played.

“What is my wife thinking, denying me an audience?” Not even five minutes later Sukuna had appeared behind you and you could feel his annoyance.

“Wife? Who is that?” Looking down at your empty ring finger, you chuckled to yourself. “It seems I am unfamiliar with her, Your Highness.” You laughed again, this time made louder at someone's display in charades. Sukuna laughed as well so as not to arouse suspicion of any ill will.

“Miss (Y/N), I wish for you to accompany me to the main hall.” He said, coming to properly stand next to you.

“I decline that offer, Your Highness.” You didn’t even turn to look at him, instead keeping your eyes on the game and shouting when another person guessed the right answer.

“I- you cannot be serious.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sukuna sighed shortly. “Please, you know what has to happen right now.”

“It can wait until this game is over.” You pushed back, finally sparing him a glance. “After all, a gentleman listens to a lady when she says no, does he not?” Your question stopped all further argument from Sukuna and he relented, allowing you to finish your refreshments and watch the game.

“There, it is over now.” Huffing, Sukuna let his hand hover near the crook of your elbow. “Now will you please follow me?”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Giving him a big cheeky grin you walked off ahead and once in the main hall, you stood where he wanted you to, just a few feet in front of the Queen. Clearing his throat, Sukuna motioned for the orchestra to stop playing as he drew everyone's attention to the two of you.

“Thank you for your attention everyone.” He started off, giving the room a once over. “I will not keep you long as I know we are all eager to enjoy the night, but I ask that you bear witness to what I am about to do.”

Taking a deep breath, as if on cue a footman stepped forward and handed him a small velvet box. Sukunas eyes were staring straight at you as he bent down to one knee, making everyone in the room hold their breath.

“Miss (Y/N),” he started, making sure he was loud enough for the room to hear, “even though we have only known each other a short time, I feel the chemistry between us. I do not want to waste time and have you possibly stolen from me by another…” You could tell he was faking being nervous by the way he paused and looked around the room. Always one for a show, he is.

“Will you please marry me?” As the words left his lips you heard your mother gasp and out of the corner of your eye you could see her clutch your fathers sleeve. It felt like time stood still as you looked at Sukuna, then the Queen, then the crowd before you. The scale had tipped in your favor, the power was in your hands; you could say no.

“Yes.” The crowd erupted into applause, launching Sukuna to stand and grab your hand.

“I knew you’d say yes.” He teased, slipping the very large ring onto your finger. It was a gorgeous sapphire, the same Prussian blue as his house colors, with a twisted pavé of sparkling diamonds around it and going down the band. “That's a 7 carat sapphire.” Sukuna boasted, turning your hand so it shined in the light.

“Beautiful indeed.” Seeing the ring and feeling the weight on your finger made what was happening all real and coupled with Sukuna holding your hand so gingerly, it made your heart flutter.

Turning to the Queen, you both bowed to her, earning a nod of the head in return. Turning to the crowd, it was only moments before your friends and family crowded around to congratulate you and see the ring. So many were in awe of the size and their jealousy was hardly contained, some looking down to their own rings in disappointment.

It took a while for the party to return to normal but you eventually found yourself being surrounded by your friends again at a table in the other room, sipping on far too many cocktails in the name of celebration.

“To (Y/N)!” They all cried, equally if not more intoxicated than you were. “May Her Highness not forget about us when she resides in the palace!”

“Please!” You laughed at the new title. “As if I could ever forget my dearest friends!” At that, you raised your glasses and polished them off, trying and failing to gently place them on the table.

You all stayed until the end of the party, stumbling out of your seats and finding your respective chaperones once it was time to leave. Unable to find your mother or father, you wandered around the garden and admired the topiary.

“Aren’t you cold out here?” A familiar voice sounded and you didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

“Not at all, Your Highness. I rather enjoy the evening breeze.” In truth you were but the alcohol was dulling your senses.

“Do not call me that anymore, we’re engaged. Call me by my given name.”

“I will do no such thing.” Turning to him, you shook your head a little too hard. “That should be reserved for people in love and we are not in love.” He groaned in annoyance and followed behind you as you walked in the garden. Sukuna felt the urge to demand you call him by his name, force you to bend to his will but he couldn’t find it in him. So instead he walked quietly and said nothing.

“I do like the ring.” You broke the silence, turning to face him once you decided you’d seen enough.

“You do? It's a family heirloom. Belonged to a grandpa's cousin's aunt or something like that.”

“Hm.” You didn’t laugh at his attempt at a joke even if it did amuse you slightly. Swaying on your feet, you held your hand up at eye level, the gold of the ring contrasting with the black velvet gloves you were wearing.

“It’s quite late and everyone is leaving. We should do the same.” The two of you were close enough to the house that no one would be scandalized by your being unchaperoned but Sukuna knew that if you were in your right mind you would be worried.

“Find my mother then.” Your eyes were still fixed on the ring. Sukuna scoffed at you and brought his hand to yours, attempting to grab onto it. “Do not!” You drew back, clutching your hand to your chest.

“Miss, please.” Sukuna was trying to be a gentleman and ensure your safety though truth be told he wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him. He could have easily just walked off and gotten a footman to keep watch on you as he gathered your parents.

“I thought you wanted to use given names.” Tilting your head to the side, you looked at him curiously.

“I- be quiet.” A light flush rested over his cheeks and that irritated Sukuna. “Just come inside with me at the very least.” He was feeling the cold and he knew it was worse for you in your dress especially since your shawl had been discarded somewhere.

You stared back at him wordlessly as if seeing him for the first time. Squinting your eyes, you took in his attire, his Prussian blue tailcoat with metallic gold thread embroidered throughout and his crisp white waistcoat peeking out from underneath. The cravat he had on was tied intricately like when you had first met him and the ribbon to his pocket watch was also blue, dangling with an ornate cross and the seal of the kingdom. Gone were the boots he had worn previously, opting instead to adopt the shoes other men wore. His hair had been styled, trimmed and slicked back to showcase more of his face.

“Handsome.” You mumbled, taking a step toward Sukuna.

“What?” Your response surprised him but he didn’t move as you came forward and lifted a hand to graze his cheek.

“This is the first time I’m truly looking at you, Your Highness.”

“H-had you not seen me before?” He cursed himself for the stutter in his words but when the back of your hand brushed his cheek it made his tongue heavy. This softness from you was unexpected and he didn’t know how to handle it.

“I suppose not, hm?” It was like you were entranced by him, mesmerized by his beauty. Sukuna couldn’t tell if you were even really looking at him since your eyes had a faraway look to them. Raising his hand, he cupped yours as it dropped to run along his jaw and he could smell the faint perfume you had sprayed on your gloves. Something delicate and subtle, floral perhaps, just like a lady to use.

“Shall we…” Sukuna was going to ask to take you inside once more but you surprised him again by taking another step forward and resting your hand at the base of his throat. Your thumb ran along his Adam's apple, causing him to swallow quite loudly.

“Yes, let's.” You answered his unspoken question, dropping your hand from him entirely and sidestepping him to go inside. Sukuna remained glued to his spot however, his heart beating so hard he worried he was going to die.

“What is going on with me?” He wondered aloud, flexing his hands in front of him and begging his body to settle. Sure he had women flirt with him before but nothing as tender as this and he was positive you had no idea you were even flirting in the first place. You just…saw him, just observed how he looked and made no effort to do anything about it, hardly even complimented him excessively like he was used to.

By the time Sukuna made it back inside you had left with your parents and he was alone, the Queen having left already as well. Riding back to the palace by himself, Sukuna retraced where your hand had been on his face and sighed, recounting the velvet of your glove and the faintness of your perfume. It unsettled him that as he lay down to sleep he still thought of you and even in his dreams you appeared.

The next few weeks were a blur of wedding preparations. The Queen decided you’d be married at the end of the month, putting a time crunch on everything. You now went to a royal tailor instead of your usual modiste, there were what felt like a dozen ladies maids helping making decisions for you and you hardly had time to sleep.

So much happened in that month that you hardly even saw Sukuna at all. The only times you were together were to tour one of the Queens villas where the wedding was to be hosted and when there was a portrait painted of the two of you together to commemorate the wedding and to serve as a gift from the Queen. And both times you were chaperoned and you were too tired to truly make conversation.

The morning of your wedding came much too fast and you were up at dawn being bathed, fed a light meal and taken to the villa to be dressed in the most expensive outfit you would most likely ever wear. There were more layers being put on than you were used to and your corset was tied just a bit tighter.

“(Y/N).” Your parents stood at the doorway as your wedding dress was settled onto you. Looking at them through a mirror, you could only smile at the way they were getting teary; you’d been instructed not to move by the head maid and she was very serious in her request. You were spritzed with perfume and white gloves were slid onto your hands at the same time you were donned with jewelry. The weight of such pieces, on loan from the royal family for such an occasion, made you nervous beyond compare.

“Final touch, Miss.” Looking back at yourself, you watched as a tiara was taken from a velvet box and put atop your head, secured by pins before a beautiful lacy veil was put on top to complete the look.

“Oh, my daughter.” Your mother couldn’t contain herself and turned away, dabbing at her lashline with her handkerchief. Collecting herself quickly, she stepped into the room and let her hand ghost over the veil. “You are…magnificent.” She whispered, finally grasping your hand tightly.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t look away from yourself, everything was done so precisely. Your dress had more jewels and pearls than you’d seen in your life and you were afraid to touch it or even breathe too much in it; it felt as if you were a living work of art, one that must not be disturbed in any manner for any thing.

“Here Miss, to calm your nerves.” The head maid handed you a dainty glass cup filled with a dark liquid and the scent made your nose burn slightly.

“W-what is this?”

“Spiced brandy.”

“But I’m not nervous!”

“Oh trust me Miss, you will be.” She motioned for you to drink and you looked back down at the cup. It was small enough that you could drink it quickly and be done with it, so you steeled yourself and shot it back, almost retching before the maid slapped a hand over your mouth and got you to swallow it.

“O-oh my god.” You coughed, almost dropping the cup. “That was awful.”

“You’ll thank me later, promise.” She said, patting you on the back and then fixing your makeup. The alcohol worked quickly, making your body warm and a bit looser.

“They’re ready, ma’am.” Another maid announced from the doorway, signaling it was time to get going.

“Right this way.” Led out of the dressing room and down the hallway, the further you went the louder the chatter from all the guests became and the piano playing as background music was nearly drowned out by the buzz of excitement. Coming upon the grand hall, a maid rushed out of one of the doors and for a brief moment you saw just how many people - how many royal people - had attended.

“Thank you for that drink.” You swiftly turned to the head maid who nodded knowingly at you.

“Miss (Y/N) is ready.” She spoke to a footman instead who knocked on the large wooden doors in front of you three times, and through them you heard another gather the attention of the crowd.

As the doors opened, your mother and eldest brother went first and your hand gripped the arm your father had hooked into yours. Your whole life has led up to this moment, this exact time. This was what everyone wanted from you and you were providing as you should, but you couldn’t stop shaking.

“Father.” You turned to him before you stepped into the light from the doorway. “I-I’m nervous, what if I mess up?”

“My love.” He spoke kindly to you, softer than he ever had before. “You could fail a thousand times in a thousand ways and you would still be perfect.” Brushing over your veil, he took a deep breath himself. “Besides, you are not the only one that’s nervous.”

You chuckled breathlessly as he said that and then it was time to walk forward into the light of the venue, into what was fast becoming your new life. Swallowing thickly, you followed him as your father led you to stand in the doorway.

Walking down the aisle was something you’d spoken about, hell even practiced with your siblings and friends as a joke throughout the years, but doing the actual deed was much different. Your eyes roamed over all the guests standing at attention and drinking you in. There was no way to miss all their eyes on you and the way they followed as you walked down. No one said a word, no one dared even breathe too loud as you moved closer and closer to Sukuna.

Sukuna, who was dressed in the most formal attire you’d ever seen him in: a full dress royal military uniform complete with silky white gloves, an Order of the Garter sash, gold aiguillettes and a few medals you didn’t know the meaning of. His military hat was being held by a groomsman behind him and you dared to briefly look down and see his shoes were shined to perfection and he had a full dress sword with a golden tassel hanging from it.

The walk was over before you knew it and soon your father was unwinding his arm from yours to shake Sukunas hand. Giving you a brief kiss on the cheek, you heard him sniffle before he turned away and took his seat with your family.

Standing for a moment, Sukuna looked awestruck as he stared at you. His eyes were a tad wider than they usually were and for a second you thought you saw his eyes get glassy. Holding out his hand, Sukuna helped you up the three small steps onto the altar before letting go and standing at attention before the archbishop.

He wanted desperately to say something to you before the vows started, wanted to say how stunning you were and how happy he was to see you walk down the aisle. But none of that came to him; you had quite truly taken his breath away. So instead, he hyper-focused on the archbishop's words and made sure he said the right things at the right times.

After the last ‘I do’, Sukuna turned to you and lifted your veil almost too slowly, too carefully, as if he was afraid that with any wrong move you would shatter into thousands of pieces. Once he had lifted the veil and folded it away, he stared at you for what felt like ages before he forced air into his chest and leaned forward.

To your relief the kiss didn’t last too long, you weren’t sure how much longer you could take being stared at like this. Both of yours’ lips trembled upon touching and while he did put a little force behind it, Sukuna still made sure to be gentle.

“Shall we?” He whispered once he pulled away, offering his hand and motioning back down the aisle. You couldn’t find the words, so you just nodded your head and allowed him to lead you down. The sound of the guests cheering surprised you and you looked around at all who attended. There were royals from different countries that were here in their traditional dress, all of whom you’d only read about and never thought you’d ever see. All of your friends were there and half the ton, something that brought you great comfort. There was still a sense of familiarity in all of this.

Once the two of you had left the room, it was a mad dash with the servants to fix your makeup and get the two of you into the next room to start receiving guests. Going to the reception hall, you smiled at the inclusion of your favorite flowers and colors along with Sukunas Prussian blue.

Sitting down on an ornate chaise lounge, you thanked the servants that fluffed out your dress and settled your veil over the rest of the seat, letting the full length of it be on display. You weren’t sitting side by side with Sukuna, moreover he sat straight on whereas you were at a slight angle facing him with your dress brushing his knee every so often.

“You look…” He finally spoke, fixing his hat and gloves nervously.

“Yes?” You urged, trying to meet his eyes. It was unlike him to be coy like this.

“Absolutely breathtaking.” The words were a whisper on his lips and he glanced at you as he said them, eager to look back down at his gloved fingers.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. You’re my wife.” Clearing his throat, Sukuna grabbed your hand and held it on his thigh. “Let them in!” He called to the footman and the doors were opened, with the first people ushered in being the Queen, followed by your family. Following Sukuna’s lead, you did not stand when she entered which had you twitching anxiously.

“To the happy new couple.” She said, giving a small clap. “I hope you enjoy the honeymoon I’ll provide to you.”

“Th-thank you, Your Majesty!” Your mouth dropped in shock, you forgot about the honeymoon. And with a honeymoon came consummating the marriage and you could feel your face begin to burn at the idea.

“(Y/N)!” All your siblings cried, rushing in once the Queen had made her exit. The younger ones leapt onto you while a sister right behind you in age ran her fingers over your veil. There was so much they were saying, how beautiful you looked and how ready they were for cake and it had you tearing up.

“Why are you crying?” Your mother asked, immediately grabbing a handkerchief to stem your tears.

“I-I’m going to miss you all, so so much!” Releasing Sukuna’s hand, you allowed your mother to clutch both of them.

“Listen to me, (Y/N)! You’ll see us again! It’s not as if you’re going on some great journey for five years, it’s just to the neighboring kingdom! Why, we can even come visit you if you’d like!” With your mother comforting you like a child, it was up to Sukuna to entertain your siblings and he was not prepared for the ordeal.

“Be careful with that sword!” Somehow two younger brothers managed to begin to unsheathe his sword with the intention of playing with it.

“Your Highness, since you’re our new brother can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Why is your hair pink?”

“Everyone, please!” The look of exasperation quickly growing on Sukuna’s face pulled you out of your misery and a light laugh came out. “Let him rest, we have other guests to greet.”

“Yes, say goodbye to your sister and let us go out to the garden.”

“Bye!” Nearly smothered in a thousand hugs, they all eventually left. Before the next guests were brought in, a maid touched up your makeup at your mothers request.

“You’ll see them again, I promise.” Sukuna said, fixing his coat and a medal that had gone askew. “After our honeymoon we can bring them to the country estate.” Looking at Sukuna’s face you could tell he meant it and that made you smile.

“Thank you.”

As guest after guest came through, your knowledge of politics was put to the test. There was the Emperor Satoru Gojo who you knew Sukuna had a sometimes-not-so-friendly rivalry with. Archduke Nanami Kento whose people were renowned for their knowledge of cooking. King Getou Suguru hailed from a mountainous region with a high monkey population. All of them were kind to you, wishing you well and offering to host you in their country should you ever want to visit.

“Stay still.” Sukuna said abruptly as the next guests came in. The mood immediately shifted upon their entrance and you felt the air leave the room as a group of three filed in. They were clearly aristocrats or royalty Sukuna knew with the way he jumped up out of his seat.

“Your Highness!” There was one in the front who was clearly the leader, his yellow blonde hair contrasted with its dark tips. He had a few black metal piercings on each ear and the way he spoke made you bristle. “What a beautiful wedding!” Walking further into the room, the man locked eyes with you. “And an even more gorgeous wife.”

“Do not speak to her.” Sukuna stepped into his line of sight, effectively cutting you off. Looking at the rest of the group, there was a horrendously scarred woman staring at the floor and a man with inky black hair and a scar at the edge of his mouth. “What business do you have here?”

“Relax, we’re just here to pay our respects!” The blonde man began to waltz around the room with his arms open. “Why, a wedding truly has a way of bringing people together, does it not?” Returning to his previous position in the room, the man motioned to you. “Now, will you introduce us or do we have to do it ourselves?”

“You will not speak to her, you will not look at her.” Sukuna was irate, you could see it in the way his body had puffed up and his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.

“Nonsense!” The man dared to take a step further and Sukuna gripped his sword, causing the woman to go into motion and move the cape she’d been wearing to the side, revealing a jagged looking blade tucked against her. You heard a few maids stifle terrified noises and you moved without thinking.

“M-my name is (Y/N)!” You shot up out of your seat, making everyone turn to you. The look in Sukuna’s eyes as he turned was white hot and scalding, forcing you to look away. “Her Highness, Crown Princess Ryomen (Y/N).” It was hard to say the entirety of your new title without stuttering but somehow you managed.

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman!” Sidestepping Sukuna, the blonde man held out his hand for you and you followed suit, playing whatever game he wanted and resting your hand in his, letting him kiss the back of it. “I am Tsar Zenin, Naoya Zenin.”

Your brow furrowed as you thought back to your schooling. There had been no mention of a Naoya Zenin anywhere in your books or in the newspapers and bulletins your father read. The Zenin family name was vague to you at best; but there was no time to dwell on it further as Naoya flicked his head and the man with the scarred lip came forward and pulled out a wooden box.

“Your Highness, allow me to give you a gift!” The top of the wooden box was removed with flair and inside was a thick suede headband, adorned with large circular diamonds forming a floral pattern with a few other colored gems dotting the empty spaces. There was also a pair of matching earrings that looked much too big for your ears.

“What do you think?” Naoya asked quietly.

“It’s- they’re very beautiful, thank you.” His expression was making you uncomfortable and you glanced at Sukuna. He had gone completely still as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“I hope to see you wearing them when you visit my country. Many women wear this style and I think it would suit you.”

“She will do no such thing.” Sukunas voice broke the buzzing tension in the air, ripping Naoya away from you and scoffing at the gift he gave. “I would never have my wife go anywhere near a country where a prince kills his whole family just to be in power.”

You gasped, nearly stumbling back at the news. Naoya’s eyes flicked to you and his smile faltered; he didn’t want you to know that part about him and moreover if you did come to know, he wanted to be the one to tell you and control the narrative you heard.

“Princess, don-”

“Do not speak to her!” Sukuna grabbed Naoya roughly by the collar and they locked eyes. Naoyas lackeys stood poised and ready should a fight break out but Naoya seemed perfectly content with the situation.

“I see the groom has had enough of us. We shall take our leave.” Raising his hands in surrender, Naoya slowly backed away with a cocky grin on his face. Turning to you, he put a hand on his chest and bowed. “Princess, I hope we meet again soon. I wish to bask in your beauty even longer next time.” With no other words, Naoya and his group left the way they came, making sure to leave the wooden box on a credenza by the door.

As soon as they left, Sukuna was in front of you, inspecting you with his eyes. His body was still painfully tense and you could see the way his teeth ground together every so often.

“Are you mad at me?” You were afraid he would start yelling at you at any moment, reprimand you for speaking to Naoya and not letting him handle the situation. Sukuna didn’t react to your question, instead picking up the hand that Naoya touched and wiping it off on his jacket.

“How are you?” He asked instead.

“I’m fine. I apologize for-”

“No. Stop.” Shaking his head, Sukuna bit back a sigh. “I am not mad at you. I am mad at myself for not expecting that a potential enemy to the kingdom would use this day as an opportunity to try and do something. I…I’m mad that I failed to protect you.” Sukuna shook his head again and looked down at the medals on his jacket. “I’m a godforsaken general afterall.”

After taking a moment to collect yourselves, you received the rest of your guests in quick succession. Seeing your friends helped push your shaken nerves away and so was seeing the rest of the ton. With the reception over, you moved into the main hall to continue the festivities.

“Excuse me.” Once inside, Sukuna made a beeline for a table occupied by a few of the royalty you had met with. They were sharing a few bottles of champagne and Sukuna popped one open and wasted no time drinking almost half of it.

As the wedding went on you were able to forget about Naoya and the seriousness of the situation. You danced with friends and family and even some members of the ton that had been jealous or disapproving of you getting to marry the prince. Everyone was in high spirits and it made you happy to be able to bring everyone together.

With the evening coming to a close, you realized you and Sukuna had hardly seen each other. You saw him dance with a few people, even the Queen, but for the most part he was drinking with his friends and playing yard games. Whenever you caught his eye he would wave, each time getting drunker and drunker.

“Your Highness, I know you’re to start your honeymoon right away as Prince Sukuna requested but he’s in no shape to travel tonight.” A footman gave you the information with a sorry look on his face and you understood why; Sukuna had drank so much he had to retreat from the party early to throw up. Emperor Gojo and King Getou were in no better shape passed out on the lawn and Archduke Nanami was nursing his last drink with a bright flush on his cheeks.

“I understand. Please, see to it that he cleans up and rests for tonight and I will see our guests off.” You pitied the valet’s that would have to wrestle Sukuna into a bathtub. Turning back to the party, it wouldn’t be so bad to finish it alone as a few guests had already taken their leave.

“A shame about your new husband, my dear.” The Queen came to stand at your side, making your back immediately straighten.

“Yes, it is.”

“He told me what happened. With the Tsar.” She spoke quietly, bringing her fan to the front of her face. “Tell me, what do you think of the whole matter?”

“I…” Truth be told, you tried not to think about it. “I do not think we should rush into responding to this…intrusion. I feel as though Naoya is just playing, he wanted to test the Prince's patience; see how far he could go.”

“I agree. The Zenin family has had a bloody climb to power but I know they wouldn’t be stupid enough to rush into any conflict just yet. Their country is on shaky ground as it is, Naoya must secure his right to the throne before he looks elsewhere.” The Queen's words were reassuring and enough to give you peace of mind. She always knew what to say, so confident in her words and actions; you hoped to emulate her one day when Sukuna took the throne.

“My diamond, let’s give your guests a proper farewell. Your honeymoon awaits you.” Putting her fan away, the Queen gently grabbed your hand and squeezed.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

#jujutsu kaisen #bridgerton au #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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vilevenom · 8 months ago

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One more quick little thing before I head to bed for the night! This one is for @em-doods, because we got to chatting about some sweet, sweet JD and Clay sadness ❤️ If you haven't gone to check out her adorable trolls art, I highly recommend it! I especially recommend checking out this post here, as well as this one, since those are the versions of BroZone's parents referenced in this ficlet~

It's relatively short, but I hope you enjoy it, anyway!

One of the last things John Dory had expected when he'd settled himself on the beach outside Bruce's resort was Clay plopping himself down next to him. Truthfully, they'd been getting along much better in the few months that had passed since Floyd had been rescued, but there was still plenty of tension between the middle and eldest brother. They'd talked through a small handful of issues, such as Clay's bitterness about John taking all the fun out of him being the 'Fun Boy', and John's incessant need for their past performances to be 'perfect'. However, the two still did not tend to purposefully seek out each others company.

"Uh…hello?" John chuckled rather awkwardly, offering Clay a lopsided smile, "What's up?"

Clay simply stared out at the ocean for a moment, before turning his gaze to John Dory. "Tell me about Mom and Dad."

John blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden demand without preamble. "Sorry, what?"

Clay rolled his eyes, but didn't seem particularly annoyed by John's confusion. "Tell me about Mom and Dad. I don't really remember a whole lot, and I know you've got a memory like a steel trap."

"Oh. I suppose you were only about nine when they were taken, weren't you?" John mostly muttered to himself, rubbing at his chin. "Okay, sure. Uh, is there anything in particular you wanna know?"

With a short shrug Clay leaned back on his hands, turning to stare back out at the ocean. "I dunno…Got any fun stories from when we were kids?"

John thought about that for a moment, before snapping his fingers, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah! When we were little, Mom used to make up all sorts of fun little dances while she was doing chores and things around the pod. She liked singing well enough, but she loved dancing. One of my personal favorites of hers was her laundry dance. When you were old enough to walk on your own, you started trying to mimic her dance moves. You usually wound up falling over and tugging whatever laundry Mom had just hung up down, and getting all tangled up." John let out a fond laugh, shifting to sit forward a bit. "She'd laugh and help you get untangled, all while you cried about messing up the dance."

"Is that why you got me doing the choreo for BroZone?" Clay sniffed, a small frown on his face.

John sighed, his joy at recalling his mother quickly dampened by Clay's apparent need to constantly remind John Dory of what a horrible brother he'd been. "Maybe a bit, yeah," he admitted quietly, letting out a little puff of air. "You loved dancing. With Mom, especially. I guess, maybe…maybe it was a bit to keep her spirit alive with us. With the band." He sighed, rubbing at his face, "That sounds selfish."

Clay snorted, shooting John a wry smile. "It totally does, man."

"Shut up," John laughed, shoving his brother gently in the shoulder. Clay swayed slightly, but made no move to retaliate. John chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, before blurting, "You look like her."

Clay startled slightly, turning wide eyes on John. "Excuse me, what?"

"Sorry, I-ugh," John raked his fingers though his hair in mild irritation at himself. "You look like Mom. You take after her. A lot. The rest of us sort of take mostly after Dad, but you look so much like Mom. And it's way more apparent, now that you're older."

"Do I?" Clay sat up and glanced at his hands, flexing his fingers.

"Yeah, bro. Mom was super into books, and she had all these amazing ideas," John sighed wistfully, watching the waves roll into the sandy shore, "She was super smart, and really kind. And she was just ridiculous. Any time one of us would go to her with some stupid little kid idea, she'd do her best to help us achieve whatever it was, even if it was practically impossible." He laughed, before he began to rummage around int the pockets of his vest, finally pulling out a well worn photo. "Here! I almost forgot I had this on me."

Clay accepted the photo reverently, eyes wide as he took in the still frame from so long ago in their past. A very young John Dory was stood next to a tall, lean looking troll with voluminous teal hair. Clay barely recognized himself in the photo, a trolling no older than perhaps five, propped on her hip, shyly waving at the camera. "Is that…?"

"That's you and Mom, yeah. I think this picture is right around your fourth or fifth hatchday. You were starting to get a bit too big to be carried around, but you kept getting jealous of Floyd, so Mom would make a point of carrying you around as much as she could."

"Oh," Clay murmured, startling a bit as a wet drop hit the corner of the picture. He tipped his head back to find the sky devoid of clouds, only to quickly touch his face and realize he'd begun to cry.

"Even despite being in that cage, she always did her best to make sure everyone always had a smile on their face," John continued quietly, not noticing his brothers plight. "After Mom and Dad got taken, you started trying to do that. Fill that void that Mom left behind, trying to make everyone laugh or smile…" Finally, he looked up to find Clay with silent tears pouring down his ruddy cheeks. He looked alarmed for a moment, reaching out hesitantly, not quite sure if his touch was welcome, only to jerk in surprise as Clay fell into his side with a sniffle. With mild trepidation he gently settled his arm around Clay's shoulders, giving him a little squeeze.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft crashing of the waves on the beach, and Clay's quiet, hiccupping sobs.

"I forgot what she looked like," Clay admitted after a time, not moving from his brother's hold.

"Sometimes I forget, too," John sighed, rubbing Clay's shoulder, "It's why I'm so glad I managed to get hold of our old photo albums when I went back to the tree. You can keep that one, if you want."

"Can I?"

"Of course. I've got plenty more, back in Rhonda."

"Thanks, JD."

"Anytime."

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls john dory #trolls clay #things that i wrote #trolls fanfic

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kookygranger · 2 months ago

Text

Spirit in the Sky

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, no upside down/no hawkins au

Word count: 900

Author's note: I don't know what this is or what it will be, but it's inspired by @bettyfrommars' biker!Steve, a lot of The Bikeriders + The Place Beyond the Pines in this first chapter, a little ghostrider!Steve to come, a little of me trying my best to dissociate with the realities of life

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter One

The smell of burnt sugar from the candy floss carts is overpowered by the petrol stinging your nose when you enter the tent. The chatter of the crowd mostly drowned out by the buzz of the motorbikes as they zip around, flicking up dirt. There’s a warm breeze that tickles the hem of your dress, sweat clinging to the back of your thighs.

You’re momentarily stuck in a trance watching them go back and forth when you feel a pinch on your arm. Your friend nudging you and speaking in your ear to draw your attention.

That’s him.

He looks much the same as the others in his white jumpsuit, but you can’t deny there’s a different aura that follows him.

One that’s been picked up by most the girls in town in the short time the carnival tent has been pitched.

And now you can’t seem to draw your attention elsewhere as he parades on one wheel to the cheers of the crowd. Making your breath catch in your chest every time he was in the air, falling back down to the ground. At every moment left up to fate and physics as he swoops in behind his fellow stunt riders in the gaudily named globe of death. And again, when the helmet finally came off, his brunette locks set free and only slightly dampened with sweat – a coy smile and wave to the crowd.

You’d fallen in love with strangers before of course. Passionate fantasies that lasted just as long as their presence in town. Settling with the dust left in their wake, another moment of escapism to keep you going. But unlike the others, he lingered.

Steve ‘hot spur’ Harrington

And when he started coming into the diner every morning for a cup of black coffee and some bacon with a side of toast you didn’t think much of it. Even less so when you noticed that he’d hardly say a word to you but was all smiles and charming lines to the other waitresses. Even if you’d get a tightness in your chest every time you’d hear the engine of his bike as he pulled up – it didn’t matter.

He was just another fantasy soon to be gone.

That was until he sat up, catching your attention as he uncrossed his legs when you’d left the diner one night, realising he must’ve been leaning on his bike for a while. Your eyes following the cigarette he drops next to the two that already lay discarded by his worn boots, before they travel back up to find his already watching you.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat of the rasp left by smoke, “I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go for a ride?”

“Excuse me?” Of course you thought you hadn’t heard him right. That he’d mistaken you for someone else. The light in the car park barely cast on orange glow on the both of you. But then, again.

“You wanna go for a ride?”

“You don’t know me.” Your eyebrows pinch, head moving in disbelief.

“Sure I do.” Then he flashes you a smile, shyer than the one he’d been giving the prettier waitresses. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“I-I don’t-“

“The one that I’ve been trying all week to pluck up the courage to ask. So?” His leg starts to bounce, his torso leaning forward while he still remains perched on the side of his bike.

You shrug, still not sure where this conversation was coming from. “So?”

“You wanna go for a ride?”

You shake your head, “No.”

“Oh.” Steve finally breaks eye contact, looking down as he kicks at the gravel. “Right, yeah.” His hand runs through his hair.

“I’ve never been on one.”

His head snaps back up.

You gesture to where he’s seated. “First time with a stranger seems like a terrible decision.”

He smiles again, more assured, teeth on display. “You seen me ride?”

You nod.

“Then you know you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

“It’s reckless.”

He laughs, eyes darting as he notices your body move slightly closer. “It’s practice. And it’s confidence. Two things you need to be good. ‘M not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“Why me?”

Steve stands up, bridging the gap between you in a couple of steps. “Already told you.” Your head moves back to accommodate his closeness.

“You think I’m beautiful, right. How many girls you said that to since you got here?”

“You seen me with another girl?”

“No.”

“Then I think you just answered your own question.”

You end up in a slight stare off. The smile on his face might’ve pissed you off if it wasn’t so damn charming.

And when you feel his hand pull your arm tighter across his torso, the cotton of his white T-shirt against your skin grounding you as your heart beats rapidly between you, the wind roaring in your ears, you can’t help the smile that finally creeps up on you. Steve squeezes your arm again when he feels it pressed up against his back.

And that’s how one of your fantasies turned real; how you met the love that would burn you to the ground.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #ghostrider!steve

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libby-for-life · 5 months ago

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Okay well, I was wondering if you'll be for Michael visiting Adam at the Hotel.

Context: Adam is willing participating in the Redemption idea, which is a shock to everyone, since they thought he wouldn't be for it. When questioned about it, Adam says he misses his husband (they don't know it's Michael, he just says 'husband'). Which is even more of a shock, which Adam is confused/annoyed by, they just assumed he straight, yet he never said he actually was🤷🏽‍♀️. Fast forward a few days and The Archangel Michael pays a little visit. The Hotel finds out that the 'Husband' in question is him.

Bonus: Michael calls Adam his Wife🤭

Extra Bonus: one-sided Adamsapple; Lucifer thinking he has a chance with Adam, when he's 10,000 years too late

Can Michael and Lucifer not look alike? Because some people have Michael as a blue copy and paste version of Lucifer and that gets annoying real fast. Michael can be taller and buffer, the guy is basically the General of Heavens Army.

I got you, anon. Michael x Adam. Unrequited Adamsapple.

Adam let out a deep sigh, his brow furrowing slightly as he listened to Charlie's latest proposal for redemption. While he appreciated her optimism and idealism, he couldn't help but harbor doubts about the practicality of her plan. However, not wanting to dampen her spirits, he nodded in agreement, resolving to give it a try despite his reservations. As another sigh escaped him, Charlie picked up on his unease and turned to him, her voice soft and concerned, "Adam? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. I guess I'm just missing my husband," Adam said with a shrug, his voice tinged with a hint of longing as he looked at his ring. His husband was a pillar of strength, exuding a quiet fortitude that belied the warmth and kindness he shared with Adam and those around him. His smile had a captivating power to illuminate any space, a quality that had initially drawn Adam to him when they first met in the realm of Eden. Adam had harbored feelings for his husband for what felt like an eternity but had only found the courage to confess his deep admiration over a hundred years ago.

It felt like the room went silent as Adam realized he was being stared at. "What?" He asked as he felt all eyes on him. "I'm sorry, you're gay?!" Vaggie said and Adam couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows. "Well, bisexual, but I don't really see why it's such a big deal.

"Not a big deal?!" Angel Dust screamed. "You mean I could have a chance with you?!" Adam shook his headq and flashed his ring. "I'm married, remember? I would have said no. I don't know why this is such a big surprise. It's not my fault you guys assumed."

"Because it's you?" Vaggie said with a dismissive hand. "You sound and act like the straightest guy around." Adam glared. "Again. You just assumed. That is not my fault and I have no obligation to tell you who I'm attracted to." Vaggie had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Adam! I'm so happy for you!" Charlie said with the biggest grin. "Who is he? Does he want to come visit?" Adam shrugged with a small smile. "He said he would come in about a week. You can meet him then."

While everyone talked about Adam being married, who would have thought that, Lucifer was silent through it all. Adam? Married? Please. Lucifer knew the First Man. No one would be dumb enough to like the guy let alone marry him. The Devil tried to push down the feelings of jealousy he was feeling.

He knew Adam. If anyone should get to be with him, it was Lucifer.

The next week couldn't come fast enough for Adam as he made sure he wore his best piercings and his favorite band shirt. He also wore the pants that showed ass quite well. He had to look the very best for his husband.

As he walked out, he almost ran into Lucifer. Adam tried not to shiver at the look he gave him. "Sorry. I have to go." The First Man said quickly before speed-walking away. He didn't like the long looks the Devil gave him.

Entering the lobby, he smiled at Charlie as she hung a banner in honor of his husband. "You sure you don't want to wear something a little...nicer?" Vaggie said with a look of distaste at his outfit choice. Adam rolled his eyes. "Look. You know what Charlie likes, right?"

Vaggie gave a hesitant nod. "Well, I know my husband. Trust me. He'll like what I'm wearing. Besides. It definitely isn't for you to like." The former angel looked down. "Sorry."

Adam nodded as the sound of a door being knocked was heard. He quickly ran to it and opened it. He smiled down at his husband who grinned back at him. "Adam. My dear, you look as radiant as ever."

The First Man giggled. "And so do you, Michael. Come in." Everyone held their breath as the Archangel Michael entered to room. He had the same traits as Lucifer but other than hair and skin color, they looked nothing alike.

For one, he was taller than Lucifer. He had a muscular build that rivaled most resistances of Heaven. His long hair was combed neatly and his eyes were a shimmering blue. Compared to Lucifer who looked like a twink standing next to him, it was hard to tell they were brothers.

"Oh my God. You're husband is Michael? The Michael?!" Husk said, dropping his beer bottle. Adam nodded as his husband grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Adam came back up with a blushing face.

Lucifer stared at the two with a dark look. Of course, Adam's husband was Michael. And it seemed he had gained muscles from the last time he saw him. He looked as perfect as ever and he couldn't help how his eyes turned red when he saw a hand reach down to Adam's ass and squeeze. The First Man blushed and turned to look at his husband with adoring eyes.

It wasn't fair.

"Do you mind showing us to your room, Adam? I want to show you how much I missed my wife."

#hazbin hotel #unrequited adamsapple #guitarhero #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel michael #send asks

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novelizt · 1 year ago

Text

EXPECTO PATRONUM II ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 17.4k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'dearest vexation', (+'my girl). prefect! lockwood. jessica lockwood lives!! (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader). boggarts, and a lot of unpolished dialogue. QUILL KIPPS. blood and injuries (tending to wounds). mentions of kids and marriage at the end.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

In true Slytherin and Gryffindor fashion, neither of the boys hesitated. Lockwood swung a hex at you. You deflected with a basic protego. He advanced, closing the distance to aim better.

On the other side, Daria flung offensive spells at James. She managed to cast levicorpus on him. He hung upside down, chained in the air. That didn't dampen the flames of his spirit. He threw more charms and jinxes at her. She responded just as quickly.

You almost lost sight of Lockwood before he casted an impressive disillusionment charm on himself. He melted into the background as your blood rushed. You opened your senses and spun revelios in attempt to unveil him.

James's feet found the floor thanks to Lockwood, and the Potter striked a petrificus totalus back at Daria. Instead of turning his attention on you, James nodded to the air and sat like his part was done. He was heaving but smirking.

The hairs on your neck rose and you turned to dodge a stupefy the still disillusioned Lockwood slung at you. You could only hear your breathing and your shoes tapping.

Every hair on your body stood as paranoia sunk in. You're tempted to give up, but you remembered who you were up against and regained your resolve.

You backed against one side of the cage, leaving three directions he could come at you from. In that position, he couldn't catch you from behind.

You'd obviously underestimated Lockwood's growth. The last time you saw him cast a spell as impressive as his disillusionment was the sleeping trance charm he used on the dragon. He used your lack of knowledge against you and you were both impressed and frightened by it.

You remind yourself that you were a Ravenclaw, one of the most highly acclaimed students under Professor Flitwick and the brightest witch of your age.

Everytime you won against Lockwood, it was because you were using your head. Then, it finally clicked for you.

You held out your wand and went on a limb as you spoke, "Accio Prefect Badge."

You heard a gasp to your left and spun your wand to cast revelio. Lockwood's face appeared, speeding towards you, left hand trying to remove the badge he often boasted about. You couldn't help but smile, raising your wand, ready to cast.

His wand rose to rival yours. You heard the beginnings of an explosion spell before adjusting yourself.

Your hand was furious and your lips moved at a speed you didn't know was possible. The beginnings of his firework charm surged towards you before the sound was cut off by the crippling noise akin to metal meeting metal.

The explosion was engulfed by silvery light. It swallowed the flames until all that remained was your patronus.

They say the devil's in the details, and you forgot about one in particular detail. Your smile faded as a silence befell the room.

Your patronus had stayed a crane. Its wings, pearlescent and broad as it hovered, a carbon copy of Lockwood's.

There was static in your ears. Your face drained of colour and your heart plummeted to your stomach.

The patronus's glow casted a faint veil between you and Lockwood. He looked back at you with a shocked but not surprised expression. Neither of you expected James to raise his wand and stupefy you.

—

Everything was all black for a while. You had no dreams. Yet, somewhere in the void, you began to hear giggles, familiar and chilling.

"Come on now," one spoke.

"Stumped by a stupefy!" another added, this one more energetic.

"And by Jamesie, no less."

"Potters are trouble," the other tutted.

The first gasped. "I saw her lids twitch!"

"We know you're awake already."

You cracked your eyes open, and, sure enough, you're greeted by two golden-haired rascals; Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Three years your juniors, they were Ravenclaw's notorious twins who were known to be as caring as they were mischievous.

Your throat dried, your neck stiffened, and you wished the duel was all a dream. You tried to sit up, to no avail.

Lorcan jumped into action, helping you up by propping a pillow behind you whilst Lysander passed you a cup of water. It wasn't spiked with anything, you pleasantly discovered. You finished the whole glass in one fell swoop.

When you shifted to return the glass to the bedside table, you felt a tug on your opposite arm and nearly jumped when you spotted curls of brown crushing your hand. He was slouched but there was no mistaking that resting sad face.

No wonder the twins were so smiley.

You turned to them. "How long has he been here?"

"Asking about him first?" Lorcan grinned.

Lysander cupped his chin. "That's awfully un-rival-like of you."

"Hush. Just tell me."

"Since you asked," Lorcan said with an attitude.

"Tony's been here since lunch," Lysander answered. You laxed. That wasn't so bad, it couldn't have been too long.

"Lunchtime yesterday," Lorcan corrected.

Your soul departed from your body.

"He would have come sooner if Madame Pomfrey didn't keep you under intensive care," Lysander continued, as if that was any better. "No visitors until she deemed you stable enough."

"He's very stubborn, you know."

"I think she knows, Lorcan."

"And you let him?" You kept your voice down but your tone was a borderline shriek.

"He wouldn't let up." Lorcan shrugged.

"Professor Flitwick said the best we could do is bring you two food and drink," Lysander backed up.

Your jaw loosened at the news. "The professors allowed this?"

The pressure on your hand lightened. Your lips smacked shut as Lockwood said, "I'm their best student, they let me do anything."

Say something smart, you told yourself. It's the only right reaction to an egoistic comment like that, but your mental function ceased at the rasp in his voice. His very, very groggy voice that made you feel like you've been hit by lightning.

One hand rested on yours while his other arm lazily held up his head. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again, yet, he looked like he hadn't slept at the same time. Gray swooped under his eyes, he turned more gaunt than the last time you saw him...

Goodness, the last time you saw him. Heat crawled up your neck.

The patronus. The crane, his crane. Now yours, too.

He knows.

The Scamander twins were on the same wavelength because Lorcan hopped onto an empty square of your bed and asked, "So... is it true?"

Lysander crossed his arms and placed them on the bed. "Did your patronus really change?"

"Did it?" Lockwood asked, just to drive the fact home. Though tired, he did that smirk-smile that you've committed to memory.

You blamed your near internal decapitation for your unaligned state of mind. You answered quietly, "It did."

Lorcan and Lysander exchanged looks. Bright-eyed, like they had just discovered a Fantastic Beast of their own. They both leaned toward you, forcing you to lean toward Lockwood to retain some of your personal bubble. He didn't mind, he even squeezed your hand to reassure you.

"How did it happen?"

"What was it before?"

"Did it happen consciously?"

"Did someone cause it to change?"

You didn't know which twin was speaking, their lips were moving at the same time. You processed their words before answering. "It just did. It was a giraffe. No, I didn't expect it to change at all. And I don't know."

The last answer wasn't really a lie. Lockwood didn't do anything special, but your patronus was now miraculously connected to his. He was involved somehow. You would be grasping at straws if you didn't consider your earlier adventures to be the catalyst.

Lorcan and Lysander had a whispery discussion while you drowned in your reverie. When they decided that they were sated with your answers, they waved you goodbye. You faintly hear a muttering of George's name and it all made sense.

George had sent the twins to gather intel because he knew you could never say no to them. That, or he was still upset at you over being dragged into the anti-Amortentia scheme. The bugger.

You sat up despite your aching head, but surrendered the moment Lockwood brushed a finger over your knuckles. It's odd to give in so quickly, but it was too late to go back on it.

Your eyes shifted to him and, just like before, his were already on you. A smile formed on his lips but it wasn't your favourite one. He gave you a tight-lipped grin that matched the ashen grey under his eyes.

"You were stupefied," he said.

You rolled your eyes and pretended not to see his smile grow. The weirdo missed seeing it.

"Unfortunately," he continued. "You had backed yourself too close to Professor's cage. The stupefy basically bludgeoned your skull against the cage and the protective spells sent you in the opposite direction."

Just hearing the technicalities made you grimace. You remained grateful he didn't mention Madam Pomfrey's methods of fixing you up. If you had broken your skull, you wanted to be ignorant of it. Lockwood understood your dread and kept the rest of the details to himself.

That still didn't answer the question that's been at the forefront of your mind. "Why are you here?"

He sucked in an audible breath, eyes wandering. Classic evasive Lockwood move. You already knew he was going to respond with a lie.

"Because I owe you one," he said.

You mastered the art of stoicism, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was harder to practise that time around.

"You don't owe me a thing," you replied, coughing away the dejection that bled into your voice. "We're even. The Romanian Longhorn incident, remember?"

"How could I forget?" He smiled at the floor. Another swipe over your knuckles that sent you into orbit. "But I would have been spell-bound for the rest of my life if you hadn't intervened."

Years—That's how long you'd been avoiding his eyes and how his emotions swam in them, but now, you couldn't convince your angel and devil to look away. Honey in a bottle eyes pried open so raw you physically felt the weight of his words, and then the shackles of your own guilt.

It clawed at your throat, coiling its gangly fingers around your windpipe and choking you until your fears were forced out. "You were spell-bound because of me."

He responded with a frigid laugh. "Are you kidding me?"

Your brows furrowed. "No? Why would I kid about something like this? You were under the influence of Amortentia. It's not the first time a tragedy had come from its misuse. Have we not learned from the story of Vol—"

The cold bit at you as he disentangled his hand from yours, pushing himself back to see you in full. "This is not about the moral of the story or what could've happened. Why are you blaming yourself?" He scoffed. "Sweetheart, you're not the one who tricked me. Some nutter did."

"Listen here," you gave a despondent sigh, crossing your arms and distancing yourself by pressing your back into the pillow. "She wouldn't have done that if you hadn't... been so fixed on me."

"Sorry, is that a sin?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Fancying someone that isn't her isn't a crime. You didn't do anything to hurt me. What she did was the making of her own evils."

"Fancying? Lockwood– Nevermind that. She said—"

"You value her word over mine?"

"No!" Your heart clenched, your mind raced. "Merlin, no. I just mean that you would be better off without me."

Lockwood never looked so frustrated before. Not at you, at least. He pressed his lips together, fists on his hips as he paced.

Your eyes followed in wait. There's not much else you could say. You'd let the biggest resident of your mind go in that one exchange. You didn't take into account how anxious it would make you to see him react.

He stopped, as did your heart. You sat up straighter when he let his arms fall to his sides.

"You are the most despicable woman I have ever met," he said in one breath.

You had a lot to say about that. You were offended, humiliated, and humbled all at once. Yet, he didn't let you say a thing until he finished.

"And I could easily choose some other lovely lady who doesn't give me a migraine every time I speak to them, but I can't. Because I've been taken by you the moment you called me a twat for mistaking a llama and camel even though I am the raised as a muggle between us." He stole a breath to replenish his air. "And I try to make you understand that there is no getting rid of me, but your lack of awareness is equivalent of my lack of failure—"

You rolled your eyes at that and he cracked a smile.

"And if I had to guess, it would take about a million years and triple that of worshipping before I get you to understand that I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you; But I'm already aware, and I'm going to spend all of my mortal years trying, and then spend the rest of our reincarnations doing that over and over just so I can be yours. Don't even try to stop me, sweetheart. You know I never give up."

Your cheeks hurt from trying to repress a smile.

"Come on," Lockwood coaxed. "No need to be shy. You can smile, sweetheart."

And so, you did. But you didn't expect the waterworks to begin.

Salty tears slid down your cheeks and into your mouth. You tried to wipe them away to preserve the rest of your dignity in the face of Anthony Lockwood but it was for naught.

Your breath hitched as your chest constricted, but it's the first time you cried tears of joy. You couldn't help but laugh amidst the pain.

Years of trying to prove yourself to your family. Years trying to meet ungodly expectations just to earn your place at their table—they return to you at the same moment. You cried for every minute you fought for a modicum of love from people who preferred pride, all while Lockwood was right there. You didn't see it until he spelled it out for you.

Lockwood washed away the shattering memories with every swipe that dried your tears, then quelled the rest of your fears as his arms came around you.

He held you fast against him. "I hate to say it, but I love the way you keep my feet on the ground. Snarky attitude and all," he said.

Your head hurt from both the injury and the crying, but you'd never felt so seen, so loved.

It was pure instinct to try and hit him. That time, he let you. Your fist met his chest with a dull thud.

"Would you look at that," he chuckled against your hair. "You got me."

He earned a soft laugh from you, and you didn't see it, but he smiled your favourite smile.

You got him in more ways than one.

—

If you admonished one thing, it was whispering behind your back. The likelihood for people to do just that tripled since the patronus business got out.

You and Lockwood, renowned for butting heads at any given opportunity, had the same patronus. They were studying magic. Of course they knew what that meant.

In the recent days, you'd taken to hiding in the confines of the library. If not, you'd be tucking yourself in your room behind a good novel.

Lockwood had taken up the same hobbies.

You pulled a book out of its space to examine the cover, just to double take and peer between the space it left behind. You'd recognise that smirk anywhere. Only Lockwood would pose all suave against a shelf like that.

He smirked. "Like what you see?"

"I don't know. An ogre is covering a pretty, rebound version of Hogwarts, A History."

He laughed all dashingly then closed the book he pretended to read. He came closer, setting his forearm on the shelf.

"I open my heart to you and you wound me. You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"If you didn't like that about me, you would have handed your heart to someone else."

"Have I told you how much I love your feistiness?"

You cheeks strained from holding back a smile. "Bugger off."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then duly decided to drop the act. "I don't feel like being obedient today. Come with me?"

You squinted at him. "Where?"

"It's a secret. Why, you scared, smart girl?"

You pursed your lips, miffed. "Please. You're the bigger pansy between the two of us."

His smile stretched. "Prove it."

"I will."

You returned the book to its place, locking Lockwood out of view. You heard his laugh and stifled yours as he was reprimanded by Madam Pince.

—

Calling Lockwood a danger magnet was putting it lightly. The man actively sought out danger like it was weaved into his state of being.

Somebody had to keep him in check, and some Higher Being had chosen you to be his keeper. So, there you found yourself, at the margins of the Forbidden Forest in the belly of the night.

"If I die, I want a special coffin in the likely event that my corpse leaps out and strangles yours."

"Sweetheart," Lockwood set his hand between your shoulders, easing you forward. "I'd be torn to bits before I ever let anything touch a hair on your head."

"Very reassuring."

He poked his head over your shoulder just to flash you a smile. "I know."

He chuckled as you shoved his face away.

Even if you were braced in your warmest cloak, the chill of being at the thresh of such a foreboding precinct of Hogwarts was overwhelming. It was like being face to face with a Roman Longhorn, except there were more than two eyes on you. You could already see their glowing irises peering at you behind the foliage.

They scrambled for the dark when Lockwood had casted lumos, lighting up the dirt path ahead. He eased his arm over your shoulder, squeezing you to him, before trudging on.

"What are we looking for?" you whispered. In your mind, the less creatures that knew you were ever in the Forbidden Forest, the better.

Students were punished to walk through the very path you were on, and here you and Lockwood stood, walking it on your own volition. Your reason for being there was to prove an arrogant Slytherin wrong, but you were walking the path regardless.

It took a moment for Lockwood to answer. He was already looking between the branches. "Promise you won't behead me if I tell you."

"I would behead you even if I did promise."

His lip quirked. "A spitfire as always."

You feigned politeness. "May I know now, please?"

"Since I'm doomed either way, I won't tell you that we're on the hunt for a unicorn."

Your feet dug into the dirt, halting Lockwood in his path. Disbelief written on your face. "A unicorn?!"

"Well, 'hunt' is an abrasive word. I suppose 'find' is a more apt verb—"

You slapped his chest, and he turned to you with a grin so blinding it outdid the lumos.

You motioned to the vast forest ahead. "Spotting one is as likely as becoming friends with a centaur."

"It isn't impossible," he quipped, as if that would inspire you.

"Lockwood," You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled, expelling all your murder ideations in the same breath. "You are as reckless as a Gryffindor."

"I take full offence. Gryffindors rush in with no clear goal. I, on the contrary, have a remarkable one."

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. "What would this 'remarkable' goal be?"

He was the picture of youth as he smiled. "To fulfil a childhood dream."

The nuance was lost on you. You trusted him to not have done something so particularly stupid.

He tapped your chin. "Why the face? You're the one who drew them all over your notebook."

You reeled. "Me? When?"

He looked dumbfounded. "When we met. You threw the whole notebook at me, remember?"

It dawned on you slowly. The cogs finally clicked into place, and you shoved him, just for him to catch your hand and grin.

"You remember it now?" he mused.

He let your hands fall between you, refusing to let you go.

Your cheeks warmed. "That was six years ago. Rowena knows where that notebook is now! I haven't drawn a unicorn since third-year Care of Magical Creatures."

He reclaimed his spot by your side, throwing his arm around you once more. "It's a testament to my impeccable memory."

"Your memory won't help if we're torn apart by rogue beasts," you chastised.

You expected a response. A real, apologetic response. But you watched as his eyes fell over your shoulder and simply stared instead.

You scoffed at him. "You are terrible—"

He cupped a hand over your mouth. "Shh!"

"Woat aye you loofing at?" You shook your head, freeing your mouth. "What are you looking at?"

A smile teased at his lips as he pointed over your shoulder. The glow at the end of his wand died, making the presence of the very real, very majestic unicorn prominent. Its coat shined like it was made of moonlight. You almost forgot to breathe as you watched it with the intrigue of a tyke.

Lockwood was much closer than before. His whispers loud in your ears. "Breathe, sweetheart. Can't have you fainting on me now."

You breathed a laugh then snapped to cover your own mouth. The creature craned its head around, allowing you to glimpse midnight blue eyes before it galloped into the trees. A short but worthwhile encounter.

Lockwood tugged on your arm, bringing you back to the present and leading you out of the forest.

You're still at a loss of words when you glimpsed his triumphant smile. "Not impossible," he reiterated.

You're on the brink of a laugh as you agreed, "Not impossible."

As you broke into safer forest, you realised that night wasn't over. Not for Lockwood, at least. His hand slipped down your arm before he twined his fingers with yours.

His smile brightened when you adjusted your grip to hold him tighter.

"We have one more stop before we succumb to sleep," he told you, leading you through the clearing.

Your curiosity grew as you passed Hagrid's hut. "Somewhere within Hogwarts, I hope. At this point, I find it plausible that you're scheming to sneak out to Hogsmeade."

A metaphorical lightbulb blinked above him. "Not yet, but that is a brilliant idea."

"There isn't a moment of peace when you're involved."

His fingers ghosted over your knuckles. It affected you more than you cared to show.

"Sweetheart, we both know we're susceptible to boredom when it's too quiet."

"I suppose," you hummed.

You did enjoy the cracks in the silence being filled by intelligent squabble or nonsensical arguments. But only if they involved one audacious Slytherin.

Your thoughts turned to static as torchlight began to cast a golden glow in the grass. This clearing was the opposite of empty. Torches and cages inflated where the air should have been. What fit in the cages were what stole the air from your lungs.

Lockwood was absolutely joyed that your first reaction was the dropping of your jaw.

The cages were filled by dragons. Luckily, asleep. The same ones that were supposed to be there for educational purposes.

You heard that they were on the loom for being transported back to Romania, but you never thought that they were being kept this close to the castle.

Lockwood led you by the hand, further between the cages. They shrunk in size until you were at the end of the line, facing a chillingly familiar face.

You laid a hand against the grainy bars, close but not too close to admire the sleeping beast. "The juvenile Romanian..."

Lockwood stared down at the nameplate welded against the bars. "Her name's Gorgonzola."

"She's named after a cheese?"

Lockwood chuckled. You felt the shake of his shoulder through your linked hands. "We were almost wiped out by aged dairy."

"It's a good thing we quelled her then." You nudged his side, and he nudged you right back. "Now, we're able to admire her without the impending threat of death."

"If that incident hadn't occurred, you would still hate me," he chuckled. It came out soulless.

You were taken aback. You weren't his biggest fan, but it would be too dire to say you hated him.

"Lockwood, I wouldn't hate you."

"Well," he downplayed the frown in his tone. "we wouldn't be friends."

You turned to face him. The toes of your shoes bumping his. He looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. You were so close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes.

His eyes followed every movement of your mouth. "Sulking over a version of us that doesn't even exist, snake boy?"

The edges of his lips upturned. "Just considering the possibilities, sweetheart."

You recognised that spark of mischief anywhere. You only had yourself to blame when he'd closed the distance even more.

"Besides," He cupped your cheek, drawing you closer. His fingers tickled the underside of your ear while his thumb brushed your cheek. "I like this reality better."

I do, too, you intended to say, but the words died on your tongue. Your lips parted as he inched closer and closer. Honesty lulling you together.

You felt his lips land on the corner of yours, teasing. You hummed in dismay before he drew away, leaning in to finally—

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The dragon's caretaker, most likely. By the sound of it, he wasn't happy to see two miscreant students skulking around.

Lockwood bit his tongue, holding back the urge to call out and tell them to shove off just so he had a moment to kiss you—but the look on your face sobered him quickly.

You didn't have the luxury of being involved in trouble as he did. Your family would know if you got into trouble. The dominos would fall, and a sad you was the kind of thing Lockwood casted spells to avoid.

He tightened his hold on your hand. "We'll get back to this," he promised.

You nodded firmly, holding onto him with the same intensity.

Though the moment was left behind, Lockwood clung to the vision of your eyes fluttering shut. Your lovelorn face seared into the back of his mind, keeping him up all night.

—

You didn't know where you and Lockwood stood at that moment in time. You were walking the line between more than friends, less than lovers. Wherever your feet were, you realised you had a lot to make up for.

If he caught you at the right time, you might just blurt out that you loved him, too. You'd been fortunate enough to have the restraint to keep your confession contained.

The thought of telling him felt like bearing your soul. You were unprepared for it. But there were new ambitions that stirred in your thawing heart. They all centred around one, Anthony Lockwood.

You tried to be subtle, but in Lockwood's eyes, you were as subtle as a gun.

You remained your verbally abrasive self (how he found it enamoring eluded you), but you picked up the habit of awarding him with a kiss on the cheek when he drapes an arm over your shoulders. He's yet to brace himself and melts every time.

In the same time frame, you magically found a way to duplicate your notes so he didn't have to hurt his hands to write them.

His hands were perfectly fine. Lockwood said you're insane for it, but you replied with, "have I ever been sane?"

To that he'd shake his head and smile a smile that encompasses a million confessions.

On another morning, a gaggle of first-years delivered a gift box of his favourite knacks from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and Honeydukes sweets. They told him it was from an anonymous benefactor but one look up and his eagle eyes spotted your poorly done disillusionment charm.

He thanked the kids with a smile and sent them off just so he could tap your disillusioned arse as he passed, then had the gall to chuckle at your yelp.

The rest of Hogwarts progressively became aware of the development. Professor McGonagall purposely seated you apart. Professor Flitwick did the opposite. Professor Longbottom occasionally tipped off ideas like hiding spots and locations with a view.

Even Peeves seemed to be aware that you were unofficially an item. To your utmost surprise, the poltergeist took it easy on you.

Your shenanigans began to pay back Lockwood's six years of unnoticed pining. The man of the hour appreciated them but his heart could not take that much affection. Realistically, it could, but he never passed up an opportunity to be dramatic about it. Especially when he caught sight of you in his colours.

It was the last Quidditch match of the year—his final match as a student of Hogwarts; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

He wholly expected to see you among your housemates, sporting the deep blue you looked so good in or even in red, just to spite him, but his heart stalled when he spotted you in steal-his-heart green.

He knew it was you even from miles away because you were sporting his number and wearing his jersey. The very jersey you said you'd never wear, you wore with a smile so bright it makes the cloudy skies part just for you.

He was just about ready to abandon his broom when you blew a cheeky kiss his way.

"Lockwood!" his teammate called urgently.

Lockwood begrudgingly looked away. He leaned into his broom to chase the Snitch, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from you for too long.

At the tail end of the game, the Snitch hovered right in front of you. You stared at it while Lockwood lunged for it, catching it in his palm and (un)covertly planting a kiss on your cheek.

It sent the stands into uproar and secured another win for Slytherin. He pointed to you as his team threw him up on their shoulders.

—

"You–" He snatched you from your path, beguiling you behind a fluted column. "–are unbelievable."

You smirked when you whirled to face him, resting an arm over his shoulder. The other against his forearm—and you chuckled when you felt him flex his arm to impress you. He couldn't help but smile.

His nose bumped yours, taunting. Judging by the way you raised your head to follow, you wanted the same thing he did.

Unfortunately for you, he was still Lockwood. He pulled his head back to coax that scowl from you. It sent him back to the first time he'd seen that look on your face. The weight of the world lightened every time he saw it.

You're not one to sulk, or beg, or admit you want something. Of course, you changed the topic. "Congratulations on the win, Captain."

"Captain? I like the sound of that." He did his best to remain chivalrous, but the thought of slipping his hands under your—his—jersey to caress your bare waist was meddlesome. It was tempting, and he barely fought the urge by drawing circles over the shirt instead. "Call me captain again, sweetheart."

You must be getting back at him. He had no other explanation for the rapturous grin on your face. "You're being too kind . . . I'm never going to call you that again."

"You are cruel, have I told you that before?"

You laughed, and he felt your breath on his neck. He found it reasonable to assume you're experienced in torturing boys who are in love with you. He clamped his lips when you graced him with a kiss on his chin. So close yet so far. "You love that about me though."

His fingers dug into your sides, keeping you to him even when you tried to pull away. Your fox grin only grew, confirming that you were torturing him on purpose.

He was immediately pardoned from guilt. He slid his hands down, and then up; touching your skin with chilled fingers. His smile reached his eyes as your mouth parted for a gasp.

"I do," he said, playing along and kissing the corner of your lip. "I'm forever harrowed by the very thought of you."

His form of play is quickly dispatched once his eyes meet yours. The mischief died away, leaving something deeper. More amorous. Yearning.

"Anthony..." It's but a whisper, but his fingers grappled to feel more of your skin. You felt them at the curve of your ribs, holding you with the prudence reserved for a fragile thing.

He drew you closer, as if the proximity of your mouths weren't enough to sate his cravings. "Say my name like that again."

"Anthony," you mused.

You're flush to him. If you were any closer, you'd feel his smirk against you, on your lips or your skin. You weren't picky.

His voice dropped to a lower register. "Yes, sweetheart?"

You lifted yourself on your toes. You met his eyes, but they travelled to his lips with intent. His eyes fluttered shut, transfixed on your smell, your hand tangling into his hair, your breath fanning his lip—everything. You drew closer and closer. He almost tasted the satisfaction of finally kissing–

"You better not be snogging behind there!" Kat Godwin, the dementor in disguise. Now, the person you wished to throw into the Black Lake.

You groaned and rocked back. Lockwood held on to your waist, closing the distance and allowing himself the reprieve of pressing his forehead against yours.

"We'll come back to this."

"Third time's the charm," you hoped.

His pulse raced as you snaked your hands up his torso, bracing your hands on his chest. If he didn't love you so much, he would have felt betrayed for the way you shoved him into the open.

"Anthony Lockwood," Godwin tutted. "I should have known..."

He glanced back at you, glimpsed your smile, and decided that he liked you too much to be mad.

He turned back to Godwin with a smirk. "I'm positive I saw a roach run through here." His lip twitched when her eyes darted down the hall.

Lockwood watched you book it for the opposite hall, ducking out of sight and escaping trouble. You blew a kiss before you turned the corner and he found that he didn't mind being your scapegoat.

—

Lockwood was aware that your beauty and brains could charm even the deadest of hearts. Some days, he wished you didn't have the magnetism you did. He dreaded every second watching that Gryffindor boy scamper up to you, a rose in hand.

Lockwood wasn't one to be mean up close, but he found glaring from a distance to be fair game.

You looked up from your book, innocent and unknowing, with a smile made for a princess. You turned the lion boy away, of course. You didn't even glance at the Gryffindor boy's love offering. The sad chap went off to wallow on his own.

Your head turned at the sound of Lockwood's footsteps. A smile coming to you before he even reached you.

"Hello, snake boy."

Lockwood didn't dawdle. "He was chatting you up."

"You were watching?"

"It's hard to miss trollop."

Amusement danced in your eyes. He forgot how gracious you were when he was caught up in his own mind-matter.

You shifted to the side and patted the spot next to you. Like a puppet on a string, he sat. Leaving no space between you, his arm flushed against yours.

"You're jealous," you said, with a lot more merriment than he expected from you.

His brows furrowed. "He's a twat. I'm just glad you had the sense to turn him away."

You crossed your legs and set your hands on your lap, exuding confidence that made him forget his own name. "So, you are jealous."

"Indefinitely," he said mindlessly.

"My poor serpent boy," you cooed sympathetically.

Your hands found his cheeks, and he had no reason to complain. He even nuzzled into your hold.

"You're never this touchy in public," he muttered, appreciating the closeness. He dipped his head to plant a gracious kiss on your palm.

You spoke like the action didn't rile you up. "I know someone adores me enough to be jealous of a boy I don't even know."

You felt his smile against your hand. Yours grew.

He planted one more kiss on your other palm before he drew himself away. He fought the urge to lean down and steal your first kiss right then and there because he had something much more fitting planned for you.

"I know you hate breaking rules but this is the last time I'm coaxing you to, I promise."

"I don't believe that for a second, but if you're so convinced, I don't see why I shouldn't be involved."

He turned your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckle. "The Astronomy Tower, after hours."

"Are you mad? The Astronomy Tower has special protection charms on it's doors."

Lockwood was mischief personified with a grin like that. "Have you no faith in me? I swear by Merlin's name, by the time you sneak out, I'll have the door open for you. I am a gentleman, after all."

It was glaringly obvious that you lost your ability to say 'no' to him.

—

You'd become acquainted with the darkest halls in your recent trysts with Lockwood. You would be lying if you said you weren't sceptical this time around.

The Astronomy Tower, a heavily guarded place following the murder of the previous Headmaster, was Lockwood's idea of a good time.

It was no easy feat to get in, especially when it was dark out and the charms were upped for maximum protection.

You let the glow from your wand guide you through the halls. Once you made it to the base of the stairs, you're greeted by the sight of Lockwood. Suave and plucked from your dreams, he kicked off the wall and pushed the door open with ease. All while wearing your favourite smile. You could have kissed him senseless.

He bowed at the waist, flourishing a hand at the open walkway. "Ladies first."

"You are... unbelievable. You actually did it."

He held his palm out towards you, like an invitation to dance. "Did you ever have a doubt?"

"For a moment," you admitted, placing your hand in his.

"Anything is possible, if you have enough nerve." He punctuated his statement by kissing your knuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. He was luring you in, and it was working. "Shall we?"

You nodded, allowing him to guide you up the stairs, passed the landing before you set foot on the observation deck. The gold accents of the room shone, even in moonlight. The books that filled the shelves vibrated, like they were dying to open themselves and unleash the knowledge they held, and the skyline ceiling was so brilliant, you could reach up and feel it against your skin.

If you spoke the want to touch a star, you had no doubt Lockwood would take a shot in the dark just to make it happen.

"Don't look at the books, sweetheart. Look at me."

"But the books are so pretty."

He grinned, holding back the urge to say something cliché. You could guess what it was.

Instead, he said, "Plenty of time for them later. I have to show you something."

He guided you to the balcony, the night's chill amplifying the feel of his warm hands on yours. It was getting hard to act like your heart wasn't jumping for joy.

The wind tousled your hair, the stars dotted the sky, and Anthony Lockwood made everything look so much brighter.

He rounded until your back was against his chest, pulling you in until you felt the thrum of his heart against your shoulder. Arms wound around you to shield you from the bite of frost than rolled in now that winter was one step through the door.

You found that his pulse was just as eratic as yours. Fervent in every sense of the word.

You'd never been in this position with anyone. The proximity was jarring, but it was welcomed nonetheless. You laxed into him, and he eased into you.

You weren't paying attention to the view as you hummed. "This is nice."

"I know... I was waiting until you didn't want to decapitate me to bring you here."

You turned your body to rest your cheek on his shoulder. "It's not my fault you're insufferable."

"Is that truly your favourite word to describe me? I hear it plenty."

"You tell me, serpent boy. I don't remember every little thing about myself."

"Remembering the little things about you is my job, thank you very much."

You felt the rumble of his laugh through his chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr of contentment. It took everything in you not to bring it up.

All whilst Lockwood was trying to keep himself together. Anything that involved you took a lot of restraint on his part.

Unexpectedly, you broke the silence. Your voice, the song of a lark in the night. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?"

"No, I don't think you have." He hated to put a distance between you but he wanted to see your lips make the words as you said it. "Go on and tell me."

He memorised the way your smile reached your eyes and the softness of your brightened cheeks as the stars reflected in your eyes. You'd always been beautiful, but you were vibrant now. He liked to think he had something to do with it.

"I don't hate the way you know me better than I know myself."

He cracked a smile, cupping your cheek with the tenderness one reserves for their most precious thing. "Come on, you're more eloquent than that, sweetheart."

Your smile widened, and you melted into his palm. "If the world allowed it, I'd like to go back and return every stolen glance, every missed confession, and every chance we lost to be friends sooner."

His cheeks hurt from withholding a smile. "We can move past our regrets. Besides, aspirations have changed. I don't just want to be friends anymore, sweetheart." His thumb swiped against your cheek, printing the image of you into his memory. "I want to be your life's confidant, your harbinger of hope, your worst nightmare, and the object of your dreams. I want to be everything to you, because you are already everything to me."

Of course, he had to outdo you in words.

“Cheesy...” you teased.

His thumb travelled down the curve of your cheek, flitting over the plush of your lips. It took everything not to steal you away as you pressed your delicate lips against the pad of his thumb, like his confession didn't have to be returned in words.

And you didn't seem to be looking for words at all. Your hands found his lapels. With a sharp tug, you finally connect your lips to his. Years fell away as he grasped your neck, holding you to him as your fingers slid into his hair.

You exchanged breaths. A mess of clashing teeth and rushing emotions. Judging by the fervency in his grappling for skin, you got an idea of how long he'd been waiting for this, for you.

Yet, he wasn't savage about it. His movements were eager but equally as careful, savouring every stolen second he had you all to himself.

Even as the air ran short, he couldn't fathom the idea of being too far from you. You broke the kiss, chasing oxygen. He rested his forehead against yours, heaving with a smile that could brave you through your worst times.

His thumb swiped over your lips once more, already missing you. "Would you find it pathetic if I said I've dreamt of doing that?"

"I'd be more flattered, really. What girl wouldn't want to be wanted like this?"

You disarmed him as you cupped his chin.

"Can't imagine," he replied. He bumped his nose to yours, and you leaned into him even more.

Should have known that the world wasn't kind enough to give you much time to yourselves. Both of you jumped into action the second you heard the clicking of shoes coming up the stairs.

Anthony refused to release your hand, even as you rushed for cover. Your whispered urgencies fell on deaf ears. You didn't get far enough to hide fully.

Your back was against the wall, hidden from sight. Anthony was not. You were whispering for him to just duck beside you when he clamped a hand over your mouth and posed for whoever appeared inside the Tower.

"Lockwood?" Lucy Carlyle.

You sighed in relief. You weren't in inescapable trouble after all.

"Hey, Luce! Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing?" A few more steps.

Anthony panicked. "No! Sorry–" He cleared his throat. "I... made a mess of a hex. It's a disaster."

You bit his palm, offended. The way he sputtered was victory enough.

"Really?" Lucy questioned, deep in disbelief. "You look completely fine... Except your hair."

"Terrible winds, really. The mess is off to the side." His smile was so unconvincing you could laugh.

Instead, you started a trail of pecks across his palm, travelling down to his wrist until he choked on air. Your heart swelled and mischief bubbled to the surface. You grew audacious enough to nip at his skin.

Lucy's voice rang out. "I can help—"

"Absolutely not!" Anthony winced at the crack in his voice. "I mean, I have it handled."

You heard a few more steps. Anthony laxed. You assumed Lucy was walking away. "If you say so..."

"Haha. I appreciate the concern, Luce. Let's keep this between us, hm?"

"Sure..." Her steps echoed as she toed down the steps. Before she shut the door, she added, "Say 'hi' to the Ravenclaw for me."

Anthony slumped himself against you, sulking as you laughed. "Not as sly as we thought, hm?"

"I've had better days..."

You ran your hands through his hair, attempting to right the mess you made of it earlier. "Then you're blaming the night?"

He raised his head from your shoulder. "Don't tell me you're about to side with the moon again. I'll start to think I'm competing with it."

"Well, the moon is beautiful."

"Oh, come off it. I'm so much better."

He took it upon himself to prove it, pressing your hips into the wall as he stole another ground-shattering kiss from. You surrendered, musing his hair to your heart's content.

—

Anthony thought that the perfect way to start off a relationship was to demonstrate how you two truly clicked in terms of cruelty. Not that you'd call it that outright. You'd crossed out Lockwood's 'revenge' and wrote 'comeuppance' in its place.

He eyed the plans from over your shoulder. "Does it make a difference?"

"Comeuppance is just karmic debt being repaid. Revenge sounds like it could be a crime."

"It's only a crime if we get caught."

That could very well be Anthony's life motto.

You rolled the scroll up and casted a hasty concealment charm on it, packing it away in the bag of supplies before you looked down the hallway.

"You go cause a distraction."

He guffawed, clutching his cloak like he'd been stabbed. "I came up with the plan. Why do I get distraction duty?"

"Because," you drawled, fixing his tie. "You're a sweet boyfriend who does anything to pacify his vengeful girlfriend."

"Defence is a pivotal subject in the field I'm aiming for. I could lose my career if this goes wrong."

"I can cover all our future living expenses, and we won't get caught. Swish away the pessimism, captain."

"I'm not being pessimistic. I just want to be the one flinging oobleck balloons."

You smiled faultlessly. "We'll miss our chance if we don't time this correctly."

His shoulders sunk, a grumble shaking his chest before he righted himself. "Do what you please. Just... don't turn me into a ferret. I heard a terrible rumour about some other Slytherin being turned into one."

"You have my word."

An enchantment here and a flick of a wand there, and a baby eagle stood in the place of your lover. You cupped him in your hands, cooing cordially as he nipped at your fingers.

If a bird could blush, you assumed he would have. You set him on the window sill.

A ways down, Professor Loathes-Your-Guts strolled by. Unassuming and grumpy as ever.

"As good as I am, it won't last forever. Off you go, Cinderbird."

Anthony squawked indignantly before you shoved him off the sill. He stretched his wings, working out the complexities of flight right before he hit the pavement.

His odd way of flying seized the Professor's attention right away. She caught him in her hands, stopping right where you wanted her.

Anthony freed himself as the first balloon careened down and splat against her head, drenching her in watered starch. You muffled a laugh as she screamed bloody murder. She had yet to get the sludge out of her hair before you dropped three more.

Blood pumping, Anthony flew right up, turning human right as he shot through the window.

"Save some for me!"

You kicked the box of balloons toward him, absolutely riveted by the scene you'd caused below. You looked far too good doing evil, and he was the Slytherin.

He dropped five balloons before Peeves uncovered the plot and took matters into his hands.

The poltergeist bombarded the Professor with the remaining ammunition and left the basket over her head as a consolation prize. While she shrieked at him, you and Anthony booked it—hands connected, boasting matching smiles.

Operation: DADA Comeuppance — Success!

And thanks to the spirit of mischief, you were never caught.

—

Anthony found it ironic that your favourite views were of crepuscular rays; those beams of light that slice through dense foliage or part the clouds to shine on dreary ground, because it's how he often described you—rarely letting the light in but always magnificent when you do.

You were standing under one of those rays as you bowed to a Hippogriff, once again setting an example for the class. It's to nobody's surprise, he's the first to burst into applause.

You glared at him. He mimicked your deep bow in response. The twitch of your lip was reward enough for him.

It wasn't long until the party was assigned to pairs. It was an easy guess as to who leeched to your side the second people broke off into their groups.

You waved your finger at him, as if that would keep him from you. "If you keep tailing me, we'll end up on the Bulletin'."

"I love a good word in. About us, specifically," he replied.

You shook your head, more endeared than disappointed. "Of course, you would."

"If I were you, I'd be showing off my new boyfriend."

"You say 'boyfriend' with so much conviction, you would think we've been going out for years."

"My apologies, m'lady. Would 'husband' suit your tastes more?"

"Lockwood!"

He withheld a smile. "You can call me Anthony, sweetheart. In fact, you can keep my last name for yourself."

Your mouth dropped into an 'o'. "I cannot believe what I'm hearing."

He took a more tentative step towards you, closing distance. "What are you hearing?"

"Nonsense. I hear nonsense," you replied. You were doomed the second your back hit a tree. Anthony wasted no time to trap you against it. "You are..."

He leaned down, bumping your nose with his. It was inertia that drew him close enough to touch lips. "I'm what– Oof!"

He clutched his chest after you pushed him away, smiling like you were faultless. "I'd like a ring if you are seriously talking about stealing surnames. A nice, awe-inspiring ring. Not a common one. Something privy to us."

He rubbed his shirt as he spoke, a smile teasing his lips. "How's about a house to start?"

Your visage changed. Genuine surprise marred your features. "You're serious?"

"It's a big house, and it could use a magical touch."

The way your lips quirked into a smile made him forget himself. A mistake he'll try not to make in the future.

Under the spell of your gaze, he hadn't seen your Hippogriff friend rush for him. He received a headbutt to the side and crashed into a tree. If that weren't bad enough, a fat fruit thumped him right on the head.

For a fleeting moment, everything went blurry. He saw you as a smudge in his vision. When he tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish.

"He's a friend," you explained to the Hippogriff. It gave a ninny and nudged its snout against Lockwood's side as a form of apology.

When he came to, he got a faceful of Hippogriff cheek. You waved the gentle beast out of the way before cradling Anthony's head.

His foul sentiments dissipated. Perhaps he should get bodied by a Hippogriff more often if that meant he got to see you this doting again.

"Merlin, Lockwood... I forgot she was protective."

"That's 'Anthony' to you, sweetheart, and 's alright," he slurred, blinking his vision back to clarity. He smacked his lips, luckily not tasting blood. "I get protective of you, too."

"Not the time to flirt, serpent boy."

"You're holding me. There is no better time to flirt."

"Alright, Casanova."

Your hands travelled to his wrist, assessing his pulse, then pressing into his side to check the extent of the damage. If this was a glimpse of how you'd be as a healer, he was already jealous of the patients you'd be caring for.

The second his brain fog cleared, he patted his pockets in search of his gifts.

You sat back on your calves, staring him down like the wind could blow him over. "Looks like minor damage."

"Excellent news," he rasped. He took your hand and placed a solid metal something in your palm. "This is for, if you choose to accept my invitation." He fished in his pocket for a second object. He placed that into your closed palm as well. "And this is for you in general."

The first object was a heavy silver key. The ornamental kind of key you loved to hold as a child. You stared at it with so much intensity, he was convinced you were trying to set it on fire with your eyes.

"You're just... giving this to me?"

Worry crossed his face. "Yes. If you'd like it, of course."

"I like it," you said urgently. "How could I not? I just... Don't I have to do something to earn this? Like, giving up a handful of galleons or marrying–"

He let go of the breath he was holding.

"Hold it there, sweetheart," he grasped your hands the second he saw your mind going in all different directions. "I want us to live together, no conditions. I want to be close to you." Of course, he had to add, “I know, I couldn't believe it myself.”

Your hands tightened around his. He'd let you squeeze his fingers bloodless if it quelled your worries.

He cracked a smile, relieved to see you giving the effort to return it. He carefully unravelled your hands to show you the second object.

You gasped. As would any girl when they're presented with a ring. It was the metal that complimented your skin best. A solid band detailed in engravings and decadent carvings. Your worry morphed into panic. With tense shoulders, your eyes flit to Anthony's.

"Relax," he mused, turning the ring in his hands and sliding it on your third finger. "It's not an engagement ring. It's a passion project of mine..."

Your shoulders laxed. "Thank Merlin... Hogwarts is not a place to propose."

"Agreed, and I'd never disrespect you by proposing so drably." He chuckled, examining the ring on your finger before brandishing his matching one. "They're a pair, loaded with protective charms and a trace. It functions as a handy portkey, too."

You raised your hand to the light, examining the engravings in full. "Why turn it into a portkey?"

"The trace tells me if you're in trouble. The portkey will take me to you the second you are."

Only a witch like you would fall in love with intricate spell work. It made you susceptible to melting for gestures as thoughtful as Anthony's.

He admired you as you admired the ring. His heart jumped as you quickly turned your head to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered. The raw, unfiltered gratitude in your voice made him fall for you all over again.

His smile reached his eyes. "Anytime, sweetheart."

—

Waiting on the last train out of Hogwarts felt like some kind of catharsis. A journey that spanned seven years felt like a short car ride home. There was happiness doled by sadness, and sadness doled by happiness.

It was in Anthony's nature to look on the bright side, but it was difficult when he hadn't seen you since the awarding ceremony. You outdid him, of course. Bringing home one medal more than him.

His initial plan was to sulk, maybe play kicked puppy and finesse himself a kiss, but his anticipation blurred into worry as the train entered view, but you didn't.

He broke from the crowd, leaving his things with Lucy and George before going off to find you.

He didn't peg you as the type to take a last walk to your favourite spots, but he found you in the dingy Defence classroom. As much as you loathed the lingering stench, you exalted the memories in that very room. The only subject of concern was a boy toying with an empty cage on the far side of the room. Anthony turned a blind eye to the stranger, for how could he look away from you?

Your eyes, that were peering ruefully out the window, snapped to Anthony's. He felt the beginnings of a smile creep up.

Without warning, a wardrobe wove open, the hinges holding it together rasped as a black form ballooned out of it. Your gaze fell on it, and horror replaced the nostalgia instantaneously.

He'd never heard you scream so loud.

Blood rushed to his head. He found his wand.

You fell to the floor, clamping your hands over your ears with your eyes shut tight.

Vision in red, he turned his attention to the boggart that crushed the air in the room. It took the form of four figures; A horrific scene sampled from the many tormented stories plucked from the war...

He paused, finding his own tortured face staring back at him and your anguished one shackled, unable to help. The two remaining figures must have been members of your family, looming over you and watching you without compassion. They were your boggart.

He didn't hesitate to mutter the counter-charm.

The illusion burst. The boggart whirled back into the closet with the wardrobe doors crashing shut.

The boy Anthony hadn't paid attention to stood to reopen it but Anthony threw a stupefy right at him. The boy nearly dented the wall with how hard he rammed into it.

Anthony advanced, fury heavy in his steps. It only heightened as he realised who the boy was. It was the Gryffindor boy you'd rejected all those weeks ago.

"You have got to be kidding me." Anthony scoffed.

The lion boy's nose flared, turning him twice as ugly. Anthony might have felt bad if he wasn't furious.

He didn't give the Gryffindor time to recuperate before he drew him up by the collar and cracked his back against the wall. "You bastard. You couldn't take the 'L', could you?"

The boy's head lulled. Anthony had to give it to him, he thought he'd be out cold with how solid the spell hit him, but the tosser had the resolve to spit at him.

There was no guilt in the way Anthony threw him to the floor. He could have done worse if you hadn't called for him.

"Anthony."

He turned his head, relieved to find that you'd returned to normal. Save the red that rimmed your eyes, you were fine. You were the one thing that kept him from bludgeoning the roach on the floor.

No words were needed.

The Gryffindor laughed, repulsed. "So, you were with him this whole time? Godric... you're a bitch—"

"Quite the mouth for someone who'd stoop low enough to unleash a boggart on a lady," Lockwood said dismally. "I suggest you scat. Before I show you what each of my accolades mean."

Courageous as the Gryffindor was, he was brainless. "Did you hand a few to her for 'favours'? Hm?"

Oh, the number of jinxes the human body could handle before breaking. The boy was lucky you were there. Anthony was gentleman enough not to hex in front of a lady.

He sufficed with carving crescents into his own palms to restrain himself. "Serpents don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. I suggest you stitch your mouth. There is a lady present, if you aren't too blind to see her."

"Kiss up," the Gryffindor simpered.

Patient as Anthony was, you weren't. You hurled a spell at the Gryffindor. After a twitch, his head hit the ground.

You showed Anthony your palms when you were met with inquisition.

"What? Was I supposed to let him speak to you like that?"

Holding back a smile was futile. He was proud. "You're cute."

You stepped over the Gryffindor and returned his smile. "I know." You brushed the imaginary dust off Anthony's shoulders and righted the orientation of his medals before you took his hand. "As I remember, we have a train to catch."

He twined your fingers, bringing your hand to his lips to worship your knuckles. "Shall we, m'lady?"

"We shall."

You exited the classroom, hands intertwined, leaving behind an incapacitated moron. If the rest of your lives were going to be spent like that, you had no qualms with it.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look today?"

"No." You looked at him expectantly. "Tell me."

He pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hand a squeeze as he said, "My dearest vexation, you are a vision. Aphrodite herself would be green with envy."

Definitely no qualms there.

—

"Why is it that you travel by this rather than apparating?"

You were always a sponge for knowledge, but your eyes were particularly bright once the train had delivered you to Platform 9¾. It spat you right out into the muggle world.

Anthony realised that he had never seen you in all-muggle clothes, and he wasn't shy of staring. He was rightfully in a daze until you'd asked the question.

"Cabs take us directly to where we want without raising suspicion from muggles."

"So, they willingly spend their sickles on simply getting home? How impractical, and expensive."

He hid a laugh. "It is the way it is, sweetheart. Nothing we can do to change that. It's best you avoid saying 'sickles' though. It'll confuse them."

"Noted."

Anthony loathed the silence, but he made due with it. He had you for a view, after all. He recounted all of your details, down to the flutter of your lashes as the breeze caressed your face.

Weirdly enough, the ride to Portland Row was much shorter than he remembered.

He slipped out first, flattening a hand at the top of the cab's door and taking the brunt of the impact when you expectedly bumped your head on the way out.

"Sorry."

"Don't mention it. I did the same as a kid."

You kissed his cheek anyway, and he turned his head to the side to make the warmth of his cheeks discreet.

As he unloaded the trunks, you absorbed the Lockwood family estate as it stood: A tall, classical home with wrought-iron fencing leading to the bricked door arch and its charming knocker... the picture of a fine London home.

The only thing out of place was the irritating, freckled face of a neighbour Anthony hoped disappeared.

"Tony! Done with community service?"

You turned to Quill Kipps with a frown. Anthony withheld a laugh. You had never met the man but you obviously disliked him already.

Kipps straightened, realising that you were present. "You have a dame with you... Quite the looker, too."

"I have a name, if you had the mind to ask." You crossed your arms. Anthony found that to be a sign to look away. You had yourself handled. "I suppose the oaf with room temperature IQ has a name, too?"

Quill Kipps's smirk faltered. "He does." His eyes shifted to Anthony before he clicked his tongue. "Just trying to rile up Tony. Hope you stick around though, sweetheart. He could use a backbone."

Anthony soured at the nickname.

You didn't let up your glare until Kipps vanished from sight.

You shifted your heated gaze to Anthony. "Did you hear what he called me? How have you not jinxed him?"

"Trust me, I'm not a fan of him either, but he's a muggle. Trying to fight him would be bullying."

"The lack of justice!"

He snorted. "It's bearable. Now, come on. There's someone who's been dying to meet you."

"I can stupefy the freckled redhead double quick."

"Sweetheart, no."

He seized your hand to make sure you didn't run off and break a law, no matter how entertaining that would be for the both of you.

—

"I'm Jessica Lockwood! Jess is preferable. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Your arm almost fell off from the intensity of her handshake. The older girl was twice as energetic as Anthony and triple times as smiley.

Your boyfriend was the one who saved your hand by taking it into his. "Jess, I like my girl with both her hands intact, please."

"Don't kid. You'd still be smitten if she was cursed into a worm." She slapped her brother's shoulder. You kept in a laugh as he struggled to remain upright. She didn't forget you for a second. "Once Anthony starts talking about you, it never truly ends. I didn't believe he hated you for a second. When he 'complained' about you, he'd use phrases like *'annoyingly distracting'* and *'unfairly attractive'*."

"Jess..."

"The truth was bound to come out." She shot you a knowing look. "You can tell in the smile. He does it without knowing"

"He is terribly obvious," you doubled, holding his hand in both of yours in a pacifying manner.

His mouth fell open. "My word . . . It's been five minutes and the pair of you are already cornering me."

"This is the beginning of something beautiful," Jessica sang. She winked at you before meandering to the door next to the steps. "Now show her your room and unpack before dinner. We're having potato soup. Are you allergic, sweets?"

You smiled until both of your cheeks hurt. "Not at all. I like the sound of potato soup. Before that, I'd like to formally introduce myself–"

"There's no need for it, really. Anthony blabbed about you enough. I'll call you two down when it's ready."

Anthony lead you to the stairs by the shoulders. "Up we go, sweetheart. Before Jess says more than she should."

"I think she's a treat, Anthony. I wish I had a sister like her."

"She kicked me into a lake once. You wouldn't find her very nice if she did that to you, would you?"

"I would kick you into a lake, too, if you were my brother."

"Let's not open that can of worms, sweetheart. I want to be your husband. Obliviate this conversation from my memory."

You laughed, patting his knuckles sympathetically. "Torturing you is just as fun as laughing about it."

"You and Jess get along like a house on fire. That said, I'm not sure how long I'll stay sane."

"I'll save you a room at St. Mungo's." He fought a smile as you stalled on the taller steps. He was a goner the second you turned to wrap your arms around him. "You love it though. And you love me."

He sighed into your hair. "Unfortunately."

His arms wound around you, pulling you close enough for your heartbeats to sync. He nuzzled into your shoulder, and you did the worst thing you could possibly do: you played with his hair. He melted.

The prospect of you being in his forever home made a strange feeling bubble in his stomach. He figured it was what he had been looking for—a sense of fulfilment, or maybe he just needed someone to play with his hair the way you did.

Jessica's voice speared through the tranquillity. "No funny business, both of you!"

"Yes, ma'am," Anthony responded. He stole a chaste kiss from you before leading you to the first door on the second floor.

—

He should have known you'd go straight for the bed. You were always lounging or reclining if you weren't working. Anthony developed a disease that entailed observing you every time you did. He could probably paint a portrait of you, if he only had the artistic talent.

You stretched like a starfish, relishing the softness of the sheets that still smelt of him.

"I could die here, happily."

Anthony kneeled in the space next you to fix the blanket over you. "Sweet as that is, I like you better alive."

"I'll live and die here," you cooed, pulling him down beside you. "So much better than my room... well, my old room. My parents decorated the house like it was a prison. Seeing your mess can make any place feel like home."

"Should I be offended? You just called my interior decorating skills a mess."

"You're ugly enough to distract them from the mess."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Much appreciated."

"You're welcome."

He lowered his body next to yours, throwing an arm over your waist. The brush of his fingers on your stomach did not go unnoticed.

You took the liberty to rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling deeper into the blanket as you did. The perfect plot to hide your warming cheeks.

"Getting cosy, already? In my room?"

"We can share, can't we?" The way you looked at him made the temptation of a cosy cuddle difficult to resist.

"Jess would behead me, and I don't mean metaphorically. We have a collection of axes from pivotal historic events downstairs."

"Just a nap then. We have some time before dinner."

You made a good bargain. There was only so much saying 'no' Anthony could do to you before he bent.

"Just this once."

"Just this once," you confirm with an unconvincing smile.

"I am a gentleman, you understand that? We can't stay here for too long."

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling like that?"

Your smile only grew. "Cause I'll be the barbarian this time. I demand to stay here."

"Sweetheart—"

"My mind's already made up. Sleep, Anthony."

“My sister—"

"Sleep."

He tapped your side in surrender. He dragged the blanket higher to cover your shoulders. "If I am putting my neck out for a cuddle, might as well ask for your input. Though, the idea itself might be absurd."

"Anthony, 'absurd' means 'innovative' in your language. Spill."

"Is it possible to shrink a patronus? I was thinking about the practicality of a smaller patronus after I signed up for the auror training programme."

"It'd be more covert."

"My thought exactly." His expression turned pensive. "I might use it to get into the specialised auror squadron."

"Well," You sat up and wiggled your wand out of your pocket. "Only one way to find out."

He couldn't leave it alone. "First person to do it gets a tick on the Tally."

"You're just bitter I got one more medallion than you."

"What can I say?" He tapped your nose, bringing the smile back to your face. "I love the competition."

—

The spellcasting didn't cease, even after dinner had passed.

You found yourselves under the covers, using the space between you as an arena for your patronuses. So far, every cast came out a regular-sized patronus.

Anthony's eyes drifted to the glint of your ring every time it was your turn. The engravings came to life every time it came into contact with magic. He felt the pulse of it through his own ring. He shouldn't have felt as thrilled as he did, but he couldn't help it.

"Anthony. Are you sleeping with your eyes open?"

"No. Just looking at you."

Your lip curled. "Cheesy."

"You love it."

"No comment."

He laughed before picking up his wand. He concentrated as best as he could, but one glimpse at your face, and it slipped. His patronus emerged as it usually did.

Magnificent, iridescent, and face-slapping. Its silvery sands dissipated as Anthony received a well-placed smack to the cheek.

"That was worse than the last one," you snorted.

Anthony nudged your knee. "I'd like to see you do better."

Even if a million failed attempts already plagued you, you went through the motions. This time, the swishes of your wand were smaller and more slurred—like your wrist was limp as you cast.

Your patronus burst forth. Beautiful and respectable, and the size of a mouse.

"Aha!" You threw your hands up, sending the blanket flying and letting the cold air rush in. "I win! Get the Tally, give me my point."

"Merlin, sweetheart. Careful." Anthony chuckled, gathering the blanket and quickly chucking it over your head before getting up from the bed to fetch the notebook.

Your head poked out of the swaths of fabric, just to prop your chin on his shoulder and watch as he drew another line under your column. Two points more than his.

He leaned his head on yours. "Happy?"

"Very," you quipped.

The patronus trounced over his hand, soaring over your head like a halo before perching on his nose.

"Try it." You coaxed. "Smaller shapes, dramatic flicks."

"You're going to laugh if it fails, aren't you?"

"When do I not?"

The crane flew over to the nightstand, preening it's feathers before cocking its head at Anthony. Urging him to go on.

With a sigh, he gave in and gave it another go. The first attempt was as bad as the last. The second one worked like a charm.

His patronus skipped the usual fly around the room, preferring to head straight for yours, landing next to it and dancing around it before they took off like butterflies in the wind.

Your lips parted for a yawn. Anthony felt your weight press against his side, his arm instinctively finding home around your waist.

"How late is it?" Your eyes were too bleary to read the time.

Anthony found the clock. "A quarter to midnight." He hauled you closer, settling you against the pillows before dimming the lights. "I think we're due for some shut-eye."

"A Slytherin who values a proper sleep schedule . . . Boo!"

He didn't even try to fight you. You were already swaying.

You felt his chest rumble as he spoke. "We can stay up then."

"Your idea, not mine."

Your head rested against him, the steady lub-dub of his heart pounding against your cheek. He felt yours against your ribs as he rubbed circles under your shirt. Even then, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your miniature patronuses.

They lit up the room like restless twin flames. Your eyes followed them, too, but not for long.

The combination of the patronuses' light and Lockwood's gentle massaging proved to be an effective sleeping pill. It wasn't long 'till your earlier words were void and your breath evened out.

"Thought we were staying up," Anthony whispered, more endeared than anything. He couldn't help but place a kiss on your forehead.

The curious thing was... your patronus hadn't disappeared, even as you slept.

The pair of tiny cranes danced in flight. Nipping playfully before beautifully looping around one another.

He observed them for a while more before the drowse began to creep in. He dispelled his patronus, and only then did both of them disappear. Never leaving one without the other.

He cracked a smile as he slipped the blanket tighter around you, blessing your head with another kiss before he, himself, succumbed to the symphonies of sleep.

—

When life spun from essays and practicals to work and elbow grease, Anthony often found himself thinking of the future, of the past and where the two met in the middle.

He wondered if you ever missed the opulence of living in a pureblood home: The fluted columns, the glistening chandeliers, and the sunlight that streamed through ceiling-length windows.

He'd stare at the back of your head, feeling the doubt creep in. Then, you'd turn and chide him about some miscellaneous argument you refused to let rest, then all would be right in the world.

On a particularly gruelling day, he traipsed straight to bed without breakfast, too tuckered out to even lift a finger.

He heard you and Jessica chattering while you cleaned downstairs—moving furniture and kicking the ol' vacuum back to life. Sometime after dusting the bookshelves, you carefully opened the door to your (Lockwood's) room—mindful not to wake him with its creaking. He watched you through lidded eyes. You didn't notice his blinking.

Your hands glided a cloth over the nightstand pictures. When you'd reached the family portrait, you smiled. He found himself holding his breath.

"Your son is a dolt, you know," you snitched as if they'd be ready to gossip with you. You brought the picture to the light and rubbed away a stain on the glass. "Can't even take care of himself these days. He's lucky Jess and I are here to scold him . . . But he is a good man. A polite, romantic, and utterly chaotic one," You took a breath to calm yourself. "but I can't bring myself to hate him more than I... Well, I can't get the word out, but I will eventually. I've only been here for a while but living seems so much easier now. Not to alarm you, but it may have something to do with your son."

It was complete agony to continue feigning sleep after that. You cleaned the other night table, then adjusted the blanket so he was fully covered.

You left the room like you hadn't taken his heart with you.

—

On the dreaded eve of his parents' death, you approached him as he scrutinised the chipping paint and the stick-on stars on the ceiling.

Detached wasn't an apt word to describe how he had been acting all day. He was somewhere else mentally. Not even Jessica could break through to him.

"Jess told me to check on you," you said quietly, trying not to startle him.

All he did was hum in return.

You filled the empty space on the bed. "Anthony . . . Grief is just love with nowhere to go." You set your hand on his cheek, carefully swiping over his cheek, catching tears that have yet to fall. "No need to repress anything in front of me, serpent boy."

He took a shuddering breath. The first time he truly took a breath all day. It shattered you as his eyes glazed over. Even then, he refused to look at you. Refused to show you how torn up he was.

"I just... I miss them, but it's been so many years since they left. I thought–" He sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose just to cover his eyes. "I thought it would be easier. It's supposed to be easier."

You shifted closer, the bed dipping at your weight and bringing him closer to you. He thought he'd seen it all, but he'd never seen that kind of softness on your face. You pried his fingers away and wiped his tears yourself.

He was reduced to a little boy, and you were still sticking around. No barbs, no sharp sarcasm. Just your caring eyes and even more careful hands grasping his cheeks.

"Grief never really leaves, Anthony. They're your parents, of course you'd miss them." You mustered a smile, but it only revealed the tears gathering at your eyeline. "But you don't have to feel it alone. Jessica is here, and she loves you more than anything. It hurts her to see you so distant." He reached up to hold your hand in his. Your melancholic smile stretched. "And I'm here, too. You'd have to be pretty daft to forget your roommate."

He managed a smile, squeezing your hand in silent thanks — just before he had felt his façade fracture.

Anthony sat up, pulling you onto his thighs and wrapping you in a hug that was all-encompassing. He hid his face in your shoulder, and you rubbed his back as he finally let the tears free.

Sobs racked his body, his heart picked itself apart once more, but at least he could breath. Keeping all of the heartache to himself was like holding his breath. There was only so much he could hold before he needed air.

He didn't know how long Jessica had stood at the door before you beckoned her closer. Another pair of arms came around you two, washing away all the misplaced guilt he'd been stewing in since morning.

It didn't make him miss his parents less, but it reminded him that there were still people he got to hold hands with. And you were right, it was easier than doing it alone.

—

The conversation at dinner was a calm one. Less on banter and more on planning what to do in the morning.

The general consensus was to pick up flowers and bring some things to picnic with before visiting the Lockwoods' graves.

Jessica hugged Lockwood extra tight before letting him turn in for the night.

You glued yourself to his side the second he slid into bed. The responsibility of initiating skinship usually was on him, so, the change of pace was heavily appreciated.

He wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your head in unspoken gratitude.

You fought your nature to fall asleep first, just to stay up with him, but your resolve crumbled after your third yawn. You drifted off. Your arms didn't budge, and he was relishing the closeness for what it was.

Though, his mind wouldn't stop turning.

He never heard his parents' story, but he knew his mother had been a half-blood. He wanted to know how they met, if his mother's patronus ever changed, if his father had fashioned something from muggle magic to impress her.

So many questions that would remain unanswered forever.

He reached for his wand when insomnia had stolen enough hours of sleep from him. In the darkness, he whispered the enchantment.

His patronus burst forth, silvery and glorious... and not alone. Contrary to his previous casts, he summoned not just one crane, but two.

The pair of them remained quiet, for your sake. They perched on the armoire opposite of the bed and preened one another. He was entranced by their obvious affections, only breaking from focus when you shuffled in his arms.

The patronuses faded away, and you blinked into the darkness.

"What are you up to?" Your voice was heavy with drowse. Anthony fought the urge to pinch your cheek.

"Nothing, sweetheart." He glided a hand over your eyes, coaxing, "Go back to sleep."

You grumbled. "I saw something, you liar."

"Just a trick of the light."

You eyed him with sleepy uncertainty before your head went limp against his shoulder once more. "We'll come back to this," you swore.

Anthony pacified you by rubbing your back. "You bet, sweetheart. Now get your beauty sleep. I can't always be the prettier one."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Not long after, his own eyes began to droop with the twin cranes still swimming in his mind.

—

The last time the sky had been this alive was the night Anthony had stolen you away to the Astronomy Tower. It felt like a lifetime ago.

You barely even noticed the extra luminescence of the moon or Anthony, who had been waiting for some form of acknowledgement all day.

Grunts were your definition of olive branches, and he wasn't having it. He stole the page from your hands and raised it above his head.

Your response was snap. "Anthony... I don't have time to dawdle."

"Why are you so worked up?"

You flailed your arms, gesturing wildly to the hulking stack of papers on your desk. "The warden at St. Mungo's wants to speak to me, personally. I need to be ready."

He read your scrawl on the paper, quickly giving up on trying to understand what it all meant.

What you dove into was far beyond the field of study in Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey clearly took her role as your mentor seriously. You were advancing quickly.

"My girl," he said with a laugh. "You're the only witch who can commit a twelve-foot scroll to heart in the span of two hours. You'll be fine."

He loosened his grip on the paper as you leapt up to snatch it back from him, sitting back down on your chair with your lips pursed. Stress lines forming where your smile lines were supposed to. He hated seeing you so... consumed.

He wondered if you'd been hiding that face behind the four walls of your bedroom before things had changed between you, back when medals were currency in your home rather than achievements.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity... and it's being handed to me. I have to put my best foot forward." Your hold on the page turned sentimental. "I can't mess it up, Anthony."

He set his hands on your shoulders, and you surrendered to his touch. He took it as a good sign and cleared himself to kiss the top of your head.

"You are the best at what you do," he assured. "No one can compare. I'm not just saying that. You genuinely scare people with how much you know." He spun your chair to face him, tilting your chin to see you. "My dearest vexation... You've got this, and I've got you."

Your shoulders dropped with the intensity of your sigh. "I don't know what to do... I might forget something I'm supposed to know."

"You could never." He scrutinised your work desk before he made the decision. "What you need is a break. Dance with me?"

He drew you up by both hands, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder. When your eyes drifted back to your stack of papers, he killed the lights so you wouldn't be able to see them.

You laxed as soon as the room plunged into the dark. That left you, Anthony, and the glow of the moon and streetlights.

Anthony returned his hand to yours and hummed a sentimental tune to lead the dance.

You leaned into the music, resting your head against his shoulder. He, in turn, rested his cheek against your head.

"This reminds me of our first dance," you mumbled.

"How could I forget?"

You concealed a smile in his shirt. "A lovely dance on the balcony after you kissed me senseless."

"It takes two to tango, sweetheart." He pulled closer, basking in the yelp you let out. "And my hair didn't stand a chance in your hands."

"In my defence, the tousled look suits you." You had the cheek to peck the juncture between his shoulder and neck. "Like the princes I used to read about."

"Charming."

"Don't be salty, captain. You'll always be my favourite." You rubbed his shoulder as a gesture of peace.

"As I should be."

You chuckled. "You're smirking. I feel it."

"You can't even see me."

"Don't have to," you chirped. "I know you."

"I've never met a woman so cumbersome."

Your head jerked back. Even in the limited lighting, he could see the scowl on your face. "You know other women?"

He couldn't hold back a grin. "Merlin, you are so jealous." He pressed a kiss to your temple, a gesture of truce. "You're my only and only vexation, spitfire. Everyone and everything pales in comparison."

You opened your mouth with the intent of giving a smart answer, but he shot you down before you even said it.

"Don't bring the moon into this."

You sealed your lips into a smile. Your worries slipped away, and you relished the few minutes you stole for a moonlight waltz with your lover.

—

In the two years you'd lived together, he'd picked up on your ticks. And you, his.

When you lightly bump your forehead against his cheek, Anthony knew it was your way of demanding a kiss. He never denied you one.

You learned to wear loose shirts to sleep because Anthony liked to slip his hand up your bare back and feel the up-and-down motions of your breathing as you slept.

He never forgot to bring home a little keepsake from work for you, accompanied by a single flower you got to add to a growing bouquet in the living room.

Anthony often got colds in the winter seasons, but he retains his reverent hate for the smell of Vix. So, you made your own impromptu mint remedy with lemongrass and ginger. To him, it was so much better.

Last but not least, a new chess board found home in the receiving room. The pieces only move when you and Anthony arrive home from your respective statutes of work.

Gist is, you had a routine, and you knew what to do for every boyfriend-shaped hurdle life had in store for you.

Imagine the panic that hit you the second your enchanted ring started to warm and shake.

The day was dark and ruthless. Rain pelting down like cats and dogs. Electricity had gone out as well.

You were wary to answer the door, since you were home alone, but you did so anyway because your ring had only grown more restless.

Your heart ceased in your chest as you took in the sight of Anthony. He couldn't even hold himself up. Lucy and James were doing that for him.

You choked on nothing. "Merlin..."

You reached out. Like a moth to a flame, Anthony gravitated to you. Falling into your arms and sighing into your shoulder like your presence alone could suture the injuries that marred his figure from head to toe.

"We took him to St. Mungo's," Lucy elaborated, clutching her own side. She was less beat, but she was still slouched in pain.

James had taken over when she wheezed for breath. "He fought every medi-witch that approached. Said he just wanted to come home and see you."

"You twat," you scolded in a whisper. It took most of your energy to keep Anthony upright. You schooled your expression, offering a mustered smile to his companions. "Thank you for bringing him home. See yourselves to St. Mungo's. I'll cover your tab when my shift rolls by."

James hooked his arm around a limping Lucy, offering you a grateful smile before producing his wand and apparating in the guise of the rain.

Anthony was tracking blood and mud wherever he walked. It was useless trying to get farther than the living room. You'd rather have a tarnished sofa than a bloodless boyfriend.

"What happened, Anthony?" Your tone was firm, but quiet—careful of a headache that could be blooming behind his ears.

You tore off his coat to get to the scratches on his arms. Repairing him one injury at a time. Even if the injuries were gone, his skin was still drenched in his own sweat and blood. It was a mess, and you'd be damned than leave him looking so trodden.

You accioed a basin of water and a handful of washcloths to your side. Swiping away grime as you healed him.

Only when you began to unbutton his shirt did he find his voice.

"We're moving a bit too fast, sweetheart. Where's your decorum?"

Your gaze held bite. He chuckled like his smile would save him.

"Where's your mind? You've been unresponsive for five minutes! I thought you were stewing in the after-effects of a psychological curse—" You drowned a blood-stained cloth in the basin of water, watching scarlet swirl into the clear water before moving back to his shirt. "—and I'd have to give you a permanent room at the ward, and then break the news to Jess—"

"I'm fine—"

"But I'm not!"

You sat back on your calves, taken aback by your own tone. The backs of your fists pressed into your eyes, forcing your tears back in before returning to assessing his wounds.

He was quiet as you examined the deeper gashes slashed across his torso. Your hands swiped at your cheeks before your lips moved, muttering cures and charms that stitched him up like new.

You wiped the blood away, but you wrung the cloth like you still saw blood. On the fabric, on your hands, on his skin.

Your voice was devoid of life as you asked, "May I see your back?"

He winced as he sat forward. At least the pain wasn't as unbearable as earlier. He saw some herbs swirling in the basin, so it was safe to assume you'd taken extra precautions to make things as painless for him as possible. His heart wrenched as you repaired him and dirtied the water with even more blood.

"I didn't mean things to get messy," Anthony told you slowly. He felt your hand pause on his back, then continue with more careful intent. "The suspect had an accomplice we didn't account for. Had us outnumbered... and they had a spell book full of vulgar spells. Nasty ones."

"So, you took the brunt of them?"

He chanced a smirk. "You know me too well."

"You're reckless."

"I couldn't let my subordinates get hurt," he rasped, sucking in a breath when you purposely pressed down on an open wound.

You magicked it away and cleaned the blood, but you refused to meet his eyes the whole time.

Finally, the insistent shaking of the linked rings faded. It calmed your pulse by a fraction, but nothing could cease the trembling of your hands.

Anthony took the liberty to take them in his, your matching rings clinking against one another.

"I'm here... I'm okay."

You hung your head, forehead meeting your twined hands. "I almost lost you... I couldn't find your pulse right away, and there was so much blood—all I could see was red. Anthony—"

"Shh." He closed the space, flattening himself against your side and drawing you into his chest so you could feel the familiar thrum of his heart. "We're okay. I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I didn't mean to scare you."

You sniffed, hiding your face in his neck. "Why didn't you accept help from St. Mungo's? They have blood banks to replenish what you lost, I can't do much about that here."

He held you tighter, rubbing your arm as he racked his mind. "I thought it was too late for me... I just wanted to see you. I wanted to come home."

You hit his chest once, seething as you sobbed. Your tears wet his shoulder, but he didn't stop you. He took your rage until you went boneless in his arms—clinging to him like it would calm the racing of your heart.

Eventually, you picked yourself up to gather another cloth to wipe away the bloodstains on his face. Hands still shaking but determined to restore him to full health.

As low as it was, he still heard you. "I love you, you know that? It's impossible for me to remember a time where you weren't around."

He searched your eyes, finding nothing but morose truth in them. It was the first time you'd said those three words to him. Explicitly, without sarcastic connotation.

He caught your wrist, lowering your hands so he could look at you. "I know... and I love you, too. I'm sorry."

"Then why put your neck out like that? You promised me a ring, Anthony Lockwood. You gave me your word. You can't do that if you're gone."

"I'd never forget," he promised, kissing apologies across your palms and wrists. "How could I when it comes to you?"

"Then tell me why you put yourself in so much danger— in so much pain."

He licked his chapped lips. Your eyes pleaded for explanation, and he'd be cruel not to suffice you with an answer.

Reluctantly, he retrieved the box in his pocket. It was the only thing untouched by blood. Your eyes snagged on it immediately.

Anthony chuckled, nervous, before popping the case open. Inside sat an ornate ring, embellished with your birthstones put together. An eagle held yours in its talons, and a snake held his in its mouth. Your identities intertwined.

Whatever words you wanted to get out died in your throat, mouth hinging but never uttering a word.

Anthony tried his best not to stutter. "They tried to take it from me... I didn't let them. You can imagine that they weren't happy with being deprived of such a beaut."

You sunk into yourself. "You almost died... to save a ring."

"Your ring," he said carefully. "If you still want to have me as your husband, of course."

"I have half a mind to say 'no'." You laughed bitterly, swiping at your cheeks. "Merlin, Anthony... You have terrible timing when it comes to presenting things like this."

"A lot of realisations happen when you walk the line with Death."

He readjusted his hold on the box, refusing to let go of your hand. You admired the craftsmanship of the ring before you leaned on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll never do that again. I'd rather have a husband than some hunk of metal."

He let out a breath of relief, hugging you to him as you smiled into his shoulder. "Rude. I learned how to craft a ring just for you."

"You crafted this?"

He felt the world hold its breath as he slid the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit for his perfect match. He kissed your knuckle to further cement the notion.

"From scratch," he boasted. "I made a killing from the pen business. I used the money to take some lessons from a smith in Hatton Garden."

"I cannot believe you..."

"You didn't believe me when I said I cleaned your desks before you'd arrive to class."

"That's different," you said promptly. "You almost got yourself killed to preserve a ring."

"That ring brings me one step closer to marrying you," he tutted. He even leaned down to steal a kiss. "It was worth it."

"I would have brought you back from the dead just to strangle you if you did die on our new sofa."

"Good thing I didn't."

You cracked a smile. "Good thing you didn't," you agreed. "But I'm not forgiving you so easily. You gave me a scare, Mr. Lockwood. I hope you know that you're not allowed to hug me tonight."

"I thought near-death would warrant me extra hugs."

"I can give you everything else, just not hugs."

"How cruel..."

You waved your hand dismissively. "Take it or leave it. What do you want while you're not allowed to hug me?"

Anthony wanted a lot of things. The cheesy dynamics in the books you read, the happily ever after where the couple ends up married and in love with a kid or two. He wants your kids to look like him but act like you, so you two wouldn't spend half the time greying from stress. He wanted to be part of your story forevermore.

But holding your hand would do for now.

He tangled your fingers together and kissed your knuckles. "This is enough for me."

Disbelief was written all over your face. "Really? I thought you'd be more combative."

"We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. We can live in the moment."

"I can only hope you don't jump into some other death-defying scheme again. I'll be all grey before you."

"I think you'd look like the snarkiest grandmother ever."

"Thank you, my love."

His brows furrowed. "My love?"

"What's with that reaction?" Your arms crossed. "Fine. I won't call you that."

"No! I was playing. Say it again, please."

"You lost your chance, snake boy." You shook his hand off, standing from the couch.

You didn't get far. Anthony latched to your waist, smiling into your shirt. "I pledge to never approach a renowned criminal ever again. Just say it again. Please, Sweetheart? Spitfire? My dearest vexation? M'lady?"

You didn't even get close to picking up the basin before Anthony snatched it from you.

"When I get back," he said sternly. "I want to hear you say 'my love' again. Even just a whisper. Thank you."

If you were subject to his clownery for the rest of your life, it wasn't that bad of a price to pay. He was thoughtful when he used his brain.

Every Slytherin boy needed their Ravenclaw girl to keep their ambitions from getting them into trouble, after all.

It wasn't long 'till Lockwood crashed back into your arms. Spinning you in the air like he hadn't been on the verge of death minutes prior. His eyes were wide with expectation, and you didn't want to torture the boy for too long. Not after the lengths he went to to keep your ring safe.

You exaggerated the sweetness in your tone as you said, "My love."

Anthony was more than ready to hear those words for the rest of his life.

Neither of you noticed the pair of cranes that soared past the window, announcing the end of the rain and welcoming the beginnings of a wonderful season.

BONUS ANGST ➺ If I didn't include Jessica, Anthony would be able to see Thestrals. You would do some absurd things to distract him when you pass the carriages—even when you were rivals.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

NOTE ➺ expecto patronus was the title because the initial idea was they always protect each other :>

i like to think mitski's 'my love mine all mine' was the song they danced to. so romantic~ i'm just baffled that i was able to write so many words XD all this was once just brain barf, crazy. it was a rollercoaster, but i hope you enjoyed 💙

as always, leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs, i love hearing feedback <3

love always 💙 until next time, my dearest vexations 😘

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#lockwood hogwarts au #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood fanfiction

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iseos · 5 months ago

Text

: PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

library. p. trainee!nakamura kazuha x f!r g. slight angst, fluff wc. 736 w! slightly implied that reader speaks japanese © iseos

the two sat alone in the practice room, the music continuing to play despite the girls having stopped dancing a few minutes ago. y/n watched kazuha through the expansive mirror that covered the wall; both were visibly exhausted.

"i don't think i can keep doing this," y/n managed between heavy breaths. kazuha didn't even open her eyes.

"same," she huffed out and moved to get up, "it's getting late; we should head back to the dorm."

"no—i mean...i’m thinking about leaving the program,” y/n interrupted, catching kazuha’s attention through the mirror. she watched as her body froze in an awkward half-standing position and her head snapped towards her.

"oh."

part of kazuha understood y/n’s sentiment; she wanted the best for her, yet selfishly, she didn't want her to leave. she was one of the only people the former ballerina could talk to and she would've been lost without her.

being a trainee was undoubtedly tough, physically and mentally. constant stress, sore bodies from long hours of practice, and sudden evaluations clouded their uncertain future and debut prospects.

as the song came to an end, an uneasy silence filled the room. y/n shifted uncomfortably under kazuha’s intense gaze, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

they both hesitated to speak again, the weight of y/n's words lingering in the air. kazuha's eyes eventually softened, a mix of concern and bittersweet understanding replacing her previous unreadable expression as she sat back down beside her.

y/n stumbled over her words, voice vulnerable. “i love this—i really do, and i want to debut—but i’m tired zuha. i just don’t know if i can keep up with the constant pressure anymore. i feel like i’m suffocating.”

her eyes trained on her shoes as she fidgeted with the ends of her laces, "i'm scared that all this hard work might not lead to anything and i'm just wasting my time."

kazuha scooted closer, leaning her head on y/n's shoulder. she remained silent, taking in her words.

their weary faces reflected in the mirror showed their shared struggle, not just with dance routines or vocal exercises, but with the relentless pursuit of a dream that demanded everything from them.

a mixture of emotions swirled within the former ballerina. she understood y/n’s struggles, having similar doubts herself. the pressure of training, the uncertainty of their future debut, and the relentless grind had taken a toll on both of them.

finally, after a long moment, kazuha spoke softly, her voice carrying the weight of understanding and empathy. “y/n, i understand. it’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” her hand found y/n’s offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance, “but remember why we came here. we knew it would be tough, but we believed in this dream.”

y/n nodded slowly, absorbing kazuha’s words. “i’m just…i’m scared of giving up,” she admitted quietly, her voice wavering.

“you won't have to,” she replied firmly, lifting her head to meet y/n’s eyes directly, “we’ll figure this out together, whether it’s pushing forward or finding another path.”

a faint smile formed on your/n’s lips, grateful for kazuha’s unwavering support. they sat there in the quiet practice room; the music had stopped, but their resolve to pursue their dreams, regardless of how small it had become, continued to burn in the reflection staring back at them.

it was silent again for a moment, the only sound being the faint footsteps of people walking the halls despite the late hour. once y/n gathered her thoughts she turned to the other girl, “thank you, zuha,” she began, her voice steadier now, “and i’m sorry for dampening the mood—i mean, we finally got the choreography right, we should be happy right now!”

seeing y/n’s spirits lift, kazuha knelt beside her, grasping the girl’s shoulder. “think about how we felt watching our seniors perform. one day, that will be us, center stage with our own songs!”

“repeat after me: we will debut…and soon,” kazuha declared, shaking y/n lightly. y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the girl’s enthusiasm. “say it!”

“we will… debut!” y/n managed through laughter.

grinning brightly, kazuha practically shouted, “yes we will!”

as they caught their breath, both girls fell into a comfortable silence once more.

“okay, can we go home now? i’m so tired.”

“please,” y/n groaned out.

#iseos writing ࿐ྂ #k-labels #le sserafim #kazuha #nakamura kazuha #le sserafim oneshot #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim drabbles #le sserafim angst #le sserafim fluff #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x y/n #kazuha scenarios #le sserafim kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha imagines

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heich0e · 2 years ago

Text

"That the last one?"

Kiyoomi slumps down torpidly into the chair at the end of the dining room table, nodding silently in reply to the question you'd posed. He looks tired, but not weary, a satisfied exhaustion making his eyes flutter as he rakes a hand through his curls.

"You didn't have to walk every single one of them out," you tease him, turning the music off that had been playing through the speakers in your home and setting your cellphone down on the edge of the table as you step towards him.

"They were my guests," Kiyoomi murmurs, his breath hitching ever so slightly as you sneak behind him and knead your thumbs into the muscle at the base of his neck, just above his shoulder blades. He sighs, his entire body slackening as you work the tips of your fingers into the knot beneath his skin, feeling it slowly begin to unfurl under your careful ministrations.

"I'm pretty sure the Miya twins know their way out by now," you remark, laughing lightly, knowing that the two brothers have stumbled out of your front door on their own two feet and own cognizance on more than enough occasions to merit taking on the task without a guide.

Kiyoomi tips his head back so he can look up at you, a little pout dragging down his bottom lip. "It's polite."

You smile, sneaking your hands up over his shoulders so that your palms can glide gently along the front of his shirt. As you dip down towards him, his eyes never stray from yours, even as you grow nearer.

Softly, you hum. "You're right. But you're also the birthday boy."

Kiyoomi's lashes flutter, and you see the way his gaze lowers to your lips just for a moment. You tilt your face towards his until your lips brush, the ghost of the kiss you know he really wants, a whisper in place of a scream. All too quickly, you pull away, and Kiyoomi groans as you step towards the opposite end of the table again.

"Did you have fun?" you ask him, plucking one of the last few unopened bottles of wine from the collection at the end of the table, and then two clean glasses to accompany it. Kiyoomi watches raptly as you make quick work of popping the cork, and then the slow trickle as you fill both glasses with a healthy pour.

"I did," Kiyoomi agrees quietly, his eyes trained to the steady flow of red wine from the bottle in your hands to the waiting glass below. A few years ago no one would have ever imagined that Kiyoomi would concur to a similar sentiment in this way. Just hours ago this home–his home, your home–had been filled to the brim, near bursting, with people. Every single one of them present to celebrate him. His friends. His family. You. But neither the crowd nor the invasion of his personal space that night were enough to unsettle him. Not even the mess that had been left behind seemed to dampen his spirits.

You smile to yourself as you realize it: realize just how much has changed in what feels like so little time. You love Kiyoomi now as much as you loved Kiyoomi then–the one who never would have allowed so many people to infiltrate his carefully guarded sanctuary, the one who scarcely let enough people close to him to fill a sofa let alone a home.

You turn to look at him, and aren't surprised to find him watching you again. You can't remember a time when you've searched for Kiyoomi's eyes in a room–whether crowded, empty, or somewhere in-between–and not found them already staring back at you. That's one thing that hasn't changed, and you're endlessly thankful for it.

You bring Kiyoomi his wine, setting the thin-stemmed glass in front of him as you lean against the edge of the table at his side. He watches as lift your own up to your lips, taking a sip, and his hand reaches to caress the warm skin of your thigh where the hem of your dress rests.

"You look pretty," he says quietly.

"Thank you, Kiyo," you reply, the same way you have each time he's told you the same thing that night.

"This is my favourite colour," he continues, pinching the hem of your dress delicately between his thumb and his pointer finger. You already know that too, of course, but hearing him say it still makes you feel good.

"That's why I wore it," your voice is breathy when you reply, your tongue peeking out to moisten your lips. You taste the wine that lingers on them as you do. "But I'm glad you like it."

Kiyoomi is still fiddling with the edge of fabric, his eyes glued to the skin that he reveals beneath it the further he eases the material up. He hasn't touched his wine, but his skin has begun to stain high along his cheeks not dissimilarly to the merlot waiting for his attention in his glass.

Finally he sighs, letting the hem slip from his fingertips, leaning forward and resting his cheek against your abdomen. Your fingers thread through his curls like second nature, holding him against you as the soft ringlets tickle the sensitive skin between your knuckles.

"Are you tired?" you ask him, though you're sure you already know.

He hums, nuzzling against you a bit more. Social events like this one do still take a lot out of him, regardless of the fact that he’s enjoyed himself. They make him a little needier–a little clingier–but you don't find that you mind it at all.

Kiyoomi pulls away after a few more moments of your comfort, reaching out for his neglected glass. He lifts it to his mouth, and as he swallows down a mouthful of the wine he finally lets his eyes sweep along his surroundings for the first time. You watch as his gaze traces the room while he swallows, admiring the delicate bob of his throat, and then he looks up at you again.

"There's a lot to clean up," he says, setting his glass back down atop the table. There's a drop of red wine clinging to the edge of his mouth, and you reach for him on sheer instinct, cupping his warm cheek in your hand and dragging your thumb along his lip to clean it off. Kiyoomi stares, inky eyes blown-wide and completely captivated, as you lift the digit up to your own mouth and lick it clean.

You can't help but smirk a little at how completely transparent his expression is to you now. How plainly you can see what he's thinking behind those ever-watching eyes.

"It's still your day, you know, birthday boy," you say to him, reaching behind you on the table until your fingers brush the unmistakable shape of the bottle of wine. You drag it towards you by the neck, the glass rumbling as it slides across the tabletop. As you lift it up, the bottle swings precariously in your grip. "That means you're allowed to make a mess."

Kiyoomi swallows, only this time theres no wine in his mouth. He reaches up and catches the base of the bottle as it sways idly before him, and you let him take it from your hand into his own. His eyes trail back to your dress–your pretty dress, his favourite colour dress–and yet again, you know exactly what the man in front of you is thinking, without him having to say a single word.

You and your dress would look even prettier in red.

#kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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petrodragonicapocalypse · 6 months ago

Text

GizzMay 2024 !

(a retrospective tour diary by me)

🦎✈️🎵

king gizzard & the lizard wizard announced their 2024 world tour last november with a promise to "get woke, freak out the right wingers and love each other", so i, a like any normal person working a minimum wage job, immediately bought tickets to six shows.

read about the best 2 weeks of my life here (if you wish)

part 1: hamburg & amsterdam

after half a year of planning, studying google maps, scouring airbnb for cheap rooms and wincing at the cost of transport, me and my lovely girlfriend bennie (the person who first showed me polygondwanaland back in 2019) set off on our long-awaited trip on tuesday 21st may 2024. we were going to follow the band for six shows over two weeks across four countries. neither of us had ever done something like this before.

to kick off the trip, we flew from bristol airport to amsterdam, where we were due to transfer to a flight to hamburg. typically, a thunderstorm meant our hamburg flight was cancelled, so they sent us on a detour to vienna. we ate a slice of airport pizza in austria, tried not to panic and finally rolled into hamburg at around 10pm.

hamburg

the next day (22nd may) was our first gig. with around 4000 people and a 3 hour marathon set, this was gonna be the biggest and longest show of our section of the tour, and the only outdoor one. we queued from 1.30pm (early for europeans!) outside the venue, stadtpark arena. soon, the eerie sound of synths began emanating from inside the gates, then morphing into a soundcheck for the never-played-live-before silver cord, vocoder and all, and excitement amongst the fans was stoked. the weather forecast looked ominous, but spirits were high.

at around 3pm, it started raining. it poured relentlessly on the growing line of gizzheads in ponchos clutching poster tubes and beers for 3 hours until the venue gates finally opened. we ran to the front. we were hyped. we stood for another hour while rain and mist blew around the arena and thousands of fans filed in.

finally, just as the rain died down a bit, king gizz ran out onto the stage. the slightly delirious state induced by 2 oreos for dinner and freezing my tits off for 4 hours was almost as good as drugs. all thought of the water running down my back and legs disappeared. fuck yeah!!! king gizzard!!!

the rain soon came back in full force but we didn't care. float along fill your lungs was a fantastic opener, followed by banger after banger: a nonagon suite, work this time and iron lung (with ambrose braving the weather and emerging out onto the exposed walkway in the chorus to splash around in the puddles), to name a few. then, out rolled the highly anticipated new synth table and the boys launched into the 27 minute long live debut of the silver cord.

personally i was full of joy, whimsy and love for techno so naturally i thought this was fucking awesome, but reactions from the crowd (and from the "online community" a.k.a. redditors... haha) seem to have been mixed. it was 27 minutes long, we were cold and wet, the sound was a bit dodgy, etc etc. whatever. i was vibing extremely hard.

however, any dampened spirits were very quickly raised again by the epic 7 song metal run that ended the show. the crowd went wild - turns out moshing does wonders for the cold. i heard what ended up being 2 of my all time favourite live gizz songs for the first time: organ farmer and motor spirit. it kicked ass.

we made it back to the hotel soaking wet and probably bordering on hypothermic after over 7 hours in the rain. had a hot shower and then spent the rest of the evening attempting to dry our clothes and shoes with a hairdryer before our flight the next day. did not smell good.

🦎✈️🎵

amsterdam

we flew from hamburg to amsterdam schiphol on 23rd may, with at least 5 other gizzheads (easily recognisable by their poster tubes and t shirts) dotted around the plane. we arrived to a beautiful city on a beautiful sunny day and (obviously) headed directly to the weed shops. edibles legally purchased, we dumped our stuff at the airbnb and took the train to the venue: AFAS live.

waiting in the line, it was easy to spot who'd been at stadtpark the night before from the mud on their shoes. but the weather that afternoon was sunny and warm and the line was happily buzzing. we met some cool people including a person in a long yellow coat who was drawing huge oil pastel posters for the show - rad as hell and an iconic figure of the tour (i believe they gave the band a poster that night!).

once in the venue, we settled down by the barrier (it's always worth the wait!) and chatted with some swedish guys and a friendly australian, far from home. the support band was dr sure's unusual practice, a lively melbourne based punk act with a wild-haired wild-eyed frontman, filling in last minute for grace cummings who had to cancel several shows due to illness. they put on a great show, during which stu and lucas surreptitiously appeared to watch the band from the wings a few feet away from us. we gave them a wave, and stu shot us a wink.

the setlist that night was fucking incredible. gizzard opened with the mighty crumbling castle, a song that i'd been dreaming of seeing live ever since i first heard it 5 years ago. it was better than i ever could have hoped, with the weed brownie kicking in and the stage lights becoming kaleidoscopic. the band was energetic and the vibes were electric. stu overshot a high kick, fell on his ass and managed to hop back up without missing a lyric. self immolate - dragon - flamethrower - gila monster was unreal. joey used a quiet moment in pleura to stage-whisper "free palestine!", eliciting cheers.

somewhat hilariously in retrospect, during the hypnotic drone of rattlesnake me and my girlfriend both suddenly realised we were way too high. i have vague memories of the second half of the gig, including the han tyumi suite (REALLY REALLY MAD I MOSTLY MISSED THAT) and an honest-to-god terrifying moment in which joey and ambrose walked to the front of the stage, crouched down and stared directly at us for what felt like an undefinable amount of time. ultimately though - despite our tenuous grip on reality and the fact that we somehow got lost in a train station for an hour on the way home and spent the next full day in a semi-stoned stupor - it was a fantastic show. lesson learned: the dutch do not play about their space cakes.

after a day of recovery (let's just skip over that) and a lovely morning spent wandering around amsterdam taking in the sights, bennie and i made our way back to the airport to say our goodbyes. she was going home and i was travelling on to hit up the northern UK shows. despite knowing we'd see each other again in a week for the acoustic UK finale show in brighton, it was weirdly emotional. i was a little nervous about travelling alone, but excited.

🦎✈️🎵

(end of part 1, part 2 coming soon!)

#writing this mostly for meee but if anyone wants to read it thatd be lovely :]#parts 2 and 3 will be up soon (whenever i finish writing them) and lowkey they are way more exciting than this one bahahaha #still such funnn #king gizzard & the lizard wizard #king gizzard #kglw #kgatlw #tour diary #my posts

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glowing-blue-feathermage · 4 months ago

Note

“I can’t help it (when you look at me like that).” kanders pleaseee!!!

i feel like i don't see enough kanders around... i'm a sucker for young kanders where karl is just head over heels smitten for this larger-than-life little mage who's equal parts a prodigy and a rebel.... i love them so much....

a soft, unsad Kanders snippet for @dadrunkwriting ! hope you enjoy lovely anon friend!

Karl should have said no when Trilla had requested that he stand in for this class. They were hopeless on the best of days, and with a six-foot, willowy blonde distraction in their midst, they were even worse. Force magic was not the forte of any of the students in this unfortunate throng; ten junior mages gathered in a disused portion of the library to fine tune their skills.

He winced as yet another copy of Herbet’s 101 Uses For Elfroot tumbled toward the floor, arrested with a flick of Karl’s wrist just before it slammed into the stone. He nudged the book upright in the air and sent it back to the shelf, slipping it in with practiced ease. Books were probably not the ideal training tool, but he’d always found this particular skill useful. If a bit hedonistic, when ladders were just as easily available.

“Congratulations on getting a book from the correct shelf, at least,” Karl said with a long-suffering sigh, punctuating it with a smile to take the edge off.

The student who’d dropped the book was pink-cheeked, eyes bright with humor. None of them took this seriously, and the fulcrum of it was Anders. Who wasn’t even supposed to be here.

Anders was in his sixth year, freshly returned from his fourth hiatus. There’d been a month between the templars dragging him back and his rerelease into the general population, but that hadn’t been long enough to either dampen his spirit or quell the enraptured gossip of his peers. They wouldn’t get anything else done today. “On that note,” Karl added, “we will reconvene next week. Same time.” He gestured at the door with one hand, pinching the headache at the bridge of his nose with the other. “Anders? Stay behind please.” There were a few hurried whispers, Anders promising his dangerous tales to students that worshiped him like a hero, and Karl had to suppress his own discomfort. “Out,” he said more loudly. With a disappointed murmur, the gaggle of starstruck mages dispersed, leaving him alone with Anders.

“Where are you even supposed to be right now?” Karl hissed.

Anders’ grin was sheepish, but his eyes were full of mischief. “In the laundry.” “In the laundry,” Karl echoed. “Not down here disrupting my class.” “I asked if I could stay!” Anders protested with a huff of laughter, standing up from the seat he’d taken at the table and edging around it, closer to Karl. Karl took an involuntary step toward him and stopped himself. “What was I supposed to say with you…looking at me. Like that.” “Like what?” Anders asked, feigning innocence. Taking another step closer, glancing over his shoulder at the quiet stacks behind him. He met Karl’s eyes again, pink lips turning up at one side with a self-satisfied smirk. “Like that,” Karl told him with another sigh, finally crossing the distance between them and lifting a hand to Anders’ face. With a thumb, he traced the smiling curve of soft lips. “Like you can just have whatever you want.” Anders’ shuffled closer still, head tilted just slightly up, brown eyes warm in the low light. “Can’t I?”

Karl desperately wanted to pretend he’d misunderstood the question. To address the other things—not Karl’s touch—that Anders wanted. That he felt entitled to. Freedom, a place outside the Circle, to practice his magic without a templar breathing down his neck. All of these were things he couldn’t have, things that were going to get him killed in the pursuit of them. But telling Anders no was like holding a flame to a wick and expecting it not to catch fire.

“Next time find me after class?” Karl suggested instead. “No one will pay attention to anything else with you here.”

Anders’ eyes flicked over Karl’s shoulder to the bookshelf and he nodded smugly toward it. “Including you.”

Confused, Karl glanced behind them, finding Herbet’s dry botanical tome upside down.

#kanders #karl thekla #anders dragon age #it's nice to write them not being sad for once

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abarbaricyalp · 3 months ago

Note

For the intimacy prompts: "a hand written note", Sam/Bucky

Wowee is this so super duper late! Very sorry. But unfortunately, this prompt reminded me of a fic I started all the way back in 2022 for Valentine's Day and I just could not let it go this time. AO3 Link

In 1950, several years after the war had ended and just as the excitement and tragedy surrounding the short-lived career of Captain America was dying down, a collection of war time letters from the Captain’s second-in-command, James “Bucky” Barnes was published.

In 2026, the only edition with new letters was published

Selected Texts from: The Barnes Letters : Revised and Expanded 11th Edition, 2026

[Letter to Sam Wilson (36 years old, former Air Force Pararescue, current VA therapist, new best friend of Steve Rogers) left in an apartment while Wilson was running the trash out, 2015]

Birdbrain,

Don’t get so irritated with this cat and mouse game that you give up and just opt for pouncing over me and eating me. I dunno, maybe I shoulda gone with the early bird and the worm metaphor, but whatever. Maybe I’ll slow down for you in the next place. Spend a little bit of time at some farmer’s market or something. Use an alias that you might know about, depending on how much you read.

Take it easier, birdy.

-B

The first Barnes letter of the 21st century paints a stark contrast to the paragon found in the original text of The Barnes Letters. This book does not attempt to psychoanalyze Barnes or the events of his life, as the original did not. The 11th edition of The Barnes Letters merely wishes to build upon the corpus of the original and to bring a conclusion to the questions brought up in subsequent editions.

The text of these letters have been transcribed exactly as found, but the spirit of them would be dampened slightly if it were not brought up that the letters were found on everything from sticky notes to napkins to sheets of lined paper to sketchpad pages with doodles on the other side or around the words–clean, crumbled, torn, creased. These letters, perhaps moreso than the original, were cherished and protected and clearly read several times over.

The Wakanda Letters

[Collection of letters left for Bucky Barnes, by Sam Wilson, in the Wakandan Palace’s medical facility, 2016-2018]

Hey, Tin-Can,

You’ve gotta wake up soon ‘cause you still owe me a car.

Sam

Robocop,

I’m tired of being a fugitive for your broody ass. You better have a whole slate of apologies lined up for when I see you next ‘else I’m gonna put you right back under. I haven’t showered with seriously hot water in ages. (Barring the one I just got in the palace. Wait until you wake up and see the water pressure here. It’s gonna blow your poor little 40s mind.)

You know, Steve really wants us to get along. Gotta say, I do see the appeal. You’re so quiet and a great listener. I always know where to find you.

He just read that over my shoulder and called me a jerk for you. I figure you’d use stronger language, but hey.

Oh, hey, I heard there was some crazy fight here a few weeks ago. Did you see anything you wanna gossip about?

Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Heading out somewhere new tomorrow morning. Always some new fight, new monster, new injustice, right?

Well, good dreams or whatever.

Sam

B, you’ve gotta try a drink at this bar. (Bringing the napkin in won’t get a discount, I asked) It’s called…get this, get this, get this, it’s called a Bucky Bear Brawl. Bucky Bear. Gonna lose my mind. -S

Barnes,

If I bleed all over this paper, you won’t use it to create an even better super soldier serum, right? (Cause, let’s be honest, my DNA is a catch for mad scientists. Looks, brains, body, personality. I’ve got it all.)

I don’t get why you didn’t give up the chase after DC. We coulda done all of this shit, avoided all of this shit, if you’d just come back then. You knew I was there. You kept me in the corner of your eye or your rearview or your scope, I assume, so why not just stop running?

I’m so tired of this. I want to go home. I want to see my friends and my family and sleep in a real bed. And you gave all that shit up for…what? They still found a way to ruin your life. Steve’s life. My life.

How did I end up giving up everything for you and the star spangled man, huh? Seventeen infuriating hours in a car with you and suddenly that makes you worth something to me?

I always try to do what’s right, help people who need it. At great personal cost, lost people important to me. I’ve never done this much for one person, though. And I don’t even know you. I have your files. I’ve read history books. Hell, I even know the fruits and fish you like. But I gave up my family and my reputation for this. I have a bullet in my shoulder for this.

Who are you to drive me to that, huh? You’re not even awake. You’re not out here with us while we do this for you. This is bullshit.

Sam

PS, I lied the other day. I don’t prefer you being quiet. I want you to argue with me. I want you to hear what I’m saying. I want you to come back. Fuck, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want you so far gone that I never think about you again or I want you to come back. But you keep just existing right in my periphery. A shadow I can’t shake. A stray that’s followed me all the way to my door stoop. Fuck.

Bucky,

Sorry.

Sam

I’ve thrown away seven other sheets trying to find something to say, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter what I write down now. You’ll be able to hear it straight from my pretty mouth soon enough.

Sorry we won’t be around to see you through all of it. Princess’s orders. Besides, there’s a new bad guy out there fucking something up. And, surprise surprise, Ross hasn’t sent anyone after them, so duh-da da da-dah, here we come, to the rescue.

I’ll see you soon, though, alright.

Not that, like, you care about when I’ll see you. Ah, shit, I’m gonna throw this one away too.

And Sam had kept his promise, showing up a week afterwards with a sharp quip on his lips but a tellingly earnest patience as Bucky had walked him and Steve around the spaces that had become his life. He’d even left a note on Bucky’s bed wishing him good dreams again.

So it only made sense that Bucky slipped a note into his go-bag.

[2018]

Tweety,

You musta been real bored without me around to fuck shit up if you had this much time to write all these letters. Did keep me busy for a while though. Maybe next time you could be more verbose and flowery, give me something to really sink a literary analysis into.

I’m gonna keep this one short, though, ‘cause you’re nosey and pay attention to everything I do. I ain’t gonna throw you around no more, so you can unclench. Heard you argue with S1 and S2 about whether or not I was ready to go out again.

I’m not.

I know it’s selfish when all of you are still fighting the fight, but I’m so tired. And I’m unstable on my feet. I need some time to get the ground under me again. But if you tell Steve I agree with him, I’ll burn your letters without looking at them.

You could stay, y’know. You don’t have to keep fighting. I could use the company. Talking is supposed to help rebuild neurons or something, right? Maybe I’m just making that up.

Anyway, hope you find this at an inopportune time.

-Tin Can

[Left on Barnes’s pillow in Wakanda, 2018]

Sorry the world doesn’t wait for what we want. Sorry the world’s ending. Maybe you can show me all your goats again when all of this is said and done. Maybe it’ll be a little quieter for once.

-S

Read the rest on AO3

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #sambucky fanfic #writing #i answer things

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plush-rabbit · 1 year ago

Text

Next Time

Part 4 to A Bad Date and A Late Night Drive

Word Count: 7.5K

A/N: It's a night out for them!!

Despite Johnathan claiming that it was no trouble to him to pick you up from your apartment, you declined the offer. You needed a moment- several if you were being honest- to compose yourself before your date.

If it can even be called that.

You aren’t entirely sure if that’s what it is. You want it to be, but you also don’t want to get ahead of yourself and expect something.

For now, you get yourself ready, donning the best of your attire and making sure your shoes have no scuff marks on them. You grab at a bag, making sure your keys, wallet, and anything else you consider important is thrown inside. While he mentioned that he would pay, you still need to pay a ride fee and you weren’t going to feel entirely comfortable without at least offering to pay half.

Spritzing yourself in perfume and letting it float in the air, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. You smooth out any wrinkles and clear your throat. There’s a nervous bubbling in your stomach, and acid creeps in your throat, and you worry about whether he’ll think you’ll look nice.

You hope he tells you that you look nice.

Your phone buzzes against your desk, a loud noise that makes your bones rattle and nerves worsen. You reach for it, half-hoping that the date was canceled, and the other half, hoping that he’s near the restaurant.

It’s the latter.

Your grin stretches, and you tap your heels against the floor, energy burning in you. The phone buzzes again and you check it eagerly, your spirit dampened slightly when it’s the ride share application letting you know that your driver is already here. Gasping, you look into your purse, doing one quick lookover. Your hands slam against the wall, turning off the light switches as you rush out of your home, racing down and wrinkling your outfit all over again.

The window of a car lowers and you ask the driver for their name, and with a smile, you nod to yourself, slipping into the backseat. It doesn’t take long until a conversation is formed about the status of whether this is a date or not.

“It sounds like a date,” they tell you, their jewelry shining under the passing streetlights.

“Well he didn’t call it that,” you add, playing with the zipper on your bag.

“He invited you out to dinner and if offering to pay,” their smile is heard through their words. “It kind of hits most of the bases for a date.” Their eyes flicker against the rearview mirror, and you smile nervously. “Is this your first time out with him?”

You open your bag and pull out your wallet. “I went on a tour at his work once- he uh, works in a lab-” you hurriedly explain, not wanting to be labeled as a stalker by a stranger- “and afterwards he gave me a lift to a coffee shop and we went for dinner after.” The driver hums and makes a turn. “And before he asked me on-” you meet their gaze in the mirror and you clear your throat- “you know, I had a bad date and he picked me up and took me to a drive-in.” Your finger traces along the spine of the wallet.

“So it’s your third date with him,” they say with certainty.

“No, no,” you laugh awkwardly. “I don’t think it is. I mean, I would like for it to be, but I don’t- I don’t know. What if I think it is and I treat it like it is a date, but it isn’t one for him, you know? I think I’d never speak to him again.”

“You like him.”

While why state it like a fact, you still answer. “Yes,” you sigh. “I tried not to- hence the date that I went on- but, it didn’t do anything. I think it only furthered my attraction to him. “He’s nerdy and cute. And when he talks about his work, there’s like this energy in him.”

“How tall is he?”

You don’t hold back your smile. “Tall. Like real tall.”

They nod to themselves. “And you can’t ask if it’s a date?”

You shake your head. “I know I should, but what if I am misreading everything and he just wants a friend. What if I’m supposed to be that friend and I just make it uncomfortable.”

“Do you want there to be miscommunication between the two of you?” You shake your head, and voice your answer when you remember that their attention is directed to the road. “Then ask the man.”

“I need a way to ask that isn’t so… obvious. I can’t just outright ask if it's a date or not.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I don’t wanna. I can’t handle rejection, you know.” You tap your wallet against your knee.

“Okay, well you have about five minutes before we arrive, so start brainstorming.” You peek over and see the icon of the car approaching closer to the destination.

“Right,” you breathe out. Clearing your throat, you nod to yourself. “So, Johnathan-”

They make a wrong buzzing sound that bounces in the confines of the car. “Too nervous and stiff. Relax, you know the guy.”

You roll your eyes. “Johnathan!”

“Too eager.” They throw a hand in the air. “You’re being difficult on purpose. And time is running out.” You put your wallet back into the bag.

“Hey Johnathan, I was hoping I could ask you something.” You pause and when no critics are said, you continue. “I just wanted to-” you elongate the vowel, shifting your eyes around- “I wanted to make sure that we’re on the same level. Are we, you know, on a date?” You stop and there’s no words offered. “I feel like that’s still too forward.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get.” The car slows and you see the restaurant outside, and you see Johnathan standing outside in a striped blazer, and he plays with his hands, searching around the establishment. “We’re here.”

You nod. “I think he likes me,” you say out loud.

“I think so too,” the driver replies.

“Payment,” you mumble. “I gotta pay you.” You pull open your app and add a generous tip. You grab at the door handle and turn to the driver. “Thanks for hearing me out,” you tell them.

“It’s part of the job,” they say nonchalantly. “Have fun on your date.”

Your mouth is dry, and you can’t stop looking at Johnathan. You nod eagerly, whispering out a breathless word of agreement, before stepping outside.

Jonathan spots you almost immediately, his hand going up in a wave and you smile, chest swelling with delight. You rush over, holding tightly onto the strap of your bag. You stand in front of him, and he smiles down at you, hands fisting as they fall to his side.

“Hi Johnathan,” you smile.

“Hello,” he says your name so sweetly, and you can only tighten your hands around the strap of your bag. It feels like you’re some lovesick teenager again.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long.” You kick at the ground, and take a look towards the street. “New York and its traffic,” you joke.

“Oh no, I wasn’t waiting for very long.” He shakes his head. His eyes dance down your view, and when he meets your gaze again, he has this soft look in his eyes. “You look very nice.”

“You think so?” You ask, your heart fluttering inside of your chest. He hums in response, nodding his head. “Thanks! I’m um, I’m glad that you think so. You look nice too. I like your blazer. It suits you.” Your hand reaches forward, grabbing at the lapel and smoothing it out. Your fingers pinch over a piece of white fuzz. It snows down on the ground and is lost on the concrete, and when you look up at him, his hand clasps around your wrist. “Ah, sorry,” you mumble. “It- I thought it would’ve-”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, saving you from a poor excuse. “I didn’t mind.” His hand lets go of your wrists, and it falls back to his side, and with it, he takes a step back. “We should go in. Our reservation was for seven o’clock and it’s-” he lifts his wrist to look at his watch- “seven past five. I uh- I don’t want you to eat somewhere else when you look so nice.”

“Lead the way,” you tell him, stepping away from him.

He holds the door open for you, and he hollows you in, walking forward where the host makes eye contact with him and then you. Their smile is practiced and wide as they greet you. You smile in return and take your place beside Johnathan.

“I have a reservation under Ohnn. Johnathan Ohnn,” he says with a steady voice. You wonder if he practiced the line before arriving.

You’re too distracted by the atmosphere of the restaurant to hold any attention to the conversation happening near you. The lights are warm, a soft yellow, candles are lit at the tables. You can hear snippets of conversations, but it all turns muddled, mixed into noise that you can’t bother to decipher. When he starts to walk, you take hold of his hand, and he returns the gesture, leading you along. Glass clinks together in a sound that is backed by the sound of metal against porcelain, a soft tune that is muted under the noise of people and their joy.

The two are you are sat at a table with a view to the outside. You can see the faint press of fingertips along the glass. Utensils are placed down at the table and menus are given, and you hold it in your hand, skimming over the bolded fonts and your eyes settle on the prices of the meals and appetizers. The candle on the tables fillers, the white wax a milky puddle that stains the glass.

You sit at your table, letting your bag strap across your chair, and pull the menu open. If you were to be honest with him, you had already taken a peek of what was served here in an effort to prepare yourself and not be caught off guard. However, you were not prepared for the cocktail section that was adorned with pictures of what the drinks would look like.

Trying to stifle a gasp, your feet tap against the floor. “Would you think less of me if I wanted to order drinks based on the glass that they come in?” You take a glance over the menu to find him smiling.

He laughs. “Of course not. I had no idea you were one for presentations.”

You shrug. “Not necessarily. But when it comes in glasses as cute as these, I can’t help but be tempted, you know? Oh! Like look-” you turn your menu over to him- “this one is shaped like a little bird! And it has little flowers as its tail! And- And, look there’s a little bathtub with a duck! Oh Johnathan-” you turn the menu back to yourself- “they’re so cute.”

“Feel free to get what you’d like.” You look back down at the menu, and worry at your lip. “Don’t worry about the price tag, I invited you after all.”

Swallowing nervously, you look at the other page of the menu. “I can always pay for my half,” you offer. “I don’t want to take advantage or anything.”

“Really, it’s fine.” He fixes at the sleeve of his blazer, but when he lets go, it falls back into place. You’re here and I was the one to invite you and I’m fine- more than fine with paying for both of our meals. And drinks,” he quickly adds.

Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips. “What are you planning on getting?”

“I was thinking of getting- Oh, I see the waiter!” He says in a startled voice. “Do you know what you want? We can still have some more time, I just-”

“I know what I want, Johnathan,” you reassure, giving a quick scan at the menu and nodding to yourself. “I think I will get the drink.”

“Good. You should. I want you to enjoy your time here.”

“With you?”

He nods. “With me.” The flame flickers, and you hope that you get to see more of him.

As he said, the waiter stops at your table. “Hi everyone! I’ll be your waiter for tonight. So what can I get you started with?” Their tone is cheery and you nod towards Johnathan’s direction, allowing him to go first. With a roll of his eyes directed towards you, he tells the waiter what he’d like to drink. “And for you?” The attention is now towards you, and you nervously tell the waiter what drink you’d like, pointing at the picture where the decorative glass has only enticed you further. “Great choice, that’s my favorite,” they tell you with a smile. Feeling validated at the words, you nod, holding the menu together. “And are you all ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?” Johnathan nods at your direction and you stick your tongue out at him.

“We’re ready,” you tell the waiter, pointing at your order as you tell them what you would like. You nod towards the other end of the small table and Johnathan adjusts his glasses before saying his own order.

“Great!” The waiter writes down the order and clicks the pen. “I’ll go put these in for you and I’ll be right back.”

Left alone with Jonathan and a flickering flame, you tap at the table. “So,” you wince at the fiddly tone, “how did you hear about this place?”

“One of my coworkers said that they brought their husband here. They mentioned how nice the food was.” You perk up at the word “husband” with nerves coursing through your body and running a chill up your spine.

Maybe it is a date, you think to yourself.

“I thought that it would be nice to eat here and I-” he clears his throat and toys with the edge of the napkin that covers the utensils- “I thought that you might also enjoy it here.”

“Thanks for thinking of me,” you say, grabbing your own covered utensils and tracing along the bottom edge of the handle to one of the utensils. “Do you usually eat out at these fancy places?” You try to resist the urge to scratch at your neck.

“No, not usually. I’m a much more reserved type of individual. I only really go to these types of places because of my coworkers or those company dinners.”

“I didn’t know that Alechmax had company dinners.”

“They’re not uncommon,” he explains. Pulling away at the paper that holds the cloth napkin together. “I don’t really like to go, but there’s free food.” He ends the sentence with a shrug.

“I don’t really get company dinners. Some of us go out for drinks, but I think I’d prefer a meal.”

Pulling at the end of his hair, he opens his mouth, only to get cut off by the waiter returning. They move the platter, and set the drinks down first. You pull the drink near the edge, leaving room for the plate. “There you go,” they say, their gaze focused on the food that sits on the platter. “For you, sir,” they say cautiously, placing the plate down in front of Johnathan. “And for you,” they continue, placing your plate in front of you. “Enjoy your dinner and let me know if you need anything else.”

“You know,” you start, tapping your finger against the glass of your drink, “I severely underestimated how much drink I was actually going to get.” The drink is now no more than a few tentative sips from disappearing. Alongside the glass remains a few drops of where the drink stains.

“Oh? Did you think it was going to be bottomless?” He asks, a sharp smile pulling on his features.

You scoff and take much more than a tentative sip that now only lets a small puddle pool at the belly of the bird. “I was distracted by the craftsmanship of the glass,” you snip at him, your voice light and twisted with dally. “I saw a cute design and decided that I needed to have the glass.”

With a fork of food near his mouth, he reminds you of an important fact. “You do know that you don’t get to keep the glass, right?”

Your smile falls and strains into a thin line. “I honestly hate that you told me that,” you whine to him, tapping your index against the stem.

“I apologize for crushing your dreams,” he says without genuinity.

“You know,” you muse, licking at your lips, the drink still heavy on your tongue, “I don’t think you actually mean that.”

He hums, and takes a sip of his still half-full drink. “And what can I do to make it up to you?”

With a hand resting over your heavy heart, you shake your head. “I’m afraid the damage has already been done,” you sigh. He tries to muffle a laugh behind the palm of his hand, but you still catch at it and gasp in mock-offense. “You’re laughing over my pain? That’s awful.” You can’t stop the smile that stretches across your own face, and you shake your head as you take another bite of your food.

“I’ll get you another drink if you’d like. Maybe you can try a different one this time?” He offers, stabbing at his food with the fork. Your napkin dabs at the corner of your mouth, and you can still taste the faint traces of your drink on your tongue. “Would that make it up for you?”

Your head tilts, and you shake your head. “Mm, no.” When you meet his eyes, his own are wide and his shoulders are raised. “You’re gonna have to do more than that,” you tell him. As if on cue, the waiter stops at your table asking if everything is okay, and you can feel Johnathan’s eyes on you. “I’d uh, I’d like a glass of water, please.” You say, your voice lifting towards the end as you feel uncomfortable about asking for more.

“Of course, and anything else?” The waiter turns to Johnathan and with a shake of his head, the waiter nods. “Okay, I’ll be right back with your glass of water.”

With the waiter of sight, Johnathan bites at his food. You look at the thinning drink in your sculpted glass, the flowers dried at the table. “You could have gotten another drink,” he tells you, and you look back at him, warmth in the shell of your ears. “You could have tried the other drink.”

You smile at him, and you hand pinches over a stem. “I’m okay.” You lift the flower and a petal falls to the table. “I like water anyways.” You tap your foot against the floor and smile at him with an impish grin. “Plus, I wouldn’t want you to think that that would make it up after all your snark.”

“No, of course not,” he says kindly.

A glass taps at your table, and you turn. “Your water,” the waiter tells you with a smile. You return it. “Anything else I can get for the two of you?”

“I’m okay,” you say out loud, pulling the glass towards you.

“I’m okay,” Johnathan parrots back..

With a clap of their hands, the waiter tells you to call if either of you need anything else, and walks away to another section. Left alone, you take a sip of your water, the ice spinning around the glass as you stir with the straw. You sit with him, and poke around at your food, taking small bites as he does the same. Silence has fallen between the two of you and you don’t think you’ll get another chance like this to confirm your worries.

“Johnathan?” You ask, setting the fork down. It clinks sweetly against the plate, and his own fork stops halfway as he looks at you. “Can I- I wanna ask you something.” His mouth covers over the fork, and you cross your ankles over the other. “It’s kinda important.” He nods his head, chewing slowly. “You invited me out and offered to pay, and I just- I wanted to know why.”

The napkin dabs against his mouth, and he takes a sip of his drink. You take a bite of your food. In a crumpled state, the napkin sits on the table and he grabs at the fork, pinching the metal between his fingers. “I wanted to spend more time with you,” he says quietly. The food goes down heavy.

Your stomach twists. That isn’t enough for you. Not now. You want him to say that this is a date, but you also realize that you have to ask for it. You chew on your lip, the mint chapstick faint on your tongue. “I want to make sure that we’re on the same page-” your fingers tap against the table- “so I have to ask, and I want you to be honest. Okay?” He nods rapidly. “Is this-” you point to both you and him- “a date?”

“Would you like it to be a date?”

You nod. “I do,” you say in a tense whisper. “Do you want it to be a date?”

“I was hoping it was. I’m sorry that I didn’t make it clear enough.”

Shaking your head, you cross your ankle over the other. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“I-” he turns his head, and looks out the window, and you follow his gaze- “I’ve dated before, but it gets harder to date and most people aren’t necessarily into scientists.” You look at him through the reflection, and you find that he’s already looking at you. “It’s nice having you as company, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and ruin that.”

“What made you think I wouldn’t have been interested?”

He turns his head and looks at his nearly finished plate. The fork is pinched between his fingers. “You’re pretty. And interesting to talk to. I- The most I can offer is an informative conversation about quantum mechanics and multidimensional traveling- in theories,” he adds. “I would have assumed you were searching for something more than just me.”

“I have to admit that I didn’t think you’d be my type. You got the tall, dark, and handsome all figured out, but, I dunno know. You always struck me as the type to sneer and be less than sweet. But talking to you, like actually talking to you, is nice. You’re nice. And I like that you give me rides, and I like that you’re smart.” You stare at your drink, the ice bobbing lightly.

“I like that you listen.” You smile, and look at him. “I like you. And I would have wanted the two other times that we met to be a date, but I also like the idea of this being our first date.”

Your nail runs over the side of your finger. “I have to remind you that I’m writing an article that goes against your company and could put you in a negative light.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m here with you right now because of that.”

“You’re here because you like me?”

You nod. “I’m here because I like you,” you confirm. “But I also want you to remember that. That if we date, I’m- I might still write the article.”

He stays silent. “I can’t change your mind on that?”

“I don’t know Johnathan. I want to have strong convictions, but I also want to-” you falter. You want him to be happy with you. You don’t want him to regret taking this chance on you. “I want you to still like me even if I continue to write the article.”

“I’d still like you.”

You shake your head. “You can’t be sure of that.”

He takes your hand. “I can be.”

“Would you be disappointed in me if I still wrote it? You wouldn’t regret taking a chance on me?” You lean to him, your nails dragging against his skin. “You’d still like me as much as you’d like me right now?”

“I don’t think I would ever stop feeling the way I feel for you.”

“You can’t promise that.” You run your thumb over his knuckles. “There has to be a line drawn somewhere. I shouldn’t get such a pass from you.”

“Do you- Is there something that would stop you from liking me as much as you like me right now? If I did something bad would you still be interested in me?”

“Mm, if you were actively destroying the environment, then I think that would be a red flag,” you reason. “I kinda like Earth, despite you know-” you wave a hand in the air- “everything. So I guess if you were like polluting the ocean or something, I’d consider that a point against you.”

His smile falters and takes a look around the restaurant, eyes restless and unable to look back at you. “Any- Anything else?”

“Oh goodness, you’re polluting the ocean,” you say with a breathless laugh. You dip your head down, and he coughs awkwardly. “Okay,” you breathe out, holding his hand just a bit tighter, “it’s a red flag if you…” you falter, looking around for an answer intertwined with the flowers outside. You perk up, looking back at him. “It’s a red flag if you throw bottles out of your window when you’re driving.”

“Who on Earth would do that?”

“I’ve seen it. Multiple times.” Warmth bubbles in your chest, flaming your skin, and knots twist themselves into pretty bows. “So is that something you’re doing? Or will do?”

“Never,” he says, shaking his head.

“Okay then.” You nod to yourself, and then to him, relief escaping in a breath. “You don’t throw bottles out of your car. So, what about me? I gave you a thing, you gotta return it.”

“I’d at least want you to talk to me before you write something about Alchemax.” You lift your hand from his, standing the tips of your fingers against his wrist, tapping along his veins. “I don’t want to police your work, I just- I know how important it is for you but I need to know.”

“Can I ask why?” You can feel the bone when you circle over the wrist.

He swallows. “I want to be prepared for it.” You look at him, a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t want to be caught by surprise if my name is mentioned,” he says weakly.

“Lucky for you,” you trace along a vein until you can’t reach any further down his arm, “I never intended to write your name. It was always supposed to be about Alchemax and all the weird things that have been popping up. Never about a single person.” You pull a face. “Except maybe Fisk, considering it all.”

“Then why are you here with me?”

“I liked drinking coffee with you.”

“Really?” He questions with wonder.

You nod. “Surprisingly, yes,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I-” you pause- “Being with you is nice.”

“Being with you is nice,” he quotes back. “I- It’s difficult to date when so much of your free time is spent in a lab or reading through notes.”

“It’s difficult to date when you’re busy chasing a story or locked in a room.” There’s a cluster of freckles around the back of his hands, fading down his arm in soft hues of brown that get lost in the tufts of hair on his arm. “I get lost trying to find the perfect words for only a few clicks.”

“I click,” he adds. You nod without saying a word. “Do you want to go home? I can take you home already?”

You turn his arm over, letting his veins be lit by the lighting. You can feel his pulse quietly beating under his touch. You settle your gaze against him, the reflection of his glasses stare at you. “You won’t even get me dessert?” You say with a hurt tone.

He stiffens, and you can feel his pulse quicken, thumping against your fingertip. “Oh! What would you like?” He turns his head looking at the table- for a menu perhaps- until realizing that the answers aren’t there. Jonathan lifts his gaze towards you again. “I can get the waiter.” He starts to lift his hand, and you snort a laugh. His hand is paused mid-lift.

“You can get me dessert next time,” you tell him, your canines pull at your lip, trying to quell the anxiety that you feel.

“Next time?” He asks in a surprised voice. “I get to have a next time?”

You nod. “Only if you’d like there to be next time.”

“I want there to be a next time.”

A jolt runs through your body and you tighten your hold over the fork. It drops against the plate in sharp notes, and the water cools you as it rushes down your throat. Nodding, you can only speak in a breathless, that he doesn’t comment on. “Good. That’s good.” Looking at your nearly finished plate, you decide to yourself that you’re full, that eating anymore would only cause the twisting in your stomach to reveal itself.

“Would you mind if I paid already?” He asks, his own food only being pushed around.

“No, no. Go ahead,” you tell him.

He scans around the room, his hand partially raised, until he finds who he was looking for. Nodding, he lowers his hand and looks at yours and his plate. “You’re full, right?” You nod with your cheeks warm. “You can get it to go if you’d like.”

“No, I’m good. I’m- This was good,” you say, twisting your napkin at the corners.

The waiter stops at your table, and as you sip on your water, condensation creating a ring around the table, you choose to ignore the words that are said, focusing on the pedestrians outside who pay you no mind.

“The uh- the tip?” You say weakly, and you have his attention. Your fingertips flutter over the clasp of your bag, and you pull out your wallet, grabbing at cash.

He smiles and his eyes are warm. “I already added it to the bill. Don’t worry about it.” Your heart aches and squeezes upon itself as you nod. You want to hold his hand again.

The waiter returns, a clasped book in their hand as they hand Johnathan back their card. “Thank you guys, and have a great evening,” they say with poise and practiced lines. They are thanked, and as they walk away,

Johnathan rises, his card returning to his wallet and settling it back into his pocket. He waits for you to stand, and stands beside you as you grab at your bag, clutching it in your hands, the strap bunched and pierced by your nails. Johnathan walks in front of you, and you hold onto the bag, hoping that the feeling of wanting to hold his hand goes away.

It doesn’t.

Doors are opened for you, and when you sit nestled inside of his car, the seatbelt taught across your chest, you watch him when he enters the car. Music plays quietly, words whispered out against the speakers, and the soft drumming of the instruments are only quiet vibrations.

You watch him for a few more moments, his jaw tight and teeth worrying at his lip. His hands are stiff around the steering wheel, and you cross and uncross your ankle over the other. You wonder what it is that he has to say to you. You hope that it’s something good. You hope that he tells you he wants to hold your hand just as badly as you want to.

“You can talk to me, you know,” you say quietly, rivaling the music that can be heard. “We’re still on our date.”

“Am I that obvious?” You nod. “I thought I was hiding it well.” When you don’t offer any sort of answer, he clears his throat. “It’s about your job. Is that okay?”

Not what you expected, and with partial disappointment, you fist your hand. “Go ahead,” you tell him.

“Why are you so focused on Alchemax?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so upset and bothered.

“You know better than me that something is going on,” you reply hesitantly. “I know that it’s dumb of me to focus on a company under Fisk, but-” you groan and lower your head, raising it back up with a breath. "I just know that something bad is going on, and it shouldn’t be going on. I mean, come on- none of what he’s doing can be legal.”

“Just leave it alone.” he sounds so defeated, and you don’t answer. “Fisk isn’t someone to mess with. He has connections to bad people. He’ll hurt you.”

“Aw,” you say in a lilt, “ you do care about me.” You tease, but when he doesn’t answer, you lean forward, catching a glimpse of how his face flushes in a dark hue at your words. Your eyes widen and you pull back. “Oh.”

His face scrunches up and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. “It’s not- I don't- I mean, I do-” he groans and bites at his bottom lip. You watch him, waiting for him to figure out his words, your attention completely on him, never wavering to the streets, and the people. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to someone I know,” he states.

“What,” you hesitate, trying to find the proper words, “what do you think will happen?”

He sucks in his bottom lip. The air in the car has changed, and you're gripping your bag, scratching your nails along the canvas. “Something that shouldn’t,” he says. “You’re a good person. I don’t- You should let someone else take over the story.”

“So that they can get hurt?” You aren’t sure how to feel about that. You’re sure you’re supposed to feel disgusted, but a part of you feels warm at the thought that he cares for you.

He raises his shoulders, shrinking in on himself. He doesn’t speak again.

The car slows at a yellow light, and a hue of red washes over the two of you. You scratch at your bicep, and keep your gaze on him. “I like spending time with you, Jonathan,” you admit. He whips his head towards you and you avoid his gaze, focused on the handle of the glove compartment. “You’re smart and eloquent with your words. You have this dry sense of humor that gives you a certain charm. You’re dorky in a cute way and I know that we’ve only started to figure out whatever we are right now, but-” you shrug your shoulders and look back at him- “I don’t know. I like you.” He stares at you, and you aren’t entirely sure that he’s processed what you just said. “But you can’t tell me what I can or cannot write. Especially if we aren’t anything exclusive. I mean, I still would take offense if we were exclusive but that’s another conversation.” You wave a hand in the air. “I want to be taken seriously. I don’t want to do another fluff piece. I want to write something hard hitting and something that the public needs to hear even if only one person reads it.”

Green washes over the two of you, and the sound of a car honking has him looking away from you.

“Why?” His fists tighten over the steering wheel.

You shrug. “I dunno,” you murmur. “Dignity, I guess?” You say a bit louder. “I like my job and fluff pieces are easy and whatever; but for at least once in my life, I want to write something great. I want someone to read my article and think to themselves, “‘Wow, this is a great reporter-’” you wave your hands in the air and lower them down shyly- “or something like that.”

“I think you’re a great reporter.” You look at him, and part your mouth open. He continues before you have a chance to speak. “I read some of your older pieces. I thought they were well written.” He glances at you before returning his attention to the road. “I would read it and think to myself that you cared about what you wrote.”

“You read my work?” You ask softly, a ray of warmth flooding to your cheeks.

Jonathan nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” The car turns, and you stay silent. “Fisk isn’t a good man. I need you to understand that. He’s- What I’m working on is important to him. If you expose what he’s trying to do, he won’t hesitate to put a stop to your actions.” The car slows to a roll at a stop sign. He looks both ways before continuing. “I don’t know why you’ve attached myself to me- if you think that maybe I was easy to sway or weak-minded-”

“No, Jonathan, of course not!” You turn your body and reach out a hand, before pulling it back. “I never thought that. I- I knew you were a top scientist. I was- I thought that if anyone was important in the project, it was you. It is you,” you correct yourself. “I thought- I think highly of you, I swear.”

He gives a curt nod. The car drives slowly, and his eyes scan the road. The GPS signals that he has arrived at his destination. He slows the car even more so, and pulls into an empty space conveniently located in front of your apartment complex.

Parking the car, he turns to you. “I am asking you to stop. Write about corrupt politicians or homelessness. Write about Spider-man and his adventures. Anything, but this. Please.”

You straighten your back and cross a leg underneath you. “I know why I attached myself to you,” you start, pulling at the strap from your bag, “but why did you attach yourself to me.”

A small smile pulls at his lips. He stays silent, and the music from his playlist plays softly, filling the air. You reach over and grab at his forearm, and he stretches it towards you, his gaze moving away to watch as your hand slides down his arm and down to hold his hand. You call his name and he looks back up at you.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I wish I had an answer to give you, but I don’t know.” With his free hand, he scratches at the back of his head. “You found my work interesting. You listened to me talk about multidimensional travel without treating it as some joke. You were intrigued. Not many people usually are.” His hand squeezes at yours. “You’re kind. Pretty.” You smile at the compliment. “I find it cute that you pout when you’re jealous.”

You purse your lips. “I do not pout. I have never been jealous when I’m around you.” An obvious lie, but you want to preserve your dignity.

He smiles. “If I told you that Dr. Owens asked me out to dinner, how would you react?”

Thinning your lips to prevent a pout, you turn your head to watch a streetlamp. You can feel a pout begin to happen and rather than give him the satisfaction of being right, you cover your mouth with your hand. Shrugging, you click your tongue. “I’d say that-” your words falter, and you refuse to look at him- “you should go for it. They seem nice.”

"You're forcing yourself not to pout. Does that mean I'm right?" You can hear the smugness in his voice and it only makes you retreat further into yourself.

“You’re like the worst, you know that?” You tighten your grip on his hand.

"Would you really be okay if I went out with them?" You stay silent. "If you say no, I'll deny them. But you have to tell me that."

"Honestly? I think they'd be a better match for you." A bitter smile twists your lips, and you regret saying the words.

He deflates. “No, they wouldn't,” he disagrees. “I don't like them.”

“You should. At least they'd be able to keep up with you in conversations.” You tap at the rubber mats on the floor of the car. “I can't do that.”

“I don't need someone to keep up with me. I want someone to be with me.” He squeezes your hand, and you hold onto it, hoping that he won’t pull away despite you trying to push him. “I don’t want you near Alchemax. I want you to stay far away from it. I need you to understand that. I can’t- I wish I could tell you about it, but I can’t.”

“My work is important to me,” you say in a whisper.

“I know.” He takes in a deep breath, and you watch people walk past the car. You follow a stranger in the rearview mirror, and you look back at Jonathan once the stranger has turned a corner.

“Are you going to go have dinner with Dr. Owens?”

Shifting in his seat, he runs a finger along the edge of the pocket of his blazer. “They aren’t my type.”

You wet your lips. “Am- Am I your type?”

Nodding, he holds your hand tighter. “Unfortunately, yes.” You don’t attempt to hide the grin that brightens your face. He smiles in return, and inches closer to you in his seat. “Is it safe to assume that I’m your type?”

“Sadly, you are,” you whisper out.

“I respect your work-” he pulls your hand closer to him, and you lean yourself closer to him- “aren’t I enough?”

"That isn't a fair question."

"None of this fair."

"None of it?"

He shakes his head. "No. I should have met you before I became a scientist. Or maybe you shouldn't have been such a persistent reporter.” Turning away, he looks out at the street, yellow and white illuminating him.

“I think you'd have made a great postman,” you smile. “I think you’d look good in blue.” He smiles sadly. “I’ll give it some thought, okay?” You rub at the tip of your nose. “You know what’s going on then, right? Like what’s being on?”

His hand slips out of yours. Your fingers stretch out,and curl into a fist, settling over the middle console of the car. “Something that you don’t have to worry about. Please,” he says in a distressed tone. “Just let someone else take the article. Anyone but you. I’ll tell you about other projects that we have planned, anything,” he emphasizes with a plea, turning back to you with sad eyes, “but the one that you’re researching on.”

The seatbelt unclicks, and you see his chest swell, and stay still as he holds his breath. When you reach over with your arm wrapping around him, do you feel him slake in your hold. His arms wrap around you, and you hide yourself in the small of his neck, his hair tickling at your nose. His hands fist over the cloth on your back, and you can feel him shift, bringing you closer to him.

When you pull away, you stay only a few inches away from his face, with your hands still clinging to him. Under the spotty lighting of the speeding cars and the streetlamps that barely illuminate where the two of you sit, you start to count at his freckles. Your hand lifts, your thumb arching over his cheek. His beard pricks under your print, and he leans into your touch.

“You have a lot of spots,” you mumble, “Johnny.”

“Please,” he murmurs, eyes glancing down momentarily before lifting back to meet yours, “anyone else.”

You swallow. “Can I think about it?” His lips pull into a thin line. “I wanna end our date on a good note.” His shoulders fall. “Wanna walk me to the door?”

“Okay.” You pull away, and you can still feel the coarse hair and the soft skin. The car dings as he opens the door, and the lights still shine on the dashboard. You watch as he walks around, and opens your door. The car sings with a rhythmic note as it’s left on. He holds his hand in front of you, and you take it, finding comfort in the way that his hand wraps around yours.

Hand in hand, you walk a few feet to the front door. You stand there, with his car still on and your hands still holding onto each other. “Next time you’ll get me dessert?” You ask in a small voice, not ready to go inside yet.

“I’ll get you whatever you want next time.” he stills, and with a shaky breath exhaled, he leans down. A hand cups over the side of your face, and you're tilted up, and his lips press against the corner of your mouth. You look at him, and he smiles. “Next time.”

You nod. “Next time.”

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