#not the state of mind I personally would have if I were hiding a fugitive on the site of all my traumatic childhood memories sry2say

[poorlittleyaoyao]

My toxic trait is that I do not like “JGY hid LXC in the brothel where he grew up” as a conceit, and I cannot fathom why it’s become so prevalent that people don’t even realize it’s fanon. 😐

[thetrueweaveroffate]

Subscorp Week - Day 5 - Touch Starved

Somedays, he missed his brother.

Some days he wonders how his brother would react if he ever found out his little brother - pathetic and promising - ended up being more the latter than the former.

Would Bi-Han ever treat him with the same affection and gentleness he had experienced in their youth?

And then his mind slams into the truth like colliding face first with a cement wall. His brother is gone. He would never know, would he?

That's what grief is, isn't it? That reminder always appears whenever his mind comes across that thought, that the person he once talked with cannot be interacted with again.

Grief burned worse today.

Kuai Liang ran his hands through his hair and his face. His desk was beyond its orderly state, and he was left with nothing but reminders of his most recent mission failure.

Two Lin Kuei members injured - and badly enough to immediately be put into the operating room. Numerous civilians dead including one aged eight. And - perhaps worst of all in Bi-Han's eyes - the corrupt politician and fugitive they were hired to kill managed to get away. Although it is unlikely for him to go into hiding again with such a target on his back for the first time in a decade, it meant that more resources, time, and money the Lin Kuei needed expense to hunt him down and kill him for good.

It was his fault.

He had hoped - no,  believed  - that the team was experienced at this point to undertake his mission, and clearly, they were not. The knowledge that his poor judgment caused all this burned at him. He should have made sure they knew how to spot snipers. Of course, there were snipers.

They were up against people, professionals hired by rich, corrupt men. They were a different class of thugs and demons.

An entire city was in a panic.

A child out there was dead because of him.

And worst of all, Bi-Han would have scolded him for caring more about the lives of acceptable collateral than having a mission success.

There was a knock on the door.

"Grandmaster Hasashi is here."

"Let him in, please."

Hanzo sat down from across him before Kuai Liang would even register the sounds of his footsteps. He laid the tea set he had in his hands down on top of the scattered paper.

"I heard about the mission," Hanzo said without any pretense. "It wasn't your fault it turned out the way it did, Kuai Liang. I would not be so harsh upon yourself."

Then, quietly, he poured the steaming liquids into cups, taking one and leaving the other on the tray for him to drink out of later.

Kuai Liang wanted to retort but restrained himself.

Hanzo did nothing to deserve his ire. "We are all bound to make mistakes."

"This is hardly a case of  simple  mistakes, Hanzo," Kuai Liang said, voice edging on a growl.

"Nothing ever is," Hanzo replied simply.

As inappropriate as the moment was, Hanzo found Kuai Liang's expression frankly adorable. It was a rare opportunity to see him angry, and yet always a delight to see his pouty expression.

Without thinking, Hanzo ruffled his hair and left it a mess since he wasn't wearing his headband. The gesture made him feel like a child, like when Bi-Han was trying to appease him for not receiving the same level of praise for accomplishing the same mastery over ice at the same age as his brother.

It certainly didn't bring him any sense of comfort and the sensation of being a child again didn't sit well now that he was sitting in the Grandmaster's chamber as a Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei.

Hanzo sensed that the action was not as welcomed as he had assumed and withdrew his hand.

"Should we speak of lighter topics?" Hanzo suggested.

"No," he responded rigidly, without any room for argument, "I am not in the mood for lighter topics. Perhaps we can do some paperwork if the two of us are here now, before a mountain of it arrives later."

Hanzo nodded along, clearly disappointed but making an effort to not show he was affected by it, clearing off the table the best he could, while Kuai Liang silently took his cup of tea. Sullenly, he began working, and that was his way of saying he no longer wanted to talk.

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

How pathetic was he? Sitting in bed, wrapped in his blankets like he was a child again. He often sat like this, alone, in the dark, waiting in the dark, for his brother to return to the Temple from his long missions and reassure him that the mission was a success and that he would be back safe. That Bi-Han would be here again, and Kuai Liang would have another chance to see the side of him that remained hidden from everyone else.

The side where, when Kuai Liang was stuck in the deepest pits of his self-doubt, would support him in his strange, aloof, brotherly way.

There was knocking on the door, and Kuai Liang was both relieved and annoyed that someone was distracting him from his thoughts. Despite it, he elected to remain silent. It would be better to be stuck with silence than to be with someone at the moment he was curled on the bed like he was a pathetic, stupid little boy again.

The knocking only turned to banging, and after some simple deduction that the only person out there who would be knocking with such insolence without incurring the wrath of the entire Lin Kuei would be none other than Hanzo Hasashi himself, the door slammed open with enough force that it sounded like the door would come off the hinges altogether.

"Kuai Liang," Hanzo half-growled, "We need to talk."

Kuai Liang's frown appeared as quickly as it vanished from his expression, but it was enough for Hanzo to notice.

"About what?" Kuai Liang asked, surprisingly neutral and unmoving, "If I may ask."

"You know why," Hanzo retorted, jabbing a finger at his blanketed chest, "You have been avoiding me for long enough."

"Avoiding you?" Kuai Liang replied in disbelief, pushing himself out of the pile of blankets. He was only dressed in a simple robe, and in stark contrast to Hanzo's unform of the grandmaster, it felt like he was the one acting inappropriately here, but Kuai Liang didn't care.

"Yes," Hanzo answers, sounding almost condescending, "It is not like you to suddenly give me the cold shoulder for a week!"

"Do I have an obligation to respond to your every whim?" Kuai Liang retorts.

"You have an obligation to not leave me in silence," Hanzo throws back, "To not ignore me!"

"I am not  ignoring  you! Especially if doing so is going threaten the alliance. I just wanted some time to myself, is that too much to ask?"

"Time to your - "Hanzo began but stopped. He exhaled slowly through his nose, calming the fire that he hadn't realized was growing within him. "What is going on, Kuai Liang?" Hanzo asked, almost pleading, "Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? I feel as though you have been upset with me these past days and I have no idea why that is."

"Well you didn't need to confront me in such a rude manner," Kuai Liang accuses," And certainly I don't want you to treat me like a helpless  child !"

Kuai Liang blinks. Hanzo only looks as surprised as he is when the words come out of his mouth. His expression softens. "You are not a child," Hanzo says plainly, and Kuai Liang sags, "And you are never helpless. Tell me what is really wrong. Please."

He doesn't immediately answer. Instead, he sighs and sits himself down on his bed, wringing his hands.

"I have been thinking of my brother as of late, ever since my men returns unsuccessful from the Yuzhong mission."

At some point, Hanzo had settled next to him on his bed, reaching up to brush the hair away from his eyes, only to have his hand get slapped away.

"I don't understand why it is bothering you this much," Hanzo said, "I have had missions - I have  been  on missions - that have ended disastrously. This isn't the old Shirai Ryu, or the old Lin Kuei anymore either. There is no shame in making mistakes, and you cannot be angry at your Lin Kuei to fail to see something neither of us could see coming."

"There is no shame?!" Kuai Liang retaliated, "A boy somewhere is dead from my carelessness and you say there is no shame? What happened if that child was your son, Hanzo?!"

"Kuai Liang."

"I'm sorry - I overstepped. I -," Kuai Liang ran his hand through his hair, only it left it about as messy as it was before, "It's just - "

"I know," Hanzo replied placatingly, "Is it okay if I hold your hand? And we laid down?"

Kuai Liang silently left his hand in his direction in a quiet acknowledgment of permission, and the two of them gently lowered themselves as though they were ready to start taking a nap. "I have been thinking of my brother again," Kuai Liang started from the beginning, "And I have been thinking of myself too."

"And the boy?"

"The boy," Kuai Liang repeated emptily, "A little boy. And those other people I failed… What if he was like me, Hanzo? What if he spent every night on a bamboo mat for a bed awaiting his brother's return? Only he is the one who never return home again. What if he had a brother who was his only family in the world, and he was like me trying to simply survive in the world with what they have? My brother would have died to protect me, Hanzo. And for all he did, I am here. Why can't I do the same? Maybe I don't deserve any of the goodness in the world, especially if I cannot even protect them as the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei -"

"Don’t say that," Hanzo hissed, "Do not ever say that, Kuai Liang. You deserve happiness more than any one else."

Kuai Liang opened his mouth to argue, but that only made Hanzo's frown deepen even further.

"Kuai Liang," Hanzo began saying, "We both did horrible things. Our carelessness is what put us under Quan Chi's control. I know you would never assume that I am a perfect man free of sin, but I know you would never think I was undeserving of happiness either."

"I suppose," Kuai Liang acknowledged emptily.

"Promise me to talk to me about things like this, alright?"

"I will."

"Good."

That seemed to be settled for now.

"Now, with that out of the way," Hanzo acknowledged, "Did Bi-Han ever give you hugs?"

Hanzo's intention, it turns out, was to hug him, like he was a child again. Rather than feeling offended, however, Kuai Liang bashfully accepted the offer. he hasn't dared be even that remotely intimate with any of his students, or anyone for that matter. He had a feeling that if he doesn't take this offer now, there would be no guarantee that it would be made to him ever again. It took a while for them to get over the initial awkwardness, but once they settled into comfortable positions, their mingled breaths and the gentle rising and lowering of chests killed them into a soothing lull.

Hanzo ran his hand through his hair, while his arms wrapped around him.

"Is everything alright, Kuai Liang?" Hanzo quietly asked.

"Yes - well, it's just," Kuai Liang answers, "The last time I was held like this was back when Bi-Han was still here."

He felt Hanzo press his lips to his forehead, "That long? What about Tomas?"

"He was…" Kuai Liang considered, "A friend. Perhaps we could have been more. But we never held each other like this. My brother did, but over time he did it less. This… feels nice."

It felt like he was safe again.

"This feels nice for me too," Hanzo said, "I haven't done something like this since… well."

Kuai Liang waited for him to continue, but it doesn't come.

"You are a good person, Kuai Liang. I would like to do something like this more often, if you are willing."

"If I am willing?"

"If you are willing to spend time like this. Your brother is not here anymore, and I don't want you to be lonely. If you are willing."

"That." Gods, were his cheeks burning? "Would be nice."

Hanzo kissed his forehead again, and it was the coziest he has ever felt in his life. He closed his eyes, almost ready to take a nap, and it seemed the conversation was going to end like that before he dropped a bombshell.

"Is your taste in men people like your brother, before he became a bastard?" Hanzo asked, but his voice was playful.

"What! N-no!" he stammered. "I like men who are… affectionate and… protective."

Hanzo didn't even bother to look convinced.

"Fine," Kuai Liang relented and promptly buried his face into the crevasse of Hanzo's warm bosom. "And who can kick and command other people's asses. So, sure, people like my brother. Take it however you will."

Kuai Liang felt laughter reverberate through Hanzo's chest, and distantly, he realized that this feeling was new to him. All of this was new to him, despite being familiar. Perhaps Hanzo was right in his implication that he liked him because he was similar to his brother, but Hanzo was not Bi-Han. He was warmer in more ways than one.

Warm, Kuai Liang thought, like two bodies together as one.

[princessmyriad]

I loved the scene in Goncharov (1973) with Katya and her father just before everything goes down and I cannot stop thinking about it its so powerful so i wrote a little 'fanfic' of sorts as the kids say, i hope you enjoy! ✌️

He questioned. Katya could sense the scorn in his voice as he spoke, though to an outsider the cadence was almost a perfect monotone. But Katya was used to this delicate dance of words. She had been playing it since she was little. It’s one of the reasons she agreed to go with Goncharov in the first place, to avoid having to do this dance any more. Yet somehow, despite everything, her time for hiding had ended and he had found her. Anatoly Michailov. Katya’s father. Standing on her brand new rug. Katya remained silent. This rug was only 2 weeks old, she would not be purchasing a new one so soon, and it matched the curtains so nicely.

“So. You have chosen a woman?”

“The woman. Tell me about her.”

Anatoly stated. His voice was not commanding but Katya immediately understood it to be a command. Despite her own desire to stay silent, she felt herself speak, keeping as much control over her voice as she could manage.

“I’m a married woman, Father.”

The expression on Anatoly’s face did not change but both he and Katya felt the already heavy tension in the air grow.

“I did not ask about the fugitive idiot you married. Tell me about the whore. Is she your husbands too? He lets you borrow her?”

Katya felt the heat of anger rising in her cheeks. She clenched her hands into fists and dug her manicured nails into the soft skin of her palm as a distraction. It didn’t help. She considered her options carefully, and chose her next words even moreso.

“She is a better person than you ever have been, Father. My short time with her has meant more to me than your entire existence. That is all the information you need.”

Katya pulled herself up tall as she spoke, reminding herself who she was, the power she held. This was her domain he had walked into, and now he was messing with things he had no political business in. The thought of Sofia briefly comforted her slightly, and unwillingly her hands uncurled from their fists just a small bit.

Anatoly continued standing, unmoving, expressionless on Katya’s new rug. His image was unnerving, motionless as he was with such a wicked aura hidden behind his mask of a face. As her words hung in the air unanswered, Katya couldn’t help but peer at Anatoly’s face. It was as hard and sharp as it ever had been, but with a few more lines than Katya remembered it. Anatoly looked aged, haggard. Katya could see that his eyes were just as bright and fierce as they always had been though, exactly like her own. Her eyes darted above her fathers head to the clock hanging on the wall. As she did so, she considered a plan of action. She spoke again with the same careful controlled tone of voice she adopted earlier.

“Father. You need to state your business here, or you must leave. I will allow you 2 minutes to talk. Then it's over.”

The moment Katya finished her sentence she started counting seconds. 1…2…3…

The seconds ticked by. Anatoly did not respond. There was only silence. Silence and the ever-persistent tick tick ticking of the small wall clock as the time seemed to Katya to stretch out forever. Eventually, after what felt to Katya like an eon, Anatoly chose a seat on the lounge and, still silent as a shadow, moved to sit. The seconds kept clicking along. 18…19…20… Katya watched his every move like a hawk, also unmoving from her side of the room.

Anatoly stayed silent a few moments longer, before uncharacteristically letting out a small sigh.

“Valery has sent me letters. He tells me your husband is weak and small-minded. He writes that your marriage is loveless and you have found solace with a woman. Katya, my beloved daughter, you do not need to put yourself through this. I have an offer of employment, under me, back home. All I ask in return is that you leave this useless lover of yours behind and hand over to me all information about your sack of a husband’s involvement with the JWJH project. I know you are not happy here. I can find you a good, high-ranking husband, a soldier or perhaps even an officer.”

Katya must’ve let the bewilderment she was feeling show for a moment, because her father continued nearly immediately.

“You’re good stock, when you can hold your tongue. We should be able to find you a husband to satisfy you without too much trouble, if you co-operate.”

Anatoly finished his statement and returned once again to performing as if he were a motionless statue, waiting for Katya to respond.

Katya was still bewildered. Anatoly had never referred to her as his ‘beloved daughter’ before. It seemed suspicious. Katya didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent and continued counting seconds as she processed everything her father had said. 55.. Her brother knew about Sofia. 56.. Her father wanted her to come back to work. 57.. And marry. 58..To leave Sofia and the life she had built here, the power she had claimed for herself. 59.. To leave Goncharov, and what little value as a husband he did have. 60…01…02… Katya could feel the silence in the atmosphere, weighing on her like her heaviest fur coat. The warmth in the room was starting to make her uncomfortable. Katya, still unspeaking, seemed to glide across the floor to the curtained window behind Anatoly’s perch on the couch and cracked it open slightly. She took a deep breath -the breeze outside smelled of cut grass and freshly baked bread- and took some time to re-poise herself into a more elegant and upright position, allowing the shock she had felt moments earlier to dissipate away into the night air outside. 14…15…16… Katya reconsidered her plan carefully, still peering out the window without actually seeing anything in front of her. She took several deep breaths of the scented night air and turned towards the room, her piercing eyes turned towards the wall clock once again. She knew the time, the tick-tocking was ceaseless and she had been tracking it in her head for over a minute already. Katya took a final deep breath, taking in as much fresh air as she could manage, then gently and swiftly pulled the window closed.

“You have chosen a good seat, dear Father.”

Katya wandered around the lounge, crossed the room and took a seat on the couch opposite Anatoly Michailov.

“Thats Goncharov’s favourite spot too.”

She saw her father’s face tense ever so slightly at this comment, but he made no move to correct it or object to it. Katya looked in her fathers eyes, so cold and similar to her own, as she reached her dainty hand in between the pockets of the sofa. She hoped this wouldn’t chip her manicure. She felt the delicate gilding of her decorated handgun and wrapped her hand around it, adjusting her grip as much as she could without ever breaking her gaze from Anatoly’s. The clock ticked softly in the background, as ever. 30…31…32…

Anatoly’s upright posture and piercing gaze did not falter, his statuesque figure held tight, but his next words solidified Katya’s plan in her mind.

“You insolent child. I have offered you a good life, a good job, and a good husband, and all i ask in return is that you cut ties with the waste of husband you have now and turn him in for his transgressions against the project and team. Forget the whore woman, Katya, return to Russia with me.”

Katya grinned internally at this. ‘Insolent child’ was a much more familiar compliment than his ‘beloved daughter’. 42…43…44… And Anatoly had called her beloved a whore. Again. This cemented Katya’s plan. She would have to deal with Valery later. This was her opportunity. 49…50…51. Katya continued to time the seconds in her mind, aided by the soft but persistent clicks of the clock.

She smiled at Anatoly then, and it was wicked and sharp and beautiful.

“Thanks for visiting, Father.” 58…59…60…

“Your 2 minutes is over, leave now.” There was no mistaking the clarity and authority this demand was delivered with, Katya’s posture reflecting that of a queen or perhaps goddess, still with unbreaking eye-contact.

Anatoly shook his head.

“I will not. I haven-”

Whatever he was saying was cut off by the sound of a single shot. Anatoly crumpled to the couch and flopped with a thud as his body rolled off it and hit the floor. Katya sighed. She noticed her hands shaking, just slightly. The action of killing wasn’t something new to her but the adrenaline of finally standing up to her father was catching up to her body. She sighed and stood up, stepping past her fathers body to reopen the window and breathe in the fresh air. The scent of bread was fading but the crisp grassy fragrance still lingered heavily on the air. Katya took several minutes to breathe, to allow her body to catch up to her feelings. Her husband would be returning home in two days, so it seemed Katya would have to buy a new rug this week after all. Maybe a new lounge set before Goncharov got home too. For the moment, Katya simply gazed unseeing out the open window into the night and took a chance, for the first time in what felt like a very long time, to be alone with herself and the never ending noise of the clock. She thought of Sofia, and of the direction Katya wanted to take her life in from here. She thought of Goncharov’s favourite sofa seat, now stained with her own fathers blood. Katya certainly had much to reflect on, and much to plan. She would clean up tomorrow. For tonight, she wished to go to bed so she may hear her own plans more clearly in her mind.

[debiteful]

Okay so this one is based on an anon request I got. A particular detail made me uncomfortable, but otherwise the concept was solid. If you want elaboration on my feelings on that, you can ask, but I don't wanna bog down the story with that ramble ^,....,^'

A wereboar discovers a human living beneath their floorboards. This person is in exile and being hunted; to make matters worse a very tough person is hunting this human. The good natured wereboar decides to help the human evade capture.

Content: soft, safe protection vore, panicking prey, willing human prey, boar-human hybrid pred, belly bulge, fearplay, threat/false claim of digestion, regurgitation, comfort afterward

Tuki walked up their front steps, feeling the familiar creak of boards beneath their feet. The bungalow stood alone in a woodland clearing, the perfect place for someone like Tuki to live. Isolated, yet close enough to civilization to get the supplies they needed.

Once inside they let their loaded sack fall to the floor. They knelt and began going through it, sorting the things within; food went to one side while fabric went to the other. Behind them, they heard a rustling noise. Very slowly they stopped rifling through the bag and listened. Their nose twitched and they snuffled curiously while slowly turning their head.

Something was scraping against a floorboard over there. Had to be big, a rat wouldn't sound like that. Maybe a raccoon? Looking around, Tuki could see one of the cabinet doors was open in the kitchen. That little thief!

The homeowner crept across the floor as quietly as they could. Unfortunately, stealth was not their strong suit. Their weight made the floorboards groan with every step.

The rustling went quiet. Tuki bent low and sniffed at the floorboards with little grunts. They had to be getting close. The scent of some creature wafted up; it didn't smell like racoon.

"Hey!" They called gruffly, "Get out here you vermin!"

A soft whimper and hasty scrabbling from below the floor was the only response. Tuki growled and leapt to their feet. In a flash they were out the door and scrambling under the cabin. Leaf litter and dirt kicked up as the creature tried to hurry away. Tuki crawled on their belly, moving arm over arm with surprising speed thanks to bulky muscles.

As the creature became silhouetted by the daylight on the far side of the cabin, its pursuer frowned. That almost looked like a person… 

Tuki stopped and called, "Hey! I won't hurt you. Wait!"

It froze. They could see a head swivel and bob while it tried to get a look at them. They approached slowly.

The creature backed out from under the house, sunlight revealing its form. It was a human! Mud streaked their ashen face and twigs stuck from their unkempt hair at odd angles. They kept taking steps backwards, eyes trained on the crevice where Tuki would emerge.

By the time they were free to stand, the human was halfway to the tree line. They brushed themselves off and stood by the back of the house, "Hey! I said I wouldn't hurt you. You look like you could use some help. I- well I don't like that you stole some food, but you clearly need it. Come inside and I'll help you."

The frail person tilted their head one way, then the other. Big, dark eyes glittered as they considered the offer. They seemed human, but right now they reminded Tuki more of a yearling doe. 

Tuki held out their hand, "Come here! I promise it'll be okay."

They blinked, then approached. Tuki let their arm fall and turned towards the front of the house. They didn't need to look back to sense that the bedraggled human was following a short distance behind.

Inside Tuki was able to heat some water so they could bathe. While they did, the host picked out some of their own clothes that might fit. An oversized shirt made a dress-length tunic for the human. Then they set to cooking up some warm food; they could tell it would do them good.

Over the meal, Tuki managed to gather that his name was Lark, and he was hiding from someone. He was vague about that, as if worried Tuki would change their mind about being so hospitable if they knew. Sensing the reluctance, they didn't press the matter. 

After even this small bit of care, Lark was looking much better than he had been. His cheeks had a warm, healthy glow, and his hair was hanging in loose curls just above his shoulders. He looked a little silly in the large shirt, but at least it was soft and clean.

A loud knock at the door rang through the cabin. Lark jumped and spilled the soup he had been sipping from a bowl. His eyes were wide with alarm, and suddenly his whole body shook.

Tuki stood to answer the door but he darted over and grabbed at their arm. "No! Don't!" He hissed, looking up with pleading eyes.

They frowned down at him, "Why not?"

"They're here for me; they'll hurt me. You gotta hide me somewhere- somewhere they won't find me!"

Their frown deepened and they cast a worried glance around the simple dwelling. The only room besides the main area was their bed and bath room, but that didn't exactly have any hiding places. If he could get back under the floor, then maybe- 

Another flurry of knocks rapped at the door. This time it was accompanied by a warning voice, "Whoever is in there, open up or I'll have to come in myself!"

Lark trembled and clung to Tuki's arm. His wordless plea was all across his face. Their face softened and they whispered, "Do you trust me?"

"I- what? I have to; if you have a plan, then do it!"

Tuki nodded and gently removed him from their arm. The human watched with a creeping dread as before his very eyes his host's shape shifted. Their face elongated, sharp tucks sprouting from between their lips. Their stubble lengthened and hair thinned, becoming thick bristles. Ears lengthened and flopped, and their form filled out their shirt better.

Beady black eyes full of concern gazed at Lark from that monstrous face. His host wasn't human; they were a were-boar! 

He sucked in a shaky breath and fought the urge to turn and run. Filled with desperation, he knew flight was not an option.

He squeaked as their powerful hands grabbed his slight shoulders and lifted him. His feet reflexively kicked a little as they left the floor. Their jaws opened wide, saliva hanging in thick strands that trembled with their hot breath. The humid air washed over his face as he screwed his eyes shut. Terror pricked at his belly and sent his heart racing as he felt a slobbery tongue rise up to greet his face.

Their maw shut around his head and shoulders gently. Even if he wanted to cry out, he couldn't, smothered by wet flesh as they crammed his head down their throat. They swallowed; it was a sickening feeling to have those powerful muscles constrict around him.

He could hardly feel their hands grasp his hips now and heave him deeper in. His legs kicked wildly and he fought for air through the panic and slime. His whole body became completely enveloped in rippling muscle and coated in saliva as he slid downward.

Tuki wiped their mouth with the back of a hairy hand while the other slid down to support their swelling belly. They felt their gut stretch as their hastily gobbled prey slid down and was forced to curl. Their stomach walls were taut and smooth around Lark's quivering form. The bulge of their belly strained against their shirt, making it ride up a little. It wasn't very inconspicuous, but it would have to do. 

They plodded over to the door just as whoever was outside turned the handle. The door swung inward to reveal the would-be intruder, a hulking man carrying a baton in one hand and clutching the short leash of a massive dog in the other. The beast snarled and snapped at Tuki, but they held their ground. The man looked surprised, but a snear took over, "There you are, you dumb brute! You couldn't hear me knocking?"

Armed and with that vicious dog, Tuki knew they couldn't fight. Especially stuffed full like this. They would have to talk their way through this. "I could," they said crossly, "but I was finishing my dinner when you so rudely interrupted."

"I have important business, more important than you stuffing your face, pig."

Tuki narrowed their eyes, "What is it then?"

"I'm on the trail of a dangerous fugitive who is an enemy of the state." At that Lark squirmed inside their belly nervously, but went still as the man continued, "I tracked him here, intending to apprehend him so he can be exiled permanently."

The dog was straining against its tether, sniffing with interest at the threshold. Its master didn't spare it a glance, stone-cold eyes fixed on Tuki and club raised menacingly. They replied, "Well I haven't come across anyone dangerous." 

"He's a sly curr, might not seem dangerous. Have you seen any strangers around here? Heard anything odd?"

"Hmmmm," Tuki said, weighing their options. They scratched at their belly, drawing up the shirt to reveal the rounded bulge sagging over the waist of their pants. "There was this one little fella, big doe eyes. He stole some food from me," the anxious squirms started up again, making their protruding gut wiggle. "So I ate him instead!"

"You what?" The man snarled. Slowly his gaze drifted down to their taut stomach, and horror crept into his eyes at seeing it move. He looked back at Tuki with disgust, "You ate a man?"

"Hardly a man," they shrugged, "More of a vermin. I'm not too picky though," they said with a smirk.

Seemingly at a loss for words, he just gaped at the wereboars belly for a while. Then he looked past them, into the house, "I'm going to have a look around, just in case." 

"You won't find much," Tuki gloated, patting their belly. A burp rumbled up and escaped loudly. The dog sniffed the air then bayed and reared up to investigate their snout. They laughed and the man dragged it away and into the house by its leash.

Tuki kept a wary eye on the two invaders while they leaned against the threshold. Lark still hadn't settled down, his body writhing within the flexible limits of the stomach. Little muffled grunts could barely be heard above the gurgling fluids shifting around him.

The dog barked with savage excitement as it found Lark's dirty clothes. The wash water had already been drained away, leaving little explanation. The man hooked the tattered clothes with a finger and brought them to Tuki, "Whats this? Is it yours?"

"No, you're welcome to it. I took those filthy rags off that human before I devoured him. I have some standards," they huffed. 

The man eyed their still moving gut, "You ate him alive?"

"Of course! Killing is so messy, I don't like to do it in the house. Besides," they leaned in with a ghoulish grin, "I like to feel them squirm as I digest."

Lark flailed as best he could within the cramped confines, but the real reward was the brief widening of the intruder's eyes at that comment. He scowled, "Can't you spit him up? I have a job to do."

Offended, Tuki leaned back, "What? And waste a perfectly good meal? No, you were too slow. He's mine now. Besides, it's not like he's going anywhere. Just tell your master you did it; how're they gonna know any different?"

He considered, then trudged past the wereboar, hauling his dog along, "Fine. But if I get in trouble, don't think I won't send someone after your hide too!" 

"I expect nothing less from a scoundrel like you."

He froze and clenched his cudgel. Tuki dearly hoped he wouldn't try to use it. Thankfully, that was the case, and he stomped off without another word.

Tuki shut the door and locked the bolt into place, just in case. They went over to their chair and sat down heavily. Their belly bumped against their legs as Lark continued to wriggle frantically. His whining could be heard by Tuki, and their heart lurched. The poor creature must be terrified. If only they had had more time to explain.

They got up and hurried to get a towel, then went to their bedroom and stood infront of the bed. They heaved, and with great effort Lark slid up and out of their stomach. He landed on the towel laid out to catch him and lay there shivering. Before he could scramble away, Tuki shifted back to their human form and bundled him up in the towel. He fought against the warm folds of cloth weakly before realizing he wasn't in danger. The wereboar sat on the bed and cradled the swaddled human in their lap, using a corner of the towel to wipe his face and hair. 

He looked up with wide, tearful eyes, "You…." He couldn't find the words.

They hugged him tightly then gave an apologetic stare, "You're quite the mess, again. I didn't know what else to do. He would've found you if I hadn't-"

He cut them off, "I know. I know. It's just- the things you said, they were terrifying. Especially from, well, in there," his eyes flicked meaningfully to their belly.

They nodded and continued to clean him up carefully. He relaxed into their hold, inhaling the fresh air deeply.

Neither of them spoke. Both of their minds independently wandered to the same, simple question: what next? Neither of them had the answer right now.

[alberivh]

unwanted lovers

the lovers of the sinner, the thieves of the nation. Caught in despair after hiding their motives behind the ruins of aristocrats , they were now together behind the cells of execution, loving each other in no bounds of life nor death.

diluc x gn!reader

contains (proceed with caution) : major character death, gruesome death, execution. (Heavy angst, comfort/hurt, bad ending)

a/n ; I’m very sleepy these days so enjoy reading this

“diluc..are you sure we’re going to be alright?” , standing behind the cliff, both hands and leg chained up in a huge rocks; standing beyond the other side of the sinners-walls. The cliff was a sharp one, designed to be a punishment for fugitive to regret. But you in the other hand..looked like you didn’t regret anything. Seems like you gone numb and missing, probably dying out of beneficial, but for what exact reason..? Aren’t you going to die? Aren’t you?

The air was in a perfect shape, blowing through the ears of whisper into corruptors mind. It was breezing and perfect, a match for a dead end. The flowers were all a bare minimum, seems as if it was never supposed to grow; Same as how the contradictions between you and diluc relationship.

“we sure are going to be alright…haha”

a simple small affairs of thieves, relationship grew beneath titles. scrawling through the nights of the nations, searching for victims to be devour. Fortune, foods, informations and many more. Dangerous or so, we could talk about it later; after all, privileges of the poor are none to another. Dirts fill the clothes of people with nothing, looking like a lost dog from the leach of their master; it’s how you both look. generally speaking, maybe you both are really perfect from one another. Poor and worthless, messing up the people whom privileges drowns them to exploitation. beneficial for business and public figure, making the knives on both of your throat approach the second you both slaughtered another man.

diluc look so much more than perfect, he is astonishing. Fit more to be a corrupted man instead of a filth whom licks someone toes to be payed. And to live to the fullest, he repayed those who are involved with the corrupted government, by either slaughtering them or just..stealing their granted fortune. It is a job, and to be specific it is a living hell to be in love with your own partner. Loving seems so mature, yet you both found it to be quite bothersome. or maybe that’s just how nature works for someone who grew in an abandoned wilderness. Like how diluc live after his family died, like how you live after you lost everything to the ego’s of the rich.

you both were empty, like you predicted it to be. Diluc was a scum, same as his only eye which felt like a sharpened death. kissing his dry lips as you cried in his chest, embracing the figure of a red-hair thief who ones told you an eternal peace, for the poor we live and for the rich we died, that’s how our life’s work sweetheart. Even if death embarrassed your cheeks, all you wished is for you both to be alive as soon as the worlds ends to be a better place. The smoke of his cigarettes surrounded your cries, it stings the pain of abandonment, like the cries of lovers who only lives to die in the age of glory. although you wouldn’t assume the fact he was a worth of a thousand years of reincarnation, he sure is enough for puppet like you to be pleased.

“still wearing your brother’s eyepatch i see? What’s up with you always wearing it around? You look better without it anyways.”

“he lives in the other ground of the walls, possibly already meeting my father right now. He was beneath 6 feet under the ground anyways, would you like to mourn him?”

“you could just told me he’s dead, Diluc”

“i can’t he’s supposed to be alive after all.”

that’s how you know Diluc’s past, how’d you believe his slaughter and warm to be an abominable crime. As much as you loath those who stick with their family principles, you expect nothing more than Diluc’s ability to keep you both balance from the assumptions of the rich. He is a tool and a lover, even if you fall out of love with him, you could still rely within his power..or so you thought. Fate was cruel, they decided to lend a hand for the inability to be punished by the divine.

You found a comfort at his kisses, it was beautiful. A single line of poet to an old paper, perfection. Never have you though to be deeply in love. dancing like nobody but yourself and diluc himself. Skipping through the laces of fingertips as the mansion burns to the ground, how beautiful the sunset is at the evening; the dust of the corpses which were buried trying it’s best to find the wind, but they were corrupted and only both of you were worth to be despaired. The soul of the worthless, the soul who craves justice for the none; oh god, you both really are in love.

Embracing nothing but him, loving the movement like no one but him, only him, my beloved diluc. The flowers petals which was turned into a thousand of flames are now flying and surrounding the neighborhood. Burning the whole corrupted society was unexpectedly mesmerizing. It seems like it covered the injustice of your action. Burying people underneath their grasp, leaving terrors to the innocent, maybe fairness are really that blind.

The mansion was burned to dust, leaving nothing but bones in the investigation. The fortune you took was nothing, the burns of the screaming neighbors are your daily teases. Diluc found it pleasing that you both are in love once again. Dancing once again. But this time, both of you were chained up in a chamber. Legs full of bruises, cheekbones gone frail, and lips were all drying in horrors. you both are dying in tremors.

Dancing in each other arms, suffering in worth, it’s the last night they thought. The swaying burns of guilt, the loving kisses of embrace, it’s so addicting. Although diluc was hesitant to let go, maybe it’s time to grew on the fact by loving was a cursed from the start. For both of you and diluc. The chains in your legs were rotten, making a deep infection on your ankles. A fatal sources of death and unbalance.

“can we promise something diluc?” , your voice gone hoarse. Trembling and terrified, dying wasn’t so ruthless but seeing diluc suffer was something you wish you could unchange. It’s exhausting to live like no one, maybe diluc felt so too. You were too scared to shed another tears to his chest, anxiety was planting it’s ideology beyond the walls of your mind.

The night was peaceful, maybe the starry sky doesn’t deserve it’s view. Humans are frail, fragile, and too much of a pain to begin with. If you were a god, maybe diluc could be your lover for the rest of your eternal realm. The next life would be fine, just make diluc safe from the grudge of death.

“let us marry each other in the next life, even if it meant for one of us to die again..”

“your wishes is my command, love” , an agreement. He agrees to be in love, whenever the situation is those words would always be kept near. Marriage aren’t that simple to be idealized, but knowing this is your last wish, why not accept the terms? He asked himself.

“you don’t need to be formal like that y’know Diluc, we’re in the same bounds, a fugitive in a prison..”

“well that doesn’t change the fact you’re my lover?” , he replied again. The same silence scowl your emotions to a mess. You really wished you did more than just this, everything. Kissing his lips wasn’t enough, tearing up in his chest wasn’t enough, loving him wasn’t enough and lastly, maybe in the next life your time was too short. can i sacrifice the whole world for you then? So anything that could happened in this state, all of it was for us to met again. I’m too selfish to let go, you are the best thing that universe have fortune to be.

I accept each granted the world has gave, even if it meant for me to die again. Let go of diluc’s hand, let me be the crystalflies Diluc envied; An eternal peace for lovers to reincarnated as. If anything has happened to both of us, let share the burden towards the undeserved. Because in our next life, maybe there wouldn’t be us, just you and another person in chains of eternal love-life.

so whenever i’m lost diluc, intertwined my hands again. And you, whenever you’re lost diluc, love me all over again. Because if this time wasn’t enough, then let us die in each other embrace. Loving you was an intention i never have despises, and as those ancient story told. ‘The once fallen first are the once who fell in love harder.’ I though it was a wise poet, but maybe know i understand, Diluc.

I lost you after you fell to the cliff, i have no regret on loving you. But if time was partial enough for both of us, i rather fall for you without any requited relations with you anymore. Diluc, you’re free. As free as the ocean waves, as free as the guides of the wind, you’re free. I’m sorry for letting you fall away from the range of my life, i’m sorry..

so please Diluc, meet me again sooner or after, i love you.

the pleas for the corpse to hear, here you standing in the cliff alone, waiting for someone to push you apart; to follows Diluc’s path. oh diluc..he look so lonely down’s there..blood all over his head and torso; as he saw you fallen down to his side. Eyes opened in shock, as the knife inside of his stomache rumbles to death. Stings. It stings. He watches the world shutter in his eyes, the eyepatch he use was no longer his brother remnants, it was just a decoration for another corpse to be buried in burden of love. He seems so pathetic in this state, seeing you fallen to his side and couldn’t do nothing but smile.

diluc why am i the only one talking here?

The bloody place you both fallen through was a perfect place for continuation. Trying to slip your head to diluc’s unwary neck, the warm part of his body you couldn’t let go. You heard the whispers of the wind once again, it seems it pitied the living and the dead. Diluc heartbeat was long gone, possibly gone when he smiles at you; for the last time. Diluc was just a body now, your lover have returned to another universe. To another universe you promises him before.

‘in heaven we’ll be free..in heaven we’ll get married diluc.”

the thought of you slowly losing consciousness was better than before. the warm of Diluc’s corpse was starting to fade, same as how your instinct shatter to pieces. The only thing you could see beside the sky was the knife inside his stomach, waiting for it to be freed from the blood of the filth. But your strength was long gone, death already ruins your eyes in despised of being in love. As the ancient tales says in the end of the page, they told the audience a never-ending happy tales, a hope for the lovers to heard at the end. you both are free now..

TAGLIST : @mikachuchu , @zierx @childeluv @urujiako , @chichikoi , @noirkkat , @aphrodicts-imagination , @icecappa

proofread; @mikachuchu (thank you so much wtf mika ily for this /p)

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter seventeen - “wouldn’t dream of it”

delicate masterlist

word count: 4.7k

synopsis: reader has a strange dream that ends up bringing on a cascade of various events and feelings.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

A/N: feel free to drop any opinions/thoughts/predictions below (or in my asks if u wanna be anonymous!!)

She would have woken up from a night's sleep saturated with regret... if she had slept a wink. She spent the night tossing and turning, and at about five in the morning, the pursuit of rest was abandoned.

Forcefully and exasperatedly, she sat straight up, glaring at the clock and letting the blanket pool around her waist. Y/N had her weekly meeting with Shuri at nine o'clock... that meant four hours to kill. More like four more hours of trudging through thoughts, memories, questions, and fears surrounding the previous day. Four more hours of ruminating over Bucky Barnes. This seemed to become a reoccurring activity her life.

She stared at the wall, thinking about how before, there was at least the excuse of being drunk: maybe not completely knowing what she was doing, maybe not remembering something correctly. But they were sober this time... she was sober. And what struck her was that, when it happened, when he kissed her, there was no moment of initial startle. There was no surprise jerk back or woah-what-are-you-doing response. Their bodies just fell into form. She just fell into form. Like it was an instinct. Like they were both used to it, and had done it a number of times before.

She wasn't sure what shocked her more: the fact that he kissed her or the fact that she kissed him back. Was he being bold? Or did she lead him on? Had she been leading him on? He wouldn't have done it on his own account, right? She had a degree of difficulty in believing she was wanted. Truly.

She could've sworn that she wasn't this emotionally invested. She could've sworn that if she couldn't control what she was feeling, she could at least control what she was doing. She rubbed her eyes, wondering where she went so wrong. It probably happened at some point during the isolated time she had been spending with Bucky in a secret corner of the world, not minding the least bit that she had been away from home and work for months whilst working on a project hardly anyone else was even aware of.

Even with all this in mind, she didn't seem to care. She didn't really mind that she hadn't been home in ages, it didn't really bother her that she might be in trouble when she gets back for helping enemy of the state Sharon Carter, runaway fugitive Steve Rogers, or war criminal James Buchanan Barnes. Because every time she thought about the consequences, it just didn't seem to matter more than what was keeping her in Wakanda... Besides, she guessed Bucky would probably be pardoned and after everything settled down, who would pay any attention to her? It's not like she mattered in the grand scheme.

As soon as that very thought arose, she could hear Bucky's voice scolding her in the back of her head. Why was he always there?

Frustrated, she groaned into the air in front of her. Her feelings were so confusing, she wasn't even sure what exactly it was she felt towards Bucky. On one hand, she felt fiercely protective over him: she'd go down fighting before she'd let anyone lay a hand on him, prepared to stay in his corner forever, ready on defense.

But at the same time, she felt this ineffable sense of warmth for him. Like one look at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiled, and she'd turn soft as water. Like being in his vicinity smoothed out the rough around her edges.

And if all this wasn't enough, now she had been touched by him, she had felt his lips and the gentleness in his skin. This brought a cascade of new feelings, ones she knew she had to hide. It... was definitely a problem. She knew, don't get her wrong, she knew it was a problem. As much as she understood this irrefutable fact, the numbness in her lips just wouldn't go away. He had remained with her even hours later. She couldn't get rid of his heartbeat; it was still in her hand. She could still feel him.

Basically, she knew this most recent development was an issue. She knew it was bad, wrong, worrisome, and whatever else. And knowing this, recognizing the very hot water she was in, the only thing she could focus on was trying to ignore the recurrent desire to be near him, to find him and be close to him.

"Fuck."

She plopped back down on her back and elected to cast a burning glare at the ceiling until she had to get ready for her meeting.

—

"I think it might be too hot for this," she complained with a smile on her face.

"It was your idea," he said, a few steps ahead of her, "and we're almost there, so buck up."

She laughed. He smiled at the sound.

"What?" he asked.

"You said buck up. Like Buck... Bucky. Like you."

He just looked at her, amused. Sun kissed and happy.

"It's fitting," she shrugged, grinning.

"Guess so. Hurry up, slow poke. You're gonna fall behind."

"I'm already behind," she huffed . "Your super soldier legs are too fast for me."

"Well," he stopped short and she finally caught up, standing right beside him, "we're here. So worry not."

He looked over at her to find her already looking at him. Funny how their eyes always found each other like that.

"What?" he asked again, not able to help how the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly.

"Nothin.’ Everything," she shrugged. "You."

Perhaps she just liked looking at him. Him and his long hair and light eyes. Was that such a crime? His skin looked caramelized under the sun. She wanted to reach out and touch him.

"You're a real peach, y'know that?" he smirked.

She looked away, pretending to find the grass around them spectacularly interesting while hiding a dopey smile at his compliment.

"Hey, doll face. I'm a lot more fun than the grass, I swear," he teased. "Lemme see my favorite face."

"Hold on." She got an idea.

She reached down beside her and plucked a flower from the soil.

"A little hibiscus," she smiled, tucking the small flower behind his ear. God, he was just so pretty.

She stood back, satisfied with her decor. She sighed, content. How couldn't she be? She was looking at two of the most beautiful things. Flowers and Bucky.

As soon as it was securely in place, Bucky bent down to pick the hibiscus that sat right next to the one Y/N chose. Mirroring her actions, he placed it behind her ear.

"A little hibiscus," he repeated fondly, "for a real peach!"

She didn't dare try to hide the next dopey grin while taking in the sight before her, of Bucky beaming in the sunlight with a flower in his hair. Looking at this, she understood why mankind began to paint. Why there needed to be someway to capture something as precious as this, some method of preserving something so idyllic and beautiful and pure and perfect.

Perfect like the cool, fresh water of the lake. Their lake. Their place. The flowing, breathing water she felt around her waist. They floated around, her and Bucky, as light as air in that lake.

The two were weightless, adoration suspended in animation. The water preserved the feeling of feather light kisses and chests pressed together and hands beginning to roam. If only she could be closer to him. Her fingers in his hair and his palms on either side of her face wasn't enough. She needed more. More, more, more of him.

Skin is so soft and the sun is so warm and soon enough, the water was up to her shoulders as his arms ran up her back. Arms plural, she noticed. He held her with both, protectively enclosing the longing feeling between them.

"Oh, fucking hell!" Y/N sprang up, throwing the blanket off of her.

She must've fallen asleep... and began to dream... She could imagine if her brain was a person, it'd be laughing at her for that.

Why? Why? What was the reason for this? There was no point! How frustrating! How embarrassing that her mind betrayed her with dreams of him.

"God damn it," she swore under her breath.

She wanted to angrily shake her fist in the air like vengeful cartoon character, as she got out of bed and headed towards her wardrobe.

It was 8 a.m. One hour until her meeting with Shuri. She would spend the time changing her outfit until it was distracting enough to draw her attention away from thoughts of that damn lake... and his damn hands...

—

"My friend!" Shuri greeted in her usual upbeat manner. "How are you? How are things?"

There was absolutely no way to answer this honestly.

"I'm doin' well. Same old, same old. How 'bout you?"

"Good as always," she smiled. "Thank you."

Y/N took a seat at one of the tables in Shuri's lab. "So how is T'Challa doing with Nakia?"

"Oh, who knows these days! He is so awkward, I have no idea!"

They both laughed. Y/N was glad she and Shuri were able to talk like this. They weren't just robotic colleagues who only communicated when they needed to. They were partners, and they worked well together.

The meeting commenced like it did every other week. Updates on Bucky's progress, new ideas or adjustments to treatment or planning, going over scans or data, you name it. But this time, she had something else in mind. Something that a dream reminded her of. She had mentioned maybe getting her hands on a prosthetic for Bucky. She wasn’t familiar with the prosthetics industry in Wakanda, but they could probably make something work.

Was that too much? Did she care too much? Was she showing too much regard for him? Was this too much to ask of her?

"Hey, remember a couple weeks ago when I talked about prosthetics?"

"Of course," Shuri smiled. She genuinely enjoyed her partner - her partner who was intelligent, confident, and articulate but still sometimes sounded shy. "You wanna see what I've been working on?"

"You... you ordered one? I didn't-"

"Oh, no. Not ordered. Just you wait," she said, pulling out a drawer to dig amongst papers. "I've been workin' my magic."

Shuri pulled out a manilla folder that had W.W. - Proj. 1 printed on it.

She dropped the folder in front of the psychologist who sat across from her, gesturing for her to look through it. Y/N opened it to see several pages of prosthetics research, information on cybernetics and various designs for a bionic arm.

"Oh... wow." Y/N marveled.

"What do you think?"

"It's incredible," Y/N shook her head. "I didn't- ... I thought you meant you bought one or something. I didn't know you designed one"

"I didn't just design it. I made it."

"You- what?"

"Yep. First model ready for use. Do you want to see it?"

"I'd love to."

Shuri walked her over to a large, rectangular case in the side of the lab.

"Holy shit," she let slip.

The arm was astounding: a glossy black with ridges etched in a shiny gold. It glimmered, sitting in its casing.

Shuri laughed. Thank you."

"Sorry. Excuse my French. This is... remarkable. Can I give it to him?"

"I suppose so. It hasn't got much use just sitting in my lab."

Excitement grew in her chest. Bucky would be able to have an arm he was in control of, one that wasn't forcefully attached to him and used as a weapon. In a way, he would be gaining a sense of autonomy. God, she wanted to see him right away and tell him the news. She was happy to make Bucky happy.

"Oh," Shuri perked her head up. "And there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah, what's up?"

"You're aware of the trigger words, correct?"

"Of course."

"I'm close to fully deconstructing the mind control, but there's no way to know for sure unless we test it out..."

Oh. The excitement dissipated and her stomach dropped. She didn't mean...

"You don't mean..."

"The effect and response of the words needs to be tested on him."

Oh God. There was no way this would be easy.

"And you need to be the one to do it."

Fuck.

"Me?" she tried to hide her shock, her worry, her now overwhelming urge to protect him. "How come?"

"It seems like he trusts you most out of everyone here. I consulted with the Doras about safety and we think that if something were to go wrong, it'd be safest to happen with you. Of course they'll be nearby, but you'd be the one mostly likely to be able to control him in that state."

Her mouth went dry. Control him? She could never. She would never. She knew, in depth, the anguish he carried in his bones as a result of being trapped as a weapon wielded by other people. The thought of her controlling him made her skin crawl.

She knew how much he feared the Winter Soldier and how he would hate losing touch with himself again. He's been free from this kind of violation for a while now; she had very much rather not take that freedom away.

At the same time, she understood how this test was necessary for a full recovery and rehabilitation. And who knows if the words will even work? Maybe she'll say them and nothing will even happen.

He would have to get over this obstacle in order to make it to the other side clean. She could only imagine how scary this would be for him. But she'd be damned if she wasn't going to be right there with him.

"Okay," she said dryly. "When... when are we gonna do this?"

"Not yet but soon. I'll keep you updated."

The rest of the meeting carried on as usual, but Y/N might as well have not even been there. Her mind was off. Off somewhere trying to think of how to tell Bucky the news. The very last thing in the world she wanted to do was hurt him. She'd take his place if she could.

—

As soon as she was free from the calm, professional facade she had going with Shuri, she found herself speed walking back to where Bucky was. She needed to get to him. Now.

When his hut was in sight, she was nervous. She was nervous before, she supposed. She just wanted everything to be okay.

"Buck," she called, a few steps away from the entryway. "I need to talk to you!"

When she stepped inside she froze in place, staring blankly at the two super soldiers in front of her instead of the one she expected. Two as in Bucky and Steve.

"Y/N," Bucky stood up. He sounded surprised.

"Oh-uh," she stuttered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I can come back later."

"That's okay," Steve's voice was gentle. "I'll leave you... to it."

Steve threw Bucky a look she couldn't quite decipher before he left. Bucky just looked panicked.

And soon enough they were alone. They stood directly in front of each other, but with a noticeably awkward amount of space between them. The tiny part of her brain that was still mulling over the dream wanted him closer.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey..."

"You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "It's uh... there's kind of a lot."

"Look, about yesterday, I-"

Oh. She completely forgot about that. Well, not completely. There was no way she could forget that. But, at the moment there were more pressing matters on her mind.

"It's not about yesterday."

"It's...not?"

"No. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Uh... bad news?"

She took a steady breath in. She wasn't sure exactly how to tell him, she just knew he needed to know. He deserved nothing but the truth.

"So, I was just with Shuri and we discussed the next step in your treatment..."

He said nothing, waiting for the aforementioned "bad news." She continued.

"Apparently, we have to test the trigger words on you..."

His expression dropped and she watched all the color drain from his face.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't wanna do it, but we have to do it to see if it's really outta your head."

"Yeah, that's the problem," he finally spoke. "What if it's not? Then I hurt someone - or multiple people. There's gotta be some other way to test it."

"You're not going to hurt anyone. Or multiple people."

"How can you say that?"

"It's just gonna be the two of us."

"What?!"

"Shuri thought the safest way of doing this was for me to conduct the test. That way, if things ever got out of hand, which is very unlikely to happen, I'd be the best bet at... handling... that situation. Since you know me the best."

"No way. There's no way. I thought you meant they were gonna strap me down and have some lab tech read them. This is way too unsafe-"

"Strap you down? Bucky, no-"

He still saw himself as an animal that needed to be contained. Muzzled.

"What if I hurt you?" his voice shook just a little.

The fear in his eyes was potent. It made her angry. Angry at Hydra and whoever the fuck else had a hand in this sin against the kind and gentle man who stood before her. The man who was genuinely scared of himself. How dare they make him feel so unsafe within his own mind, within his own body. All she wanted to do was make it better, and suddenly, she could no longer stand for the distance between them. She stepped forward and grasped his hand between both of hers.

"I trust you, Buck," she smiled a small but earnest smile, letting him know that she truly was here for him. "Entirely. I promise. Okay?"

He nodded, still reluctant and entirely scared.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"I do. I trust you, I do," he cast his glance downwards, almost in shame. "It's myself I don't trust."

Her chest twisted with an emotion difficult to place. Mostly, it was the desire to take every ounce of pain away. She wished she could just snap her fingers and make it fade into nothing.

"That's okay," she said.

He looked back up at her, confused.

"You don't have to trust yourself. That's hard enough as it is and Hydra didn't make it any easier. You just trust me, alright? I'm the one reading the words, so, even though I'd hate it, if you were to be... activated... you'd be listening to me not trying to fight me," she squeezed his hand. "And I will not let anything happen to you."

"I'm not worried about me..."

She knew. She was not stupid; she knew that Bucky was separate from the Winter Soldier and that theoretically, the Winter Soldier - and only the Winter Soldier - had the potential to hurt her. She wasn't blind to the dangers, but she also wasn't blind to the fact that there was no exact science to brainwashing. Whos to say nothing could ever seep through the programming? She knew what happened with Bucky when he was forced to fight Steve for the first time. How it changed him.

Even though the Winter Soldier was in there, there was more of Bucky. She knew that for sure. And she needed to make sure he knew one thing: even if the Winter Soldier was trying to claw his way back and entire world was against him, she saw Bucky and trusted Bucky and believed in Bucky. She was a constant. And she wouldn’t give up on him.

"What, you're worried about me?" she joked, lightheartedly. She took the hand she was holding and pressed it against her cheek. "This wouldn't hurt me, James Buchanan."

He sighed, feeling the warmth from her face. He did not deserve this kindness and he definitely did not trust himself despite her trust in him. Of course Bucky would never hurt her. But Bucky wasn't the Winter Soldier. And he didn't have the heart to tell her what the Winter Soldier could or would do. He didn't have the stomach to even think about what would happen if the Winter Soldier actually did something.

But there was something about the way she believed in him, the way her conviction was so strong. It made him almost start to doubt these feelings. He could never be sure of everything being okay, but at least he could be sure of her.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Okay?"

"I'll do it."

"Alright," she smiled.

She removed his hand from her face, but still held onto it.

"And even if you did try to fight me, I think I could go a couple rounds in the ring with the Winter Soldier. I'm big and tough."

They both laughed knowing she had very minimal fight training.

"You'd definitely kick my ass," Bucky chuckled.

She just smiled. And then her eyes grew wide.

"Oh! You wanna know the good news?"

"F'course."

Bucky watched her briefly disappear through the entryway before returning with a big, rectangular case. He raised an eyebrow.

"That's good news? What is it, a bomb?"

"I don't do bombs... arson only."

The look on his face made her wonder if he actually questioned whether or not she was serious. She fought laughter as she opened the case. It was silent for a moment. Y/N looked at him, waiting for a reaction.

"Is that... for me?"

"All yours, Buck. A favor I asked of Shuri."

She told him about the arm. Told him about Shuri's design, and the features and functionality. She didn't mention what made her think to ask Shuri, but that surely wasn't important.

"It's really cool, and like super sleek and badass. But more importantly, it will make you feel more... I don't wanna say regular 'cause nothing about you is regular," a shy smile slipped. "But more... how you're used to having your body feel and function."

"That's..." he shook his head before looking up and making dauntingly deliberate eye contact. "Thank you. For thinkin' of me. I mean it. I hope it wasn't too much trouble for her to make it."

"Nothin's too much trouble, Bucky. You're worth it."

"You're a real peach, y’know that?"

Suddenly she looked abashed. Did he say something wrong?

"Sorry- I didn't-"

"No, it's okay. I just got a weird sense of déjà vu. Don't worry about it."

He looked at her like he didn't quite believe her, but she tried not to think too hard about it.

"So..." Bucky gestured towards the arm. "...what do we do with this?"

"You wanna try it on?"

His brows shot up. "Oh! I mean- sure- I guess so, yeah."

She tried to pick it up and nearly threw her back out. "Jesus!"

"Woah there, tiger," he withheld a laugh, putting a hand under the vibranium arm to hold most of its weight.

"Okay, sit down," she ordered, both of them fumbling to hold onto the arm. "Shuri told me how to get the arm on. There's some... magnetic thing. I don't even know - it was some complex engineering lingo. Not my field."

After a couple minutes, clumsy hands attempting awkward assembly, and several curse words later... the arm was attached. They both stood as Bucky stuck out the bionic arm, admiring it and Y/N leaned back, admiring him. Wow.

Bucky smiled, holding both his forearms out - palms facing up - to see how they moved. "This is incredible."

He turned to her. "You're incredible. Thank you."

"No problem at all," she stepped forward. "How does it feel?"

Her hands found their way below his, cupping the underneath of them with a feather light touch. "How do you feel?"

"More... balanced," he laughed. "Coordinated?"

"Steady?"

"Absolutely."

"Stronger?"

"Definitely."

She looked up at him. "Confident? More comfortable in your own skin? That's what's most important."

He gripped her hands. "For sure. Thanks to you."

"Glad I could help. Just wanna make you feel more like yourself, you know?"

"I feel the most like myself when I'm with you," he nearly whispered.

He smiled, and then did something... unexpected. He let go of one of her hands and with the other, he twirled her around as if they were dancing. She went along with the movement, body falling in sync it even though she was confused.

"You make me wanna dance again."

With his voice so endearing, and his heart so spirited, the world around them fell quiet. She stepped forward and rested her hand on his shoulder. Then she placed one of his hands on her waist, and held the other out to the side, fingers intertwined with hers. And oh, the feeling of his hands on her; it was nearly overwhelming.

"Then dance."

And they swayed. They swayed to nothing, to the sweet sound of finding comfort in another person. She let her eyes flutter shut, allowed her guard to come down for just a moment. Just this moment. With him.

Bucky broke the silence with a shy question. "So yesterday... what does that mean for-"

"Let's just keep it between us."

"What do you mean?"

"It was a moment - like this one. I think I think too much, and I may have overreacted before. It doesn't have to be some cumbersome ordeal. It's just us."

"We're good then?"

"We're good."

"Good. 'Cause I like this."

She inhaled and smiled at the feeling of him inside her lungs. They continued swaying as they continued talking.

"You were in my dream you know?"

"Was I?"

"You were."

"Could I fly?"

"No," she laughed. "You were - well we, actually, were walking to that lake."

"To swim?"

Not exactly...

"I don't know. It's kinda foggy and didn't make much sense since it was a dream but we were definitely there."

"Did I say anything existentially insightful?" he joked.

"I don't remember much of what we said, but I remember how it felt."

"How... how did it feel?"

There she went again. She could feel herself slipping, but found it hard to care. She closed her eyes, thinking back to hibiscuses and Bucky's arms.

"The water and sun on my skin felt kind of like this," her hands ran up his sides dangerously slow and settled behind his neck, finger tips tangling into the ends of his hair.

His breath faltered. "Is that so?"

Unconsciously, his other hand found her waist and somehow the little space between them grew even smaller.

"Mhm," she hummed. "and the sight of a flower in your hair felt kind of like this."

Her hands moved to cup his face, the soft skin of her palm settling on his jawline.

"It was so pretty," she sighed.

"Yeah... pretty," he agreed. But he wasn't talking about the dream or the flower.

"And... your arms and your hands... felt kind of like this."

Gently, she pulled his face down to hers, though he needed no guidance or encouragement. When their lips met, that feelings of incompletion and longing, which had been prickling the back of her mind since the previous day, finally went away. They dissolved into fingers pressing into her hips, soft stubble tickling her cheek, and the delightfully encompassing presence of him.

She wasn't sure how long it was until they separated and words were spoken again. All she really recognized what that she was out of breath.

"And to think I was going to apologize for yesterday," Bucky smirked.

"I had to return the favor."

"And I gotta make up for lost time"

"Well, please don't let me stop you."

And he didn't. They continued right where they left off, except this time, it felt much too similar to something she had felt before. Hands began to roam just like they did in her dream.

The only thing was, her dream was cut short. She had no idea how it ended. But his hands were everywhere and it was all her senses could register. He was everywhere: her lips, her neck, her collar bones. She was burning.

The air ran out of her chest, and her voice was barely a breathy sigh. "Don't stop."

She could feel his smile on her skin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

-

The next morning, she awoke entwined in his arms - both of them.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @nickkie1129 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree

[sweetestlamb]

Mostrami Amore.

Summary: Cha-young tries to move on from a certain mafia boss. 

Author’s Note: Thank for to everyone who sent in prompts for Chayenzo, it resulted in this mess. I don’t have much to say, I considered making this into a multi- chaptered story but honestly I don’t have time for another ongoing story so if this seems rushed it was a little, I wrote it in one go today. Hope you enjoy this, I stuck in some of my favorite crack ship because I am weak and obsessed. Happy reading! 

p.s takes place after final episode but han seo lives because this is my world and I get to play God. 

Another postcard.

Their delivery becomes sporadic and she’s embarrassed at the giddiness that washes over her each time a new square is sent miles across a wide stretch of ocean, the view on the card most likely lackluster in comparison to the true rendering of Malta. She has spent many hours on her laptop searching for images of the small paradisiac island, yearning to see what he sees and feel just a tad bit closer to him. Most of her life has been spent in solitude with only her work acquaintances filling the void at times, so she expected herself to be more equipped to deal with his disappearance and subsequent absence. But nothing prepares her for those moments at the coffee shop, when she finds herself smiling across a table only to realize there is no miniature espresso cup in the hand of a very dangerous Italian Korean mafia member grinning back at her. 

The smile melts off her face and she swallows the bitter cool sludge in her cup, the beverage tasting exactly as he had described it without him there. 

Nights are the hardest, loneliness coils around her like a snake. 

There was never any other fate for them, she knew that when Vincenzo murdered all their enemies this was their only real outcome. He would always be a fugitive on the run and she an accomplice if he were captured and questioned, it was in both of their best interests if he vanished from the face of the planet. But knowing that does nothing to qualm the ever present feeling of isolation that clings to her skin as she sits alone on her couch, downing makgeolli at a vicious pace. Trying to wash his taste from her mouth, that kiss on loop in her mind and the phantom grip of his hand on her neck. 

It’s those treacherous nights without the plaza members that have become a second family to her and Han Seo following her like the lost puppy he is calling her “Noona” so freely and frequently until she forgets her own name, that she allows herself to feel exactly what she’s feelings. 

Heartbroken. 

Desperate. 

Lonely. 

Rage. 

The last one she hides like a dirty secret in the closet of her heart, she knew what she was signing up for. She has no legitimate reason to be angry, or so she tries to reason with herself. But. This was the same man who had bypassed the security of one of the richest men in Korea and ultimately killed him without leaving a trace. She had watched him do despicable things, blackmailing, threatening, seducing, and murdering others as he saw fit and yet, he hadn’t used any of those dastardly ways to see her. That chance meeting at the art gallery had been the last she had seen of him, Then a few weeks later another postcard with the same message she had boldly uttered at the airport, it feels insufficient after having him in her arms again. She knew in that moment that they would never be enough again. She hadn’t even argued when Mr. Nam claimed he would leave this one on his table instead, she merely nodded and walked away to peruse the new sexual assault case she has taken recently. 

It gets harder and harder to hear Han Seo regaling the wonders of his “hyung”,  her anger boiling deep below the surface like magma waiting to explode and transform into something tangible and destructive. 

“He told me that he has a room for me too. I wonder when he’ll let us visit.” 

She nods absently, staring out the window at the sunlight twinkling in through the blinds but then his words register and the gears in her head churn before running the sentence back through to carefully process them. 

“He---what? You spoke to Vincenzo?” 

The human puppy pouts his lips before tilting his head and dealing a hard blow to her ego and her heart, “Yeah, he sends me letters. I got so scared the first time! He said the letter would self-destruct after I read it and I really thought that was true and I dived across the room to escape but I bumped my head on the table and then...” 

He sent Han Seo letters.  

She had received the same fucking postcard for months on end with the same message she had said to him, and he had time to write Han Seo letters. He hadn’t sent her even one in the time he had been gone. 

“That fucking bastard!”  She explodes interrupting Han Seo’s recount of his near death experience and he looks wide- eyed and taken back by her outburst, she almost soothes him before another wave of anger rushes through her veins. She had accepted the bare minimum because she thought this was all he could give her but it seemed she was being too naïve. He was Vincenzo Cassano after all, he could make anything happen. She had seen it with her own two eyes. If he wasn’t reaching out to her maybe that was a message and she was too blind to see it. 

“Noona? Are you okay?” Han Seo looks absolutely terrified, eyes huge and quivering. She doesn’t bother answering, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee and stomping out of the office ignoring Mr. Nam’s calls behind her. She’s tired of being an idiot. 

She throws herself into forgetting him, the same way he seems to have forgotten her despite his words to her that fateful night on the stairs. 

I thought about you everyday. 

Actions speak louder than words and she is done accepting his crumbs. She has never needed anyone, had even accepted when her own father wanted nothing to do with her; she has basically been prepping for this moment her entire life. 

So she goes shopping with Miri, buying gadgets that she has no idea how to use but that the other girl makes sound like things that she definitely needs such as a new home security system, her break in still fresh in her mind. She grins at the pretty smile on the other girl’s round face as she explains the specification of the machines around them and she can see why Han Seo has such a huge crush on the girl, the pretty blush that blossoms on the other girl’s cheek after stating the fact out loud is adorable and she pinches said cheek much to her chagrin. 

“You should worry about your own love life.” Miri teases but the words sting like acid on her skin and she turns away to hide the grimace on her face, but she’s not fast enough and the other girl catches her wrist halting her movement. 

“What? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mr. Cassano?” Miri whispers the last part, looking around to make sure that nobody overhears them. 

She forces herself to stifle her emotions, trapping them in the back of her mind refusing to let him have this kind of affect on her. 

“I wouldn’t know.” She tries for a emotionless tone but even she can hear the bitterness in her own voice and Miri’s eyes fill with pity and it makes her sick to her stomach, “Don’t. I am going to be fine. Let’s just go.” 

They don’t utter single word in the car ride home. 

After that it becomes painfully obvious that everyone in the plaza thinks something is wrong with her and are teaming up to make her feel better. It’s the packed lunches that keep showing up on her desk without fail, her clothes being steamed and pressed for free, the way that they won’t allow her to be alone and there are countless spontaneous family game nights all ending with her drunk and being carried home. 

Tonight Mr. Tak is the unlucky volunteer, dragging her limp body in her father’s house and she thinks of all the times that they drank here together and a certain person was the one hauling her body to bed complaining and grumbling but that distractingly fond smile on his face that he only ever seemed to shoot her way. Her heart thumped loudly as he loomed over her and leaned in close, getting her hopes up only to brush her hair behind her ears and softly tell her, “Go to sleep now,” and she had never been obedient all her teachers could testify to that but when he looked at her like that she was powerless to do anything else but listen. 

“I miss him.” The traitorous words fall from her lips and vanish into the inky darkness of the night. 

A deep sigh from the left of her, “We know.” 

She feels vulnerable, the worst thing about having a weakness is other’s noticing too. She hates how weak she feels. 

“I am going to forget him.” 

The body supporting most of her weight tenses under her arm and she waits for his response, they all love Vincenzo- he had become their unexpected hero and leader in many ways. They would always take his side, she knows that. 

“If that’s what you need to do to be happy. Then, do it. Loving a man like Vincenzo isn’t easy.” 

She turns to look at him in genuine shock. 

“What? You thought I would tell you to keep waiting with no end in sight? You should know by now, you mean a lot to us too. Your happiness is important to us too, we’re a family.” 

“But we’re the Cassano family,” she challenges unable to accept that they could love her without Vincenzo attached, but Mr. Tak shrugs at the clarification, “We can be the Hong Family too.”

She feels her eyes swimming. 

“I should go inside.” 

She feels sober and more awake than ever, she stays up all night twirling the long strands of her hair in between her fingers. 

Thinking. 

Variety is the spice of life. 

She doesn’t know where she’s heard that but it’s those sage words that are the catalyst for her spontaneous decision. 

“Same as always? Silky with some body?” Her stylist peers into her eyes through the wide mirror and she hears herself say, “No I want a cut and some color.” Yu-jin raises one pretty tweezed brow but nods after a moment’s pause, “Okay. How short are you thinking?” 

And that’s how she starts her day with long thick hair that grazes her lower back and ends it with a short bob that tickles her neck. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulder, metaphorically and literally and she loves the face that she sees in the mirror, her eyes looking brighter than they have in months. She feels more alive, like a snake shedding its skin and becoming a newer and fresher version of itself. 

“Your hair?” That becomes the running theme for her day, shocked gaping mouths and hands reaching out for the hair that was once there.  She merely smirks at their palpable surprise, especially Seol-jin who doesn’t recognize her from behind. 

“I haven’t seen a pretty lady like you aro--Oh Ms. Hong! I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, I am so sorry please excuse me!” The interpretative dancer bolts away leaving her to watch him bemused, she skips to Jipuragi with a pep in her step laughing loudly when Mr. Nam drops his coffee upon seeing her and the brown liquid goes flying and douses him in a sticky hot mess. 

It’s an entertaining day to say the least. 

Moments later when he’s finished cleaning himself up and changing into the cheetah print track suit that he insisted to keeping in the office, he mentions that a new postcard has arrived. She nods at the information, looking at her laptop and it’s only seconds later that she finally looks up and sees that he’s waiting for her response. She doesn’t have one. 

Forcing a tight smile on her face she replies, “Oh that’s great. Just put it with the others.” 

He does. 

But she can feel his eyes on her, his concern heavy and tangible in the air. 

She pretends not to notice and keeps clicking away on her laptop, only glancing over at the card once or twice. But it’s only out of habit. 

Nothing more. 

She starts going on dates with random men. Men she meets in coffee shops, on the streets, in bars, hell one time even the bookstore. She never meets the same man twice and they never get what they want but it does make her feel desirable and that’s all she’s looking for. 

“Where are you going?” Han Seo asks her curiously, Miri by his side as she struts out the plaza new perfume on her skin. 

“On a date. I’ll see you both later.” They both gape at her and can only watch with wide eyes as she sashays away, heels clicking with every step. 

Word spreads like wildfire and no one takes it harder than Mr. An, who calls her a “jezebel” and cries at the front of the law firm for hours, she has to step over him to go get lunch shaking him off when he latches on to her ankles. 

The others just look at her with sad eyes, filled with both understanding and disappointment. 

Much to her surprise the lunch boxes keep coming and her clothes are still pressed and starched to perfection though. 

She also starts taking self defense classes, Korea is much more dangerous than she had first suspected and she has to be able to protect herself because nobody is coming to save her.  Not anymore. 

It becomes a great outlet for her built up anger and her instructor praises her for being a fast learner. She grins and nods before flipping him and twisting his arm around his own neck in a modified sleeper hold. When he taps on her arm she squeezes tighter instead of letting go and he goes limp for a moment before she comes back to herself and releases him hastily with a quick apology, “Sorry!”

He rubs his neck, panting for air and she feels guilty, there's a tinge of that but most of all she feels powerful, more so than she has for a long time. 

It’s crazy but she finds herself asking him for drinks after class and even crazier is that he agrees even with her marks still there on his skin, the area bruised and red. He looks at her like she’s challenge that he wants to conquer, she lets him believe that’s possible. It’s only a bit of fun anyway, she has no plans for anything serious. 

Drinks turn into a drunken cab ride home with his hand on her thigh, hot through the thin material of her tights and they don’t feel right- too small and not rough enough but she’s moving on and she has no time to reminisce. 

There hasn’t even been a postcard lately. Message, loud and clear. 

When she shoves the keys into her door, he’s glued to her body leaving wet kisses on the long column of her neck and she tries to suppress the nausea that swims in her stomach, everything feels wrong and she hates herself for feeling that way. Why shouldn’t she fuck whoever she wants? He is probably doing the same thing, everyday on his beautiful private island. Kissing women that aren’t her and whispering dirty Italian words into their ears as he rocks back and forth, nary a thought of that Korean woman he knew once upon a time. 

Fuck him. 

She rocks back into the purposeful grind of the hips behind her, feeling the hardness that digs into the soft flesh of her ass and finally the door opens and they both tumble in haphazardly and he thrusts a hand under her loose shirt fingering at her breasts before a dark figure moves far too quickly in her peripheral and she hears her date cry out in pain. 

She almost faints at the familiar sight of the one person she never expected to see, the hard glint of his cold eyes as he twists the same hand that had just been fondling her chest. The grip looks painful, the wrist contorted in an unnatural manner. 

“What the fuck? You have a boyfriend?!” Her instructor cries out, voice high pitched falling to his knees as Vincenzo kicks his feet out from under him. 

She rolls her eyes, of course he would come now when she is trying (and failing) to get over him. 

Vindictively she answers the question, ‘No.” 

But that makes Vincenzo twist the wrist in his grip even tighter and she can see the bones breaking so she takes pity on the poor man, he didn’t sign up for a murderous mafia leader after all. 

“Just let him go. You have no right to do any of this.” 

He doesn’t listen right away and absently she wonders if she’ll need to test out her new moves on him, it would be satisfying to deck him square in the face. She dreams of that as often as she dreams of their reunion. Her feelings are...complicated to say the least. 

Then with a grunt, he throws the other man away like he’s trash and growls out, “Get out of here before I kill you.” 

She tries not be get turned on by that. But it’s a hard sell, her body already getting revved up. He’s telling the truth. 

The man wastes no time, jumping to his feet and bolting out the door without one backwards glance. Asshole, he was really just leaving her with a clearly unstable and dangerous man. 

“We need to talk.” Vincenzo squeezes out between clenched teeth, and her blood runs cold but she stares him dead in the eyes tired of this game they’ve been playing, if he’s here to end things she wants to know. 

“Okay. Then talk.” 

She looks insanely beautiful, with her hair cropped so short bringing his eyes to the tantalizing length of her neck. His eyes close in on a spot of moisture on her neck, he feels his blood boiling imagining that bastard touching any part of her.  She’s glaring right back at him, her chest rising and falling and he can’t help but check her out, it’s been months since he saw her in person the photo of her doing aerial yoga above his bed couldn’t compare to the tempest that is Cha-young in real life. 

The flat plane of her belly is on display under the white crop top loosely stretched across her chest which leads down to her slim hips and legs wrapped in white spandex, leaving very little to the imagination not that he hasn’t imagined her in far less many, many times. Too many times to count. Spilling across the silk adorning his king sized bed with only her name on his lips. 

She looks fucking hot. 

That makes it even more frustrating because he can still clearly see that bastard wrapped around her like a snake and his hands going up her shirt---he has to take a deep breath before he breaks something. Or chases that asshole to break his face. 

There’s so much he wants to say to her, so much he owes her. 

I missed you. 

I love you. 

Come with me. 

“Who the hell was that?” He says this instead then watches her eyes glint over into nothing but pure murderous rage. Wrong move. But he couldn’t help it, green eyed raged taking away his decision making abilities. 

“That’s all you have to say? Get out.” 

He wasn’t expecting rose petals and trumpets when he returned but he definitely wasn’t expecting this, her cold glare or another man in his spot. He thought she would wait for him, just as he had done for her. 

“Are you serious right now?” He counters, flabbergasted. 

“Deadly. Get out.” 

He clenches his fist, and then stomps out. Turning back but only to watch the door slam in his face. 

What the hell. 

It had only taken a letter from Han Seo to get him on boat that would take him to an open field and hours later he was soaring through the skies on a hot air balloon, on his way back to Korea. It was insane and he barely had time to explain to his family but Luca nodded at him like this was the only choice and told him that he would take care of everything, and he trusted those words more than he had ever trusted anything in his life.

“Vai a prendere la tua donna( go get your woman).” 

He had nodded, gruffly patting the other man on his shoulder before hopping over into the waiting boat. 

But he wasn’t so certain anymore that Cha-young was his. 

She seems different. Colder almost, she leaves whenever I mention your name and she goes on dates now. I think she’s moving on hyung, what are you going to do? 

Those words had been the scariest thing he had never seen. Scarier than every gun that had ever been pointed at his head. He thought what they had was something special, something that could stand the test of time and distance. He stared at the huge pile of letters on his bedside, all addressed to her. He had written one everyday since they had been separated, but each time he was too much of a coward to send it. In those letters he could say things that he could never say to her face, things like how much he ached without her by his side and how her smile was the only thing that kept him going. In those letters he could regal the ways he loved her, and how deeply she had been branded into his soul, every atom of his body belonged to her and her alone.  He would kill for her, die for her, anything she needed or merely wanted he would provide it, all she needed to do was ask. 

He could only share those feelings in the letters. 

He walks for hours, until he ends up at his old apartment the familiar door greeting him and he sticks his hand in his pocket before he remembers that he gave the key away, with a sigh he starts to walk away before the door creaks open and he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in months. 

“Hyung!” 

A warmth spreads across his back as a solid weight almost knocks him off his feet. He reaches one arm around his body, awkwardly slapping the face that is pressing into his collar. 

“You really chose to stay here.” 

He feels the nod on his shoulder, “Of course. It made me feel closer to you hyung, I missed you.” 

He grunts in response, before turning around and tugging the younger man into a real hug. He had missed the annoying little leech too, he had missed everyone. 

They are still in each other’s embrace for a moment before Han Seo pulls away, sympathy etched deep on his face. 

“She wasn’t happy to see you.” 

“There was someone else there.” He hates the words even as they leave his mouth and Han Seo winces, looking pained for him before tugging him into the small apartment. Everything is just like he left it.  He looks around in awe. 

“I’m sorry hyung. What are you going to do?”

That’s the golden question, he pondered it all the way here and he’s no closer to knowing the answer to that. Usually she is the one that makes the move, she has always been the brave one between them. He back steps and says things he doesn’t mean and she sees through him and smashes down all his walls. That’s how this has always worked. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Let her be happy.” 

A loud scoff reaches his ears, “Sure. Is that why you sailed across sharked infested waters and trusted a hot air balloon company run my former thugs?”

He smarts at the sarcastic reply and glares before flicking the cheeky brat on his nose, "I liked you better when you were stupid you know. Now you're a little smart ass."

The younger man looks even more youthful as he grins back at him, rubbing at his nose before shrugging.  "I learned from the best."

He has no rebuttal for that so he tries to flick him again, giving chase when he darts off.

It feels good to be home.

He warns Han Seo not to tell anyone that he's here least they give away his location.

So he's not surprised the next day to find the cavalry at his doorstep hands filled to the brim with containers of food. There are tears, mostly from Mr. Nam who won't stop screaming his name and pinching his cheeks to see if he's real and Mr. An who wraps around him like a koala despite his very detailed threats. It's all chaos and so familiar that his heart aches but her absence is like a hole in his chest. Nobody mentions her but they all keep looking at the door, so it's obvious that she was invited but chose not to come.

Because she didn't want to see him.

"You're here to win her back right?" He doesn't know who even utters the words but when he glances up they are all looking at him expectantly.

He didn't know that was what he was indeed here for thought that she would happily welcome him back and they could pick up where they left off but she's made it clear that this won't be the case. This will be the most important fight of his life.

"Yes. I'm here for Cha-young."

He gets enthusiastic thumbs up and a loud giggle from the Yeon-Jin  and Cheol-Wook’s adorable baby, her little hands too uncoordinated to do a thumbs up but she waves excitedly  feeding off the energy around her.

He wonders how Cha-young would look with a baby in her arms, their baby it's a dangerous thought. But one that he can't get out of his mind once he thinks it.

They stay until midnight, forcing him to eat and drink too much soju until he passes out to dreams filled with a round Cha-young, belly swollen and protruding from her body. 

It doesn't take much to learn her schedule(Mr. Nam hands him a laminated copy) and he has to put on a disguise but he enters the shop seconds after her, hearing her order that god awful sewer water she's so fond of.

"An espresso for me." He leans in too close, almost brushing her shoulder and she jolts at the sound of his voice, turning to stare at him as if she's a mirage.

"You're still here?" She whispers and then shakes her head and looks away as if she's hadn't meant to say the words aloud.

It hurts him that she thought he would leave without telling her but he can't blame her, he has been anything but consistent. Instead of answering, he leans forward to hand his credit card to the cashier who glances between them suspiciously before accepting the card.

Their orders are ready in seconds and he follows her as she walks to their table, butterflies in his stomach at the familiar sight.

She turns to him with a glare, "It's just the only available table."

He moves to pull out her chair and she starts at him tight lipped before sitting down. She's in a tight black suit today, two long slits on the side of her pants going all the way up to her thighs. He gulps down his drink to get rid of the drool pooling in his mouth.

"You're upset with me."

She stares at him like he's the biggest idiot on the planet, it's not a look he receives often but she's always the outlier in his otherwise organized life.

"Astute observation." She quips back, sucking loudly at her coffee.

"Why?"

He considered how to go about breeching this subject and in the end had decided on going straight to the source, he had been under the impression that this was working for them.

Her face morphs into a person he hasn't seen for a long time, the Cha-young that would berate him and make him angry enough to curse in Italian.

"Do you think this little of me?"

He's completely lost, "What do you mean? What did I do that was so wrong? Wrong enough for you to cheat on me!" He's panting now, his voice has gotten loud enough to catch people's attention he can feel them watching their table, nosy and invested.

"Cheat on you?"

Cold as ice, her voice is. It almost makes him shiver.

"How could I possibly cheat on you? We're not together. You send me the same postcard with the same message every few months. I have no idea what you're doing in Malta, who you're with. You can't even be bothered to send me a letter, do you think this is a relationship? You think it's enough to pop up like this every once in a blue moon? You've told me nothing about how you feel about me but I'm supposed to be satisfied with whatever you throw my way?"

If he wasn't sitting down his legs would have already given out he's certain about that. Her voice is deadly quiet each word landing and chipping away at his confidence.

"I'm doing the best I can! You knew it would be like this after everything was over, why are you blaming me now? How about you, I don't know how you feel either!"

"I love you! Anyone with eyes can see that, I told you that at the airport too. And again when I took a bullet for you, you didn't think that meant I loved you? I was willing to die for you."

Shit.

It's not at all how he expected them to confess their love for each other, it's hard to believe the words that are coming out of her mouth as she bares her teeth at him.

"So why are you doing this? Why are there other men?"

Why aren't I enough? He wants to say but he's scared of her answer, terrified that she'll say that she can't do this anymore. That he just isn’t enough anymore. 

She stares at him long and hard.

Waiting for something. But he doesn't know what.

"You haven't changed at all. You're still a coward, I'm not interested in guessing anymore. I’m done playing this game.” 

She stands up and walks away, leaving her unfinished coffee on the table.

Unwanted just like him.

She doesn't see him for days and she accepts that her words had done their damage, she had cried until she fell asleep that night. Waking up with swollen red eyes that no amount of concealer would save but thankfully no one commented on her state.

She goes through her day on autopilot and before she knows it she's back home, ready to face her night alone  again. She pushes the door open, half praying he'll be waiting for her but her hopes shattered when she turns on the lights and finds no one.

"It's better this way." She lies to herself, pouring herself an obscene glass of soju. She's going to need plenty of alcohol to get through this pain.

Her head is woozy and heavy when she hears a sound, suddenly alert she stills in her chair before rushing over to get a frying pan walking on the tips of her toes she prowls closer to the clicking sound, finding herself at the window peering at a long lost friend. Placing the frying pan on her window sill she pry opens the window, screeching when the audacious bird flies inside landing on her table as if he belongs there.

"Hey Inzaghi! Get your dirty bird feet off my table!"

He looks at her nonchalantly, making himself comfortable on said table and she sighs before shutting the window and drunkenly swaying over to him.

"What are you even doing there? Do you want to be my bird now, I won't be a very good owner. I won't remember to feed you. I barely remember to feed myself."

Despite being a bird he finds a way to roll his eyes at her before standing up and only then does she notice something on his leg. She looks at him cautiously before moving closer and untying the paper on his leg, the pigeon barely reacts before flying over to her couch. She sighs in annoyance, she's going to have to clean everything after this bird leaves.

She unwinds the string holding the paper together, unrolling the paper scroll. There is a message written inside: the rooftop. 9 pm.

Glancing at her clock the time shines at her.

7:34pm.

"This could be a trap."

It very much could be, she has enemies now. It was a small price to pay for taking down Babel but she's always looking over her shoulders now, so this note could easily be someone luring her to hurt her or get back at Vincenzo.

Inzaghi coos loudly at her as if he can hear her thoughts. This time he finds a way to look exasperated.

She stumbles off to her room.

She needs time to think.

"So she told you that she loved you and you didn't say it back?"

"I was shocked. She was growling at me and looked ready to kill me at the same time." He reasons back, trying to show his hyung his point of view. The younger man doesn't look even a little bit convinced by his logic.

"Okay and? That sounds perfectly normal for you too. You should have shot someone and wrote it back in their blood on the table."

He recoils in disgust at the suggestion, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually insane, why the fuck would I do that?"

Han Seo stares deadpan in return.

He puts up a hand trying to stop whatever response he has, "Don't say it."

It doesn't work.

"Pig's blood. Don't forget I saw it all, I've never seen Ms. Hong look so excited before. You're both crazy."

Well, that had been different. It was an old tradition, she simply had an appreciation for the classics.

"And I bet you're defending her right now in your mind. Noona is just like you, that's why you're made for each other. She's the gasoline to your fire."

"You know that would just make an even larger fire right?"

"Yes. I'm smart now remember? I know what I said."

He sighs falling into the comfortable familiarity of the couch, a spring digging into his thigh.

"Why didn't you say it back?" His stills at the barely whispered question, his chest constricting as he recalls the passionate confession. He had frozen, like he'd always known she was the brave one between them. Always doing the unexpected and the time was no different, her words had knocked him off his feet.

"Because I was scared."

Han Seo huffs at his honesty. He doesn't know where the words are coming from but he's tired of keeping it all in.

"Because if anything happens to her it'll break me, I thought it would be better if I kept her at a distance. I thought this was enough. I thought this would be easier. When I think about her I want to drop everything and just be with her and that...was too dangerous. I had to keep my distance."

There's a pregnant pause, just the sound of their breathing filling the void.

"Was it?"

"What?"

"Easier. Is this better? Enough?"

He thinks about Cha-young getting married to a faceless man, exchanging vows and sealing it with a kiss, happy and in love on their honeymoon wanton moans and screams from their room, learning that they're having a baby and her round and glowing with someone else's child smiling brightly as she rubs her belly and it's too much. He wants to smash it all into little pieces.

"No. It's not enough. I need her, without her nothing is enough."

"That's what you should have said to her. Don't glare at me I'm right, but I have an idea. I saw it in an American cartoon."

And that's how he lets his younger brother convince him to send a note to Cha-young using Inzaghi, the pigeon had shown up one night and he'd been so happy he almost kissed the bird.

"How will he know where Cha Young lives?" He asks skeptical even as he ties the note to the birds leg.

"I showed him a picture of her house. According to the cartoon, birds just know.” 

He stares at the younger man, wondering why he's listening to this ridiculous plan.

"This is stupid. I should just text her, Inzaghi is never going to deliver this. He's just a regular pigeon." 

"This is more romantic." He answers matter of fact.

"How is a pigeon delivering a message in anyway romantic?" He challenges already knowing from the shit eating grin he won’t like the response. 

"The same way pig blood was." The brat counters and he doesn't get a chance to respond before Han Seo picks Inzaghi up and throws him out the window, "In the name of love!" He only barely stops himself from bashing his head into the wall, the younger man has to wrestle him to the ground.

It's stupid. They did all of this for nothing the cool breeze makes him pull his coat tighter around his body, exposed to the weather on the open space of the rooftop.

He checks his watch, 9:48.

She's not coming and the worst part is that he doesn't know if it's because that damn bird never delivered his message or if it's because she really doesn't want anything to do with him. The burden of not knowing hurts more than anything.

Expelling the air in his lungs he walks back to the single door that leads off the roof, twisting the doorknob in his hand and pulling it open.

Meeting the shocked face of one Cha-young.

They both just stare at each other before he speaks, "You came."

He can't believe it. Inzaghi had actually delivered the note, somehow the pigeon had found her house and she was here. He almost pinches himself to see if he'd passed out on the roof and this was just a dream.

"I didn't know Inzaghi was a carrier pigeon." She futilely tries to change the subject and he takes a step back, gathering the tattered pieces of his courage. The same courage that had propelled him to kiss her all those months ago on the stairs.

"I'm so happy you're here. I waited for you."

She stares at him like he has two heads before blushing, and avoiding his eyes.

"Come with me." He extends his hands and tries not to be too hurt when she bypasses it and steps around him instead.

At least she was here.

With a quick swipe of his hand he sends the message to his accomplices.

Now.

The lights come on, fairy lights decorating the roof top in a heavenly glow. She spins around in wonder, eyes nearly as bright she's so beautiful it's almost painful to look at her.

Then the music starts.

The soft notes filling the space.

When I walk down a road I don't know well....

She looks around in wonder, staring back at him she can’t believe what’s happening. 

Then the letters start falling from the sky, all the letters he had written to her alone and missing her thousands of miles away. His plaza family smiles down at him, throwing letters from a higher building.

Cha-young stares up at the sky in surprise, hundreds of letters landing all around her.

It had taken a few days for Luca to send them all over and then another day to get the guts to do this, there was no turning back now. He had never willingly made himself vulnerable to anyone else, but according to Han Seo it was the only way he was going to win her back. 

“She just wants to know that you love her too. Show her.” 

He watches anxiously as she picks up a letter, stroking lightly at her own name on the front looking at him with stunned wet eyes. 

“You wrote me a letter.” Her voice is revere and awe that he doesn’t deserve, not after everything he has put her through in the sake of protecting himself but he’s too elated to see her looking at him like that again, like he’s someone important to her. 

“182. For each day we were apart. I told you I thought about you everyday, and every time I did I wrote you a letter.” 

She stares at the letter in her hand, gently ripping it open and devouring the words on the page. Nerves shoot up and down his body as he watches her read his most private thoughts about her, her expressive face for once empty of emotions as she silently reads the letter. 

He waits. 

Breathless and terrified. 

“Why didn’t you ever send them? They were mine so why did you keep them?” He hears an edge in her voice that makes him wonder if she’s only talking about the letters. 

“Cha-young, I don’t think you understand.” 

She breathes out loudly, stomping over to him until they are inches apart and he has no choice but to look into the deep pool of her eyes. 

“I don’t! I don’t understand anything, I thought you had found someone else in Malta and the postcards were just your way of being nice. I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did, you were sending Han Seo letters but you wouldn’t do the same for me. What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you try to help me understand, you were gone for six months!” 

There’s so much wrong with everything she said, how could he find anyone else when his heart beats for her? How could he forget her when everything he did reminded him of her, he saw her every night in his dreams. But he doesn’t make the same mistake this time, he says what’s important. 

“I feel the same way. I love you Cha-young. I thought this was better for you, that this could be enough. But I was wrong, I missed you every minute of every--” 

“Come home with me.” 

He stops, stares, gapes and then stares some more. 

“What? I wasn’t finished confessing though.” Actually offended that she interrupted his planned speech. He was about to recite one of his favorite Italian love poems for her and then ask her to dance. 

She rolls her eyes dragging him towards the door, “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time? It’s been six months and you have been here for too long, you have to go soon.” 

She’s right, he has a flight in two days for an identity he borrowed for his escape. 

“Listen to her, just go back to her place and have a good night!” That sounds like Cheol-Wook and then they all erupt into applause and start cheering and hollering, chanting their names and then to his embarrassment they start chanting, “Go have sex! Go have sex!” complete with the monks banging on their drums and he doesn’t think he will ever live down this moment, especially when he sees Miri capturing it on the new video camera he had gifted her. 

He flips them off as an eager Cha-young pulls him away their laughter following them all the way. 

The car ride is too long on the way over and she wonders how quickly she can undress them both as soon as they reach, there is simply no time to waste. 

But once they get to the doorstep he suddenly freezes, tugging her backwards into his chest. 

“This looks familiar doesn’t it?” His voice is dark and smoky and she immediately knows what he’s referring to, and she refuses to give him any reaction. 

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” 

“You let someone else touch you. Here.” He runs a hand up her neck, briefly squeezing, “And here,” she gasps at his hands suddenly on her breast, squeezing harshly at the tender flesh. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” She knows that she’s playing with fire, but that is their foundation. She has never aimed to cool him off or tone him down, she sees the dark side inside of him and loves it, encourages it and feeds on it herself allowing it to bring her darkness out too. 

He kicks the door open, shoving her side and she delights at the rough treatment. She hopes that she is filled with his bruises tomorrow. 

She doesn’t wait for his next move, pulling her shirt up and over her head before tugging off her skirt leaving herself in a barely there lace panties and a matching lace bra that is translucent, her nipples peeking through the sheer material. He stares at her transfixed, his hunger evident in his eyes and in the tent forming in his tight dress pants. 

“Take those off.” She commands and he smirks before obeying, peeling the pants off his thighs standing in his button down shirt and tight boxer briefs that leave nothing to her imagination, every delicious inch of him visible. She steps forward bringing their bodies in contact, before thrusting her hand inside the opening of his briefs. He feels hard and smooth, liquid pooling at the tip and she twists her hand collecting it to ease her slow strokes up and down. His voice hitches as she fingers his balls and without warning she tugs his boxers off, leaving him bare to her eyes. 

Mesmerized by the unencumbered sight of him, she drops to her knees using her hand to guide him to her eagerly waiting mouth. 

His flavor explodes on her tongue and she swallows more, grabbing his hips to drag him deeper into her mouth until she can feel him in her throat, but even after her eyes start to burn and she feels herself choking she doesn’t stop, bobbing up and down hungrily, sloppy wet sounds filling the room in a filthy symphony. At first he lets her control the movement, pliant in her hands but as she increases her speed and suction he starts groaning and huffing loudly and then she feels his hand on the back of her hand, keeping her in place and when she looks up at him he looks wrecked. Eyes dazed and his face red and flushed, she ingrains that image in her mind, for when he’s gone and all she has are her toys. 

She stares back defiantly before he draws himself out of her mouth, a single line of spit connecting them and then he thrusts back into her mouth roughly and she opens her mouth wider to accept the abuse, loving every second of it even as a her throat aches. He sets a frantic pace, his balls slamming against her chin and she doesn’t realize at first that his grunts have transformed into words, too much blood rushing to her head. 

“Mine. Mine, nobody can---ah fuck! Nobody can see you like this. Only me. You’re mine.” 

He fucks her mouth like it’s his to use and do what he pleases, and she’s wetter than she’s ever been listening to him claim her verbally and with the wet push of his dick in her mouth. 

She starts grinding on the floor like a cat in heat and without preamble he grabs her under her armpits and lifts her like she weighs nothing, his dick sliding free from her hot mouth, “I want to make you scream.” He says this like a declaration of love and she throws herself at him, kissing the words off his lips. His tongue swirls in her mouth and she wonders if he can taste himself in her. It makes her hotter and she grinds her barely covered pussy onto his naked length, groaning at the friction even though the thin layer separating them. 

He tosses her onto the bed and she doesn’t even remember them walking, his tongue and his wondering fingers had completely distracted her. 

She lays sprawled across the bed as he stares at her, like she’s feast he can’t wait to devour. 

“Nobody has been in here.” She doesn’t know if he’s asking a question or making a statement, but she feels that his jealousy is real. Seeing her with someone else had done something to him, guilt washes over her. If she had seen him with someone else she would have lost her mind too. 

“Nobody. I never brought anyone home before, that guy was a mistake. I was just hurt and missing you. I’m sorry.” 

He had abandoned her for six months and she didn’t owe him anything but his pain is her pain and they are stronger now, everything has been said. 

“Good.” 

Then he rips her panties away and buries his face between her legs, prying her wide open with his hands and lapping at her with his searing hot tongue. Immediately he has his wish and she screams, loud enough to fill the entire room. 

“Already screaming amore? It’s going to be a long night, I want to make you hoarse.”  

She doesn’t get a moment to respond before he’s back to licking and sucking at her most sacred part, fingers deep inside her as he thrusts and strokes alongside his tongue, his fingers and tongue moving in tandem and she tries to stifle the scream but a particularly deep fuck makes the sound erupt from her throat and her head feels dizzy from the overwhelming sensation. 

He has boundless energy it seems, as time drags by and she feels her body tightening up as he systemically destroys her, he never takes a break or pauses, slurping up all the liquid that drips from her and the sounds of him swallowing are beyond erotic. When a hand runs up her stomach and squeezes at a bouncing breast she can’t contain her moans of pleasure, crying out as his fingers pinching the tight bud of her nipple. 

“Please.” 

He coos in her, “So pretty when you beg.” Then he sticks his tongue as far as it can go and she hears the rush of blood in her head as her body shakes apart and her release gushes from her body, twitching when he laps it all up her oversensitive body recoiling from the overstimulation. 

She has never come like that before, most men have never put in the work necessary to make her come and she wasn’t one to fake it so her experiences with sex with someone else were few and far in between. 

This feels like nirvana. 

“You still with me amore?” The bastard looks so smug, looming above her naked arms on the side of her head, and she had no idea when he took his shirt off. 

“I can’t feel like my legs.” 

He chuckles loudly at the statement, grinning growing wider. 

“Well I can assure you that they’re still there and they will look great wrapped around my waist.” 

Raising to his challenge, although her body is still buzzing she wraps her legs around his waist, they feel like jelly but she finds the strength to follow through with her movement. 

“I was right they do look great.” 

“Well this would look great in me.” She counters, grabbing at his thick ruddy red dick jutting from his body and he rocks into her hand before knocking her hand away and taking himself in his hand. 

“Do we need a condom?” He asks her, looking like he is ready to stop at nay minute if she tells him that they do. 

“No.” 

She has been on birth control since she was a teen and there’s been no one for her since she met him, and she trusts that it’s been the same for him. 

“Thank goodness, I want to feel everything.” He barely finishes his sentence before he’s easing into her, slow and steady. She lets him continue for a moment before she tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him in roughly, as deep as she can get him in this position. “Fuck, you’re so impatient.” 

“Shut up and fuck me already.” 

He grumbles at her calling her bossy, but she sighs when he draws out and slams back in with a quick snap of his hips. 

“Yes just like that!” 

He takes direction very well, repeating the motion until the bed starts to creak from their movements, he pistons in and out of her gone all semblance of gentle or slow, they have teetered into a speed that can only be defined as “break neck” and she feels her body sliding up the mattress as he pounds into her over and over again, she latches onto his neck eager to leave a branding mark on him and he groans at the suction, grinding harder into her and gripping her ass to force her to meet his vicious thrusts. 

Absently she feels him peeling her bra from her body, the only remaining item of clothing that has survived their coupling and she knows exactly when he sees the scar. The grotesque knitting of skin that had left a permanent scar on her shoulder, she almost covers it up but when she peels her eyes open he is staring at her mesmerized. 

“Don’t look.” 

He leans down to kiss it, the softest more precious kiss she has ever received in her life. 

He peppers more kisses all over, then strokes at it with a single finger. 

“I should have realized, this was your confession. I was an idiot. I will never be that stupid again, I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Anything.” 

He puts her legs on her shoulder, nearly bending her in half before resuming his thrusts but they are less frenzied now, it feels like lovemaking. Her eyes prickle when he kisses her scar with every downward thrust, whispering, “Beautiful, so beautiful. Every inch of you.” 

She cries out. 

With every thrust he kisses her scar, making her feel lightheaded and naked. 

When he moves them into a new position, her back to his front giving him better access to her scar, she loses herself as he whispers sweet nothings into her ears and litters the spot with warm kisses. 

She falls off the edge with his lips on her scar and him deep inside her, warm bursts filling her up before leaking out onto the bed sheets. 

“Today’s our last day.” 

Waking up next to him is torture, she tries not to ingrain that in her mind but it’s too late it’s already there. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes at her words and then nods solemnly in agreement. 

“Yes for this visit. But I’ll always come back for you.” 

She smiles brightly, “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.” 

They don’t leave the bed except to get breakfast and that ends with her laid across the kitchen table getting taken from behind after teasing him. He can’t seem to keep his hands off her new hair, twisting the short strands in his hands and yanking on them. She catches him looking at her heatedly more than once. 

Then they wind up in the shower, trying to clean up and getting dirtier instead, his hands tight in her hair and around her waist as he hoists her up to pound her into the wall. Making up for lost time. 

They get messages from their entire family, Vincenzo showing her a message from Han Seo asking if he’s going to be an uncle soon. She promises to embarrass him in front of Miri very, very soon. 

Both pretend they don’t feel the day fading away, bringing them closer to their goodbye. 

Tomorrow he will be gone again, but there’s no guessing now. She knows what she means to him now and that’s more than enough. 

She wakes up to an empty bed and a ticket to Malta, the ball is in her court. 

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 5, Part 1

Note: This is a long chapter too!

Gregson squared his shoulders as he walked.

“I don’t really want to team up with you; but anyway, we have no choice but to solve this quickly. Now it’s time for me to show my stuff after fighting crime day after day in this capital.”

“I’ve thought about it every time we’ve met — but where do you get that confidence from?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he followed behind him. Then, Gregson turned around.

“Oi, that big attitude of yours is probably because the inspector called you in; but I’m the one who messed up here, so I have to take responsibility myself. Don’t butt in unless you’re needed.”

“I know, I know.”

More than anything, the personality of this assistant inspector he’d come to know all too well brought Sherlock a sense of relief. In addition, his words and actions revealed his pride as a police officer, and Sherlock quite liked that.

“Come to think of it, did you really not find out anything during the interrogation?”

Gregson replied without slowing his pace.

“Well, I can’t say that we didn’t learn anything. He told us how he’d come to hide in that building, but refused to say a word on where his accomplice was.”

“So how did he arrive at the inn?”

“From what we heard, after they escaped, the two of them had been moving from place to place in the slums. They first laid low somewhere, but quickly got wind that the Yard was searching the area; hence, they ran off searching for a new place to hide — and ended up at that inn.”

“So does it mean that at the time, the Yard had been able to track them down to some extent?”

Gregson snorted in displeasure.

“Not a whit. It’s disgraceful, but so far, we haven’t been able to trace their whereabouts one bit. Right now, our only lead is that tip-off; in other words, the two of them were just misled by rumours that the police were coming.”

“…………”

Gregson seemed to be pitying the fugitives for the days they’d spent in fear, but Sherlock’s mind was elsewhere.

The criminals had been flushed from their hideout using false information, and ended up at a particular location. At the same time, information had conveniently come the Yard’s way, as if someone had meant for them to arrive at the same place. His intuition told him the situation could not be written off as a mere coincidence.

——Could the Lord of Crime be involved in this case? But if he was, then for what reason?

Sherlock began to think over that question; but before he could reach a satisfactory answer, the two of them had arrived before a different inn, located a short distance from the site of the fire.

“Now, the suspects have been gathered here on the ground floor — please be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Temporarily switching his focus, Sherlock replied half-heartedly. Then, with his sullen expression still intact, Gregson stepped into the inn.

Inside, there were several police officers, three men with bandaged faces, and a tall middle-aged woman, who stood firm with crossed arms.

Looking over everyone in the room, Gregson cleared his throat, and spoke in a loud voice.

“Well then, I’ll cut to the chase. ——The culprit is among us.”

“…………”

However, not one person reacted. He was simply stating a fact, but perhaps his entrance had been too sudden, and that pronouncement a tad abrupt.

Looking a little embarrassed after his brave proclamation, Gregson cleared his throat once more, and started again.

“……That’s what we’ve concluded after careful discussion. To begin with, let’s start from these three men gathered here.”

“——Hold on, Inspector! Before that, don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Hm?”

The middle-aged woman took a step forward as she raised her voice, and Gregson turned to face her.

“You are… the owner of that inn.”

“The very one that got burned down, yes! My name is Hillary Weaver — you’d best remember it, since it’s the name of the victim who'll eventually charge you people for expensive repairs.” [1]

Her high-pitched voice was almost akin to that of a witch casting spells. Gregson flinched, taking a step back.

“W-……Why do we have to pay for damages?!”

“Of course you do: the moment all of you came along, my inn disappeared.”

“That’s not true! The one at fault here is the arsonist — the Yard had nothing to do with that!”

“What’re you saying? I’m sure you people sparked it all off. Quit whining and give me back that place of comfort!”

“What part of that wretched inn could be called comfortable?! It’d be more pleasant being buried in straw! When we were interrogating the other man, the floorboards were creaking so badly I thought we were going to fall through the floor any moment!"

“That’s because all of you came in at once! Spare a thought for the building capacity!”

“Are you telling me your rooms reach their limit after just a few people step inside?!”

“…………”

As Gregson and Hillary — the inn’s proprietress — were engaged in a row that was completely beside the point, Sherlock turned his attention to the three suspects.

The first was a burly man. The left half of his face was wrapped in bandages, and his long sleeves were rolled up.

The second was a slim young man with short sleeves. The lower half of his face was bandaged down to his neck.

The last was a tall man of indeterminate age. He wore a thick coat, and his entire face was swathed in bandages.

Three men, three suspects. Right as the detective used his powers of observation on them, Gregson signalled his men to get Hillary to back down, forcing the argument to a close.

“……Dammit, was she silver-tongued. Now I’ve wasted energy.”

His shoulders were heaving, and Sherlock flashed him a cold smile.

“If the talk show’s finally over, then let’s get on with the questioning. We’re short on time.”

“I know! ……Well then, let’s start from the big man over there, and proceed in order.”

Gregson addressed the burly man.

“Tell us your name, the room you were staying in, and what you were doing when the fire broke out.”

“My name’s Mike Myers. I was in room 203, on the first floor. When the fire broke out, I was in my room reading a book. It was from one of my favourite authors, but all my belongings were destroyed in the blaze.”

The man answered in a deep voice that matched his appearance.

Gregson took down the information on a notepad, and moved on to the next man.

“Next, the slim man over there.”

The young man promptly sat up straight.

“Y-Yes, um, my name is Bruno Campbell. My room was…… number 301, on the second floor. At the time of the fire, um…… I was sleeping right until it started. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise. Next.”

Gregson turned to face the last man.

“……Jerry Dorff. Room 101. I was asleep.”

The man who called himself Jerry murmured that in a low voice, uttering only the minimum number of words.

“101…… The ground floor, huh. So all your rooms were on precisely separate floors.”

Once he’d ascertained the suspects’ rooms, Gregson quickly sketched the inn’s floor plan on his notepad.

According to his diagram, on the ground floor, there was a staircase next to the reception desk, and three rooms in a row behind it. Starting from the one closest to the front desk, the rooms were numbered 101, 102, and 103. Further to the back, there was another set of stairs. The other floors had the same layout; it had been a simply-structured inn.

The reception desk, the front stairs, three rooms in a row, and the rear stairs. All the rooms had their doors on the south side of the building, and their windows on the north side. Sherlock craftily took a peek at his drawing, memorising the layout, and applied the locations of the three suspects to his mental picture.

“It seems all of you were in your own rooms when the fire started; but before that, did you stay in your rooms throughout?”

Mike spoke up.

“I never even took a step outside my room after you bobbies entered the building. After all, one of the criminals from that attack on the department store was lurking inside, right? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I made a wrong move and ended up getting suspected.”

“I-It was the same for me: I tried to avoid moving around as much as possible.”

“Me too.”

The timid young man, Bruno, and the taciturn Jerry both agreed with Mike.

“So you all didn’t leave your rooms, let alone the inn. ——Is that certain?”

Gregson asked one of the officers standing beside him, and the man responded with vigour.

“Yes; I was standing in front of room 303 at first, and two others were standing watch in the ground and first floor corridors — we didn’t see a single person leave their room.”

Sherlock had been listening from the side, and now he pointed to the officer and Gregson in turn.

“So during the break in the interrogation, Gregson took over from you in standing watch outside the room.”

“Indeed.”

“Oi, Holmes. I told you not to butt in.”

Ignoring Gregson’s complaint, Sherlock made a deduction.

“So no one was moving around during the interrogation. Then during the break, the man was left alone in the room. Since no one heard any suspicious noises, it would be difficult to conclude that there had been movement inside the room. In that case, as I thought, the criminal must’ve made his move after the fire began.”

“A-As I was saying, don’t talk without permission.”

“……We don’t have time for that kind of thing. From what you said earlier, it seems you were standing outside the room until the fire began — were you also standing watch throughout after it started?”

Reluctantly, Gregson revealed his actions at the time.

“……No, when I got news of the fire, I went to the stairs nearer the reception to check out the situation. I climbed down until I could see the ground floor, and saw that the corridor there had already been covered in flames; so I quickly shouted for everyone to evacuate as I went back up to the second floor, in order to free the man we had arrested.”

“Did you go door to door when telling people to evacuate?”

“There wasn’t any time for that: the best I could do was to shout in every corridor as I rushed up the stairs.”

“I see. By the way, do we know where the fire originated?”

One of the officers standing to the side responded.

“I was outside the building at the time, but back then, part of the ground floor’s exterior north wall suddenly burst into flames. Though, I can’t say I had witnessed the moment the fire was set.”

“……Oi.”

The officer had readily given information to the detective he so hated, and Gregson glared at him. But as expected, Sherlock continued as if nothing had happened.

“Even so, the mob had surrounded the inn at the time, didn’t they? Was there really no one who saw exactly what happened?”

“The crowd had been rather large, so we couldn’t interview everyone who was there……” the officer responded briskly. “But we didn’t receive any eyewitness accounts of the arsonist.”

Even as he threw a displeased glance at his subordinate, Gregson thought hard.

“In that case, what if he used a device that automatically ignited the fire after a certain amount of time?” he offered.

“That’s one possibility,” Sherlock added. “It doesn’t have to be automatic either; he could’ve sprinkled flammable oil around the area beforehand, then sneaked out the window, climbed down the wall, and thrown a tiny spark — like the cinders of a match — through a window. Just like this, he’d be able to ignite the fire without drawing attention. It started from the north wall, right?”

“Yes, the wall where all the rooms’ windows are lined up,” the officer replied.

Sherlock gazed at the three men.

“In that case, that means any one of you could be the arsonist himself. But the question remains: after the fire began, how did the culprit manage to kill his accomplice in room 303, and create a locked-room murder case without anyone noticing?”

“…………”

In a way, this was the biggest ‘riddle’ in the case; all the officers, including Gregson, fell silent. In this situation, how should they proceed? Sherlock too pondered that question.

——“Oi, Sherlock. This is just my opinion, but……”

Amidst the long silence, the voice of Sherlock’s partner rang out in his mind.

——“When the fire started, Inspector Gregson went down the stairs until he was almost at the ground floor, right? During that time, there probably wasn’t anyone in the second floor corridor. Since Bruno-kun was also on that floor, I think he’s the most suspicious……. Hold on. If Mr Mike climbed up the rear staircase from the first floor, he would’ve been able to avoid the inspector and reach the second floor. Moreover, Mr Jerry was on the ground floor to begin with, so you could say he was in the most convenient location to start the fire……. Oh my, I’m starting to think all of them are suspicious.”

Sherlock could easily picture John getting confused by his own theories; gently, the corners of his mouth creased into a smile.

Then Gregson flashed Sherlock a bold grin as he spoke.

“Oi, Holmes. When I went down the stairs till I was nearly at the ground floor, there probably wasn’t anyone left in the second floor corridor. In that case, since he was on the same floor, Bruno would be the most suspicious. Fufu, as I thought, there was no need to bring you on this ca…… Hm, hold on. If Mike used the other staircase, he could’ve reached the second floor without me noticing. But Jerry’s room was on the ground floor, so it would’ve been easy to start the fire there…… Dammit, now we can’t narrow it down.”

“…………”

Strangely enough, the assistant inspector had unfortunately put forward the same theory, erasing John’s face from Sherlock’s mind once again.

Then, Mike also put forward his own theory.

“Hey, certainly, it makes sense that any one of us could’ve went up to the victim’s room. But wasn’t the door locked?”

“H-He could’ve been shot or stabbed through the door, but from what I heard, there wasn’t any evidence of that, right? M-Maybe after he killed him, the murderer locked the door again from the outside?”

Bruno also proposed a theory, but Mike was sceptical.

“The fire was going to burn everything down anyway, so why would he bother to do that?”

“I-In that case, maybe the killer opened the door to attack him, b-but the victim suddenly closed the door to try and protect himself?”

“Yeah, that might be possible. So when the wound proved fatal, it ended up looking like a locked-room murder. That makes a fair bit of sense; well, what do you think?”

“……I don’t know.”

Mike’s words had started a frank exchange of theories among the three suspects. Sherlock seemed to be listening with great interest, but Gregson seemed annoyed.

“Oi, don’t talk as you please: this is a matter for the Yard to examine. In the first place, it’s not clear whether it was a stab or shot wound……”

Hearing that, Sherlock spoke up.

“If he’d been done in with a gun, there probably would’ve been the sound of a gunshot. Though with a bit of effort, the sound could’ve been suppressed…… Did anyone hear any strange sounds?”

Bruno, who by chance happened to meet Sherlock’s gaze, responded.

“I heard someone shouting ‘Fire!’ from the outside, then flew out of bed, but I don’t remember anything after that…… Oh right: during the commotion, I think I heard something breaking once or twice.”

The timid young man had given an important testimony, but the burly man disputed that.

“Is that so? I was awake the whole time, but I didn’t hear anything?”

Even Mike’s usual appearance was intimidating; hearing that, Bruno shrank back.

“R-Right. It was probably just the sound of the wood snapping as it burnt.”

“……I can’t say either way. After all, everyone was confused and in chaos.”

Jerry also gave a vague testimony, and Gregson ruffled his hair in frustration.

“We don’t even know if there was a gunshot — it feels like we don’t have a single lead at all.”

“But if the killer had fired a gun in room 303, since he was on the same floor, Bruno probably would’ve heard it — though he himself isn’t clear on that.”

“……I knew that already; you didn’t have to say it.”

“Even though you’re making a face like that was a revelation?”

Sherlock poked a little fun at Gregson, then continued questioning the suspects.

“All of you are bandaged up rather pitifully — are they injuries from the fire earlier?”

“Yeah, I got burned while escaping; It’s not life-threatening, though.”

“It’s the same for me: when I reached the ground floor, it was already covered in flames, and when I tried to escape, I tripped and fell…… It was just my luck that the spot I landed on was aflame, so I ended up getting burned around my neck.”

Two of the suspects had explained how they got their injuries, but only one person remained in silence, his gaze slightly lowered. Of course, the detective probed further.

“Mr Jerry. Is your story the same?”

The man looked up at him. Then, after hesitating a little, he muttered briefly.

“……These are from an accident a long time ago. They have nothing to do with the fire.”

Saying that, he pulled his thick coat closer, obscuring his mouth. That caught Gregson’s attention.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but only you’ve seemed rather reluctant to speak. It feels like you don’t want to have anything to do with this case.”

Sherlock had also gotten the same impression; in contrast to the other two, who had even made their own deductions, it seemed this man was trying to withhold information about himself.

As both the detective and inspector fixed their gazes on him, eventually, Jerry explained himself in a low voice.

“I don’t like people prying into my affairs. But that’s because of my own personal situation; it has nothing to do with this case.”

“Why’s that? Could you be hiding important evidence from us?”

“…………”

Gregson tried to press him further, but Jerry remained silent, his intentions unreadable.

His actions were clearly suspicious, but Sherlock’s intuition told him the man had definitely been telling the truth. Jerry had answered all their questions properly; in addition, he couldn’t sense any hostility to the police emanating from the man.

However, Gregson tended to interpret such behaviour in the wrong way. Sherlock had to steer the conversation down a different path before the inspector made any needless accusations — so he called out to the inn’s proprietress, who had been waiting silently in a corner.

Footnotes:

[1] No relation to Jackie Weaver, the unexpected star of the Handforth parish council: this book was published end-2020, and that incident was in early-2021. (The Guardian)

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The Reward of Suffering

next chapter

Summary: A retelling of the events of season 12 episode 13. 

Gif credit to the wonderful and talented @imagining-in-the-margins​

A/N: After several months of contemplation, I have finally decided to post part one of my first ever fic on Tumblr! This fic will follow the event of Spencer’s prison arc, so needless to say there will be SPOILERS. This first part is super long, but I felt that it needed to be in order to set up the plot. I hope you all enjoy reading! If you would like to be tagged on future updates, let me know!

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader

Warnings: no smut (yet), mentions of past frug use, cursing, typical CM case talk

Word count: 12.1k

           “Reid is in jail.”

           I felt the color immediately drain from my face and an intense feeling of dread began to wash through my body. I sat up in my chair, back ramrod straight. I briefly looked towards the faces of my teammates, Luke and JJ to my left and Penelope to my right. Their faces were all contorted, displaying varying degrees of shock and confusion. It was hard for any of us to process what we were hearing. The idea of Spencer Reid, the same Spencer who wore a mask to the office on Halloween and put on elaborate magic shows for everyone’s children, doing anything that would warrant being put behind bars was preposterous.

           Surely, this is all just a big misunderstanding.

           “Jail?” Penelope squeaked out. My eyes flitted to her, taking note of the way her eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief. She was thinking the same thing I’m sure we all were; that there was no way Spencer Reid had engaged in any illegal activity. Spencer was a well-educated, highly regarded FBI agent, for Christ sake. He knew the laws of the land better than any of us.

           “In Mexico.”

My attention focused solely on Emily. In the few weeks since I had come to know her, I had begun to look at her not only as a sort of fearless leader, but also as a kind of fiercely loyal friend that I was incredibly lucky to have. Emily somehow managed to find the perfect balance between being accommodating and stern. She was the kind of boss you could have a drink and cut up with after a long day, but she also carried herself in a way that demanded the utmost respect in the workplace. Emily Prentiss’s bravery was unmatched, and I admired her for that.

It shook me to my core when her eyes met mine and I saw the pure, unbridled fear in them. If Emily was scared, then this must be leagues worse than we could have ever imagined.

“What the hell is he doing down there?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and shuffling from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. The call came in to Cruz from their lead investigator.”

Luke was the next to chime in. “What’s he being held for?”

“Drug possession,” Rossi said, before taking on, “with intent to distribute.”

For the second time that day, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Images of Spencer sitting across from me in a dimly lit coffee shop, tripping over his words as he confided in me, spilling his deepest and darkest secrets in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice had grown stronger as he neared the end of his story and he had dug deep in his satchel, producing a small golden coin. We both had tears in our eyes as we looked at the writing engraved into the coin; unity, service recovery. Spencer Reid was ten years sober, and the pride on his face was as clear as day.

There was no way he would throw all of that away.

“What type of drugs?”

“Cocaine and heroin,” Rossi said, his voice shaky.

Rossi and Spencer had always had a good relationship. Spencer had admired his work long before he met him, having read and reread every book he had ever published. It had delighted Spencer that he and Rossi had managed to develop rapport so quickly. Rossi was the only one talented enough at the game of chess to even think of giving Spencer a run for his money, though many of us had tried. In one of many hushed conversations shared on the jet, he had once told me that he had begun to think of Rossi as somewhat of a father figure; he didn’t quite fill the role in the same way Gideon had, but Spencer was thankful just the same. One look at Rossi’s troubled expression was enough to tell me that the feelings were definitely mutual.

“Oh my God. This can’t be happening.” JJ was positively crestfallen, clutching a hand against her own chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her other hand came up to her face as she absentmindedly pushed her hair away.

“We need Lewis and Walker here, ASAP,” Emily directed her order and Penelope, who was quick to comply.

Everyone sprang into action, but I found myself unable to move, weighed down by the deeply unsettling circumstance. It felt as if I was no longer in my own body, like I was watching everything unfold from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I am, I thought. Maybe this is all just some horrible nightmare. Any second now, my alarm will go off and this will all be over.

I waited and waited for my alarm to sound, but that never happened. Instead, Emily crouched down in front of me, grasping my arm firmly in her right hand.

“I know how devastated you must be. Trust me, I do,” she sympathized, her deep brown eyes boring into my own. “But Reid’s going to need you now more than ever. You’re his best friend and you know him better than anyone. Did he ever mention to you that he was going to Mexico?”

I shook my head numbly, my motions feeling alien and stilted.

“Never. He told me the same thing he told you; that he was going to Houston for a few days to meet with his mother’s doctor,” I whispered. I feared that if I raised my voice any higher, tears would begin to fall. Maintaining my composure was becoming harder with every passing second, and I wasn’t exactly privy to breaking down in front of my boss. “I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”

Emily sighed, letting go of my arm before straightening up.

“Apparently, none of us did. But I know damn well that this has to be a mistake. We’ll get him out of this.”

           The apprehension in her voice told me that even she wasn’t sure we could pull this one off.

--

           “This has got to be Scratch,” Tara stated, her voice wafting through the speakers of Luke’s laptop. Emily, Rossi, Luke and I were currently in the jet, on our way to the jail where Spencer was being held. All of us were huddled close together around the computer, listening on with eager ears. “He was laying low, and now we know why.”

           “Crossing the border as a fugitive is a huge risk,” Luke pointed out.

           “The reward is even greater. He’s been punishing the team, and now his target is Reid.” Emily’s voice was full of frustration and contempt.

           “Peter Lewis dropped off the map after attacking Tara’s family,” Stephen chimed in. Not even his deep baritone voice could do anything to calm my frazzled nerves. “Maybe he’s been hiding in Mexico this whole time.”

           “We also have to consider that it isn’t related to him,” I murmured. Several pairs of eyes locked on me, shocked. I had been uncharacteristically quiet since this whole ordeal began, limiting my responses to one word replies and hums of acknowledgement. On a normal day, I’d be throwing in my two cents any time I saw fit. Today, I was struggling just to keep breathing.

           “Who else would it be?” Rossi asked.

           “Drug cartels. Could’ve threatened Reid and used him as a mule.” Saying his name was painful, because it reminded me that we weren’t just talking about a victim with whom we had no personal ties; we were talking about our colleague and beloved friend.

           “Agreed,” Rossi nodded. “This could simply be a case of bad luck. Reid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

           “Spencer’s mom is okay.” JJ’s announcement was like music to my ears. I let out an audible sigh of relief. “The home nurse he hired said all is stable.”

           “How long did he tell the nurse he’d be gone?”

           “Three days.”

           “That sounds reasonable. After the Palm Springs case, Reid said he had to get back to Houston to talk to his mom’s doctor,” Emily interjected. I nodded along in agreement. He’d told me the same thing when I talked to him the night before last.

The fatigue in his voice had alerted me to the fact that things hadn’t been going so well with his mother. Her condition had been rapidly deteriorating in the recent months, prompting Spencer to make the tough decision to remove her from the assisted living facility she was at and into his own apartment. His main argument had been that no one could possibly take better care of his mother that him; that he was familiar with her condition and how best to respond when she had an episode. When I had asked him how he was handling it all, he was quick to reassure me that it was not anything he couldn’t handle.

Spencer’s loyalty ran deep; so deep that I knew he would do anything in his power to take care of Diana, but I’d never imagined that it would land him in fucking jail.

“Well, Houston is only a five-hour drive from the border,” Tara mused. “The question is, why did he go down there?”

“And why does he have narcotics?” Rossi was the first to speak on what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

“Yeah, exactly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do that. Those drugs were planted on him,” Penelope insisted.

“Absolutely, but there’s something bigger in play. That’s why he crossed the border and kept it a secret. There’s something he didn’t want to share with any of you.”

I cringed at Stephen’s choice of wording. Spencer and I were as close as two people could be, and there was nothing I withheld from him. He knew everything about me, every dark and embarrassing thought that had ever crossed my mind; yet, he accepted me just the same. I had always assumed that it went both ways, that he was just as honest and forthcoming with me as I was with him. It hurt to know that there were things he kept from me, secrets that he felt he couldn’t trust me with.

But most of all, it absolutely gutted me to think that he was dealing with something so horrible that it landed him in jail, and he that he had to do it all alone.

“Okay, so what would make him risk everything?” Emily pondered aloud.

“His mom.” My answer was instantaneous.

A ping sounded from the other end of the video call, and we all leaning in, our interest piqued.

“Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Penelope announced, clicking away at her computer before continuing. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase.”

“What?” I choked out, my voice coming out several pitches higher than usual. “Spencer hardly ever drives.” I could feel my stomach begin to churn, bile threatening to force its way up my esophagus. This isn’t right, I wanted to scream. Our Spencer would never get himself involved in something that would put himself or others at risk.

“None of this sounds like him,” Penelope whispered, her thoughts mimicking my own. “It says he was wearing jeans and a baseball cap and that he was really confused. According to the arresting officer, he was really high on something.”

Unity, service, respect; ten years sober. All down the fucking drain.

I shot up from my seat, bolting down the walkway and into the bathroom. I immediately fell to my knees, barely managing to push my hair out of the way before retching into the toilet bowl. I continued like this for several minutes, only pausing momentarily when I felt large, soothing hands running up and down my back. Soft murmurings of reassurance alerted me to the fact that it was Luke who was sitting with me. I let out a strained ‘thank you’ before another wave of nausea hit me, rendering me speechless. Luke held my hair back, never once leaving my side.

When I had thrown up the entirety of my breakfast and all I could do was dry heave, I slumped back against the wall, relishing in how cool it felt against my flushed skin. A stretch of silence passed before he decided to break it.

“That was an extreme reaction,” Luke pointed out, still sitting in the floor with his legs crisscrossed. I noticed how closely he was watching me, his eyes focused on reading my expressions. He was profiling me, that much was obvious. It was an unspoken rule between us all that we would never profile one another, but any fight I had left in me had long since dissipated.

“He worked so hard to get clean, Luke. I wasn’t around when it happened, but he told me about it. He was so proud of himself,” I whispered. My throat was now raw and my voice came out more than a little bit hoarse.

Luke’s eyebrows came together, confusion clear on his face.

“Get clean? What are you talking about?”

I let out a shuddery breath. It felt wrong to divulge information on Spencer’s personal life; like I was betraying his trust. Given the circumstance, I supposed he wouldn’t mind, but it still felt treacherous and left a bad taste in my mouth. Sorry, Spence.

“Ten years ago, Reid was kidnapped by an unsub with DID. He kept him in a remote cabin for several days, alternating between beating him senseless and shooting him full of so much hydromorphone that he couldn’t remember his own name. At one point, he even,” I trailed off, hot tears spilling out of my eyes and running down my cheeks. Luke took my hand in his in an act of reassurance, his way of telling me not to rush. Luke hadn’t been with us for long, and our interactions thus far hadn’t gone much farther than conversations about work. Seeing the way he was offering himself up to me as a confidant and shoulder to cry on made me feel guilty for ever having written him off.

Thank God for Luke Alvez.

After a long pause, I managed to continue. “Spencer ended up having a seizure and he died for several minutes. The unsub’s more benevolent personality, Tobias, was able to resuscitate him. Eventually Spencer was able to take him down, but the trauma mixed with the exposure to such a highly addictive drug led to him developing a dependence on it.”

Luke swore and ran a hand through his hair.

“I never would’ve guessed it. The kid carries himself so well.”

A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“He’s amazing, really. He detoxed all by himself and started going to NA meetings. This past October marked ten years. We celebrated by going to one of those really fancy museums he likes and he insisted on taking the guided tour so that he could see how many errors the guide would make,” I let out a light laugh at the memory. “Every time they’d get something wrong, he’d lean down whisper the correct information so that only I could hear it. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy,” I reminisced, allowing myself to forget about the current situation for the tiniest of moments. I wondered if I’d ever get to experience a day like that with Spencer ever again.

“You two are close, I take it?”

I nodded. Luke had fit in with the group so seamlessly that I had forgotten that he had only been with us for a short time. He didn’t really know the dynamics of everything yet.

“He’s my best friend.”

Luke hummed, and I could feel his eyes looking at me inquisitively.

“And that boyfriend of yours, he doesn’t mind?” Okay, maybe Luke was a little bit more perceptive than he let on.

Gavin and I had begun dating at the end of my first year with the BAU. He and I had meet in the most cliché of ways; bumping into each other in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Gavin was more than a little bit handsome, but what had reeled me in had been the way he taken one look at the box of cereal in my cart and immediately scrunched his nose up in disgust.

“Plain Cheerios? Are you some sort of masochist, or something?” he had asked, a playful lilt to his voice. Normally, if a strange man had approached me in public, I would’ve been quick to express my disinterest. If my job had taught me anything, it was that a woman being approached by a strange man was a recipe for trouble. But something about him seemed wholly unthreatening, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, raising an eyebrow at him.

“As if your choice is any better. Lucky Charms? What are you, six?”

“Don’t even go there. Lucky Charms are magically delicious, thank you very much,” he sniffed, feigning superiority. “And if we’re touching on the subject of age, the only person I know that eats plain Cheerios is my eighty-six-year-old grandmother. You look a bit young to be worrying about heart health, and I refuse to believe that you actually enjoy the taste, so what gives?”

“First of all, I find it concerning that you are so familiar with cereal slogans,” I breezed, leaning against my shopping cart. “Second, I am curious; do you make it a habit to harass people about their cereal preferences?”

“Only if they’re cute.”

And that had been that. Several dates later he had asked me to be his girlfriend over a dinner he had attempted to make himself. I said yes and he kissed me, nearly knocking over his plate of burnt chicken parmesan in the process.

“We, uh, have an understanding. He knows that Spencer and I are just good friends.”

Gavin and I did have an understanding, but it wasn’t a very solid one. In fact, I was sure that he damn near despised Spencer’s very existence. He had done a good job at hiding it for a while, but after coming home one night from an impromptu movie night with Spencer, he had revealed to me that he had a jealous streak a mile long. I reassured him that there was absolutely nothing that he needed to worry about, but I could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. Gavin had out flat demanded that I cut all ties with Spencer, and I had laughed in his face.

“I’m not the kind of girl that likes to be told what to do. Either you learn to live with him being a part of my life, or you can find someone else to boss around, because I can tell you right now, that won’t fly with me.”

My threat had proven to be effective, and he had apologized, and that had been the end of that. He still wasn’t fond of the idea that Spencer and I were such close friends, but he hadn’t tried to proposition me with any more ridiculous ultimatums.

“That’s good to hear,” Luke hummed, squeezing my hand before rising to his feet. I could tell that he didn’t necessarily buy into what I was saying, but I was thankful that he didn’t press it any further. “What do you say we go back out there. We’ve got to be getting close by now.”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. I bent down to the faucet, swishing some water in my mouth before spitting it out.

When Luke and I returned to our seats, I was immediately aware of the way Rossi and Emily were eyeing me; like I was a delicate thing that needed to be handled with kid gloves.

I absolutely hated it.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” I said, before turning my attention back to the video call and saying, “so, what did we miss?”

--

The police station was surprisingly small. The hallways were narrow and the light bulbs above me gave off an almost green tint, casting an eerie glow on the place. The sounds of disgruntled detainees calling out drifted through the hallways, sounding akin to the moaning of a ghost. My eyes darted around constantly as we walked, the uneasy feeling in my stomach growing with every step we took towards the heart of the precinct.

“Thank you for calling us.” Emily’s words were directed at the police officer, Chief Castenada, who was leading us down the hall. He was a short man with graying hair and a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy that four federal agents were in his jail.

“A U.S. fed in our custody isn’t something we see every day,” the man said, his tone entirely unfriendly. I grimaced.

“Have you gotten any of his tox screen panels back yet?” I prodded, quickening the pace of my strides until I was walking alongside him. He looked down at me like I was a pesky gnat that he wanted to bat away.

“No.”

Color me unsurprised.

“You’ll need to expedite that. We have cause to believe that Doctor Reid was drugged.”

“He was definitely high and driving like a bat out of Hell. Not to mention he had $20,000 worth of heroin in his possession,” he sneered, ceasing to walk and staring down at me with distaste. “Both of which put my officers at risk. You’re in our jurisdiction. Don’t forget that. The rules are different here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with some smart-assery of my own, but a hand at my elbow stopped me. I turned and saw that it was Luke, who nodded his head to the left of us. I looked in the direction he was referring to, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Just up ahead was a holding cell with several poorly constructed benches in the center of it. On the very first row of seats sat Spencer, who had seemingly retreated in to himself. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped pitifully around himself, much like you’d imagine a child might do to keep warm. Spencer’s clothes were tattered and dirty and a bandage adorned his right hand. His usually beautiful chestnut curls were flying around his head in a mess of tangles and dirt. Despite the fact that Spencer towered over most of us, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly small he looked.

Even as awful as he looked in his current state, a direct contradiction of the way he usually presented himself, I’d never been happier to lay my eyes on someone in my life.

My feet carried me forward before my brain had time to catch up. I closed the distance between me and the cell, pausing and taking a good, long look at him before allowing myself to speak. He hadn’t noticed me standing there yet. His gaze was instead trained on something at the other end of the room, his eyes red rimmed and glassy and his face completely slack.

“Spence?” I called out, the nickname falling from my lips like a prayer. In a way I suppose it was; a prayer that he was alright, that the horrible things Penelope had told us about were nothing but a horrible lie. At first, I was worried that he hadn’t heard me or that he was too out of his mind to even register the sound of my voice. Just when I opened my mouth to speak again, he turned his head in way that I would have described as comically slow if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The spacey look in his eyes told me that my prayers wouldn’t be answered.

Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, but his face remained completely blank, devoid of all expression. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until it hit me like a ton of bricks; he had no clue who I was.

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him how could he forget me, of all people. My anger was irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t help it. While I understood that it was no fault of his own, that the drugs coursing through his veins were to blame, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill out, pushing them down into the depths of my being. I couldn’t let my emotional attachment hinder my judgment. I needed to be as vigilant as ever, no, more vigilant. The fate of my favorite person in the whole world depended on it.

“It’s me, Y/N,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

He watched me for a moment before standing and making his way to where I was leaning against the bars.

“Y/N,” Spencer murmured when he reached me, as if testing my name out to see how it rolled off of his tongue. His stare was still vacant, but having him in front of me after worrying about his wellbeing for the last five hours was more than enough for now. I’d take him however I could have him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we came,” I murmured, my eyes raking over every inch of his body for any signs of distress. Other than the bandage on his hand, he seemed to be in one piece.

Rossi was quick to join me, coming to a stop at my left.

“We’re going to get you out of here, kid,” he reassured, his tone more serious than I’d ever heard it.

           “We need to work out some details with the locals, okay?” Emily said, waiting for a response but getting none.

           “Who was your contact down here?” Luke asked.

           Spencer was quicker to respond this time.

           “Rosa,” he mumbled as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled it up. On his inner arm, the name Rosa Medina was written in what was undoubtably his own handwriting. Spencer was notorious around the office for having the worst handwriting. I like to blame it on the fact that he was a doctor, which always elicited a laugh from him. “I think she’s a doctor.”

           Luke pulled his phone out from his pocket, snapping a picture of the name.

           “Where did you meet her?”

           Spencer shook his head and a frown pulled down at the corner of his lips.

           “I… I don’t remember.”

           “If you saw her, would you remember her?”

           Spencer nodded in affirmation.

           “You’re missing time, aren’t you?” I asked, causing him to look at me once more. His brows furrowed together and he was nodding again, slightly surer of himself this time.

           “It’s peeking out. It’s coming in flashes.”

           “And you’ve been drugged?”

           I didn’t know it was possible for his face to fall any more, but the look of shame that manifested itself when he registered my words was absolutely heartbreaking.

           “Yeah, but I didn’t take it myself,” he insisted, a spark of life burning bright in the depths of his eyes. Somewhere in there, under the haze of narcotics, was the same Spencer that had fought tooth and nail for his sobriety all those years ago. My heart broke for him.

           “Of course, you didn’t, Spence. We know that,” I said, almost reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. “We’re thinking it might be Scratch.”

           Just like before, when I had first spoken to him, absolutely no sign of recognition showed itself on his face.

           “Scratch,” he muttered detachedly, much the same as before.

           Luke’s phone rang then and he excused himself for a moment before stepping away. I looked to Rossi and Emily, who seemed to also be at a loss for words. The silence that filled the room was excruciating, and I once again started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry out in frustration. The whole situation was unfair in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was a big believer in karma; put good in and get good out, or something like that. But now, standing outside of a holding cell that looked more like a dungeon than anything, I was ready to throw away that belief entirely.

Of all the people that I know, Spencer was the least deserving of something like this.

           Just when I began to consider ducking outside for a breath of fresh air, Luke returned.

           “Hey, the team sent this. Is this the doctor you met?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman he had pulled up on his phone. The woman was of Mexican descent, with short, choppy gray hair. She appeared to be middle aged, from what I could guess.

           Spencer stared at the picture before nodding.

           “Her alias is Rosa Medina and her real name is Nadi Ramos. Garcia tracked her to a motel just outside of town. Does that sound familiar?”

           Spencer’s brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

           “No.”

           “Okay, we’ll need to take Castenada and his officers with us,” Emily announced, before turning and heading towards the door.

           “Do you want company here?” Rossi asked.

           Spencer seemed to take a moment to process before answering with an almost imperceptible nod. He turned his head and focused his gaze on me.

           “Can… Can you stay?”

           Rossi turned to face me too, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you okay with this?’ I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle this; the this that I am referring to being a nearly catatonic Spencer Reid. I was used to the Spencer who regaled me with interesting tidbits of information whenever there was a lull in conversation. The Spencer that stood before me now was a shell of his former self, and that terrified me.

           “I’ll be fine here. Let me know if you guys find anything,” I told Rossi. He nodded once to me before enveloping me in a tight hug.

           “Resta forte mia piccolo colomba,” Rossi murmured in my ear. I hadn’t a clue what the phrase meant, but the words draped over me like a warm blanket. Suddenly the weight of the current situation didn’t seem so heavy, and I felt immensely thankful that a man like David Rossi was in my life.

           Rossi pressed his lips to the top of my head before releasing me. He gave one last, despairing look to Spencer before hurrying off after Luke and Emily. It could’ve been the light playing tricks on me, or maybe the exhaustion, but when Rossi turned away from us, I swear I saw tears welling in his eyes.

           And then there were two.

           I took glance at my watch for the first time all day, cringing when I saw the time to be 8:17PM. Quantico was an hour ahead, meaning Gavin was probably losing his shit wondering where I was. I sighed, fishing my phone out of my back pocket and turning it on.

           “Spence, I’m going to make a phone call really quick,” I murmured. He offered no reply, just as I had come to expect. He was watching me, standing stock still in the same place he had been the entire time. I moved to stand in the doorway, hopefully far enough away that he couldn’t hear me anymore.

           As soon as my phone booted up, a plethora of notifications came through. Seventeen missed calls and twenty-four unread text messages, to be exact. I decided to forgo reading the messages, instead pressing the return call button and tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. Gavin didn’t keep me waiting long, picking up on the very first ring.

           “About time you answer your goddamn phone,” he hissed out. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? I even called your office phone and no one would answer that, either. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

           “I’m… In Mexico.”

           A long pause followed and I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught to begin.

           “You left the country without even bothering to tell me?” Gavin asked, his voice raising in volume. I could picture him now; probably sitting on our sofa, fists balled together and jaw clenched. “Would you like to enlighten me as to why you’re in Mexico?”

           I closed my eyes, frustration bubbling deep inside me. Today was arguably the shittiest day of my entire life, and I certainly didn’t need Gavin harping on about how I hadn’t been in touch. Honestly, informing him of my whereabouts had been the furthest thing from my mind.

           “It’s Spencer,” I began, trying to think of the proper way to word it all. “He got into some… trouble. We think he’s being framed by Scratch.”

           “Isn’t that the guy that just went after Tara’s family?”

           “Yeah, it is. He’s been laying low for the past few months, and I guess he was just building up to all of this. It’s really bad, Gav,” I whispered the last bit, hoping that Spencer couldn’t hear me. If he did, he made no move that indicated it. “He’s high out of his mind and can’t remember anything.”

           “How long will you guys be there?” Gavin asked, completely ignoring the fact that I mentioned Spencer at all. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I understand that he doesn’t like the guy, but he could show some common decency and at least pretend.

           “I’m not entirely sure. Rossi, Emily, and Luke just headed out to go check on a lead. I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

           “Wait, so, where are you?”

           “I’m at the jail with Spencer, why?” I inquired, running my hand through my hair and absentmindedly combing out the knots that had formed. I was sure that I looked a right mess, but I couldn’t be too bothered to care.

           “Let me get this straight. They left you alone with a guy who is wasted on God knows what, not knowing how he’ll react to it?” A bitter laugh flowed through the phone speaker. “Sounds like you don’t exactly work with the smartest bunch. What if he tries to attack you or something?”

           I let his words hang in the air for a moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn’t something like you’re being an absolute fucking dick bag right now. No, I was a grown woman and I was going to communicate like one, despite the fact that his ignorant reply was making me shake with rage.

           “The first thing I’m going to address is the fact that this is not some guy. We’re talking about my best friend and teammate, and his name is Spencer. Use it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The second thing is that he’s not some wild animal. He’s not going to try to come through the bars and pounce on me. What he’s going through right now is traumatic, and he doesn’t need to be left alone right now. Show some compassion.”

           “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Gavin muttered. It was the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard in my life, prompting me to roll my eyes. I don’t understand how I can love someone and want to throttle them simultaneously. “I’m just worried about you, is all. How are you holding up?”

           “I’m as good as can be expected,” I sighed, bringing my free hand up to rub at my eyes. “I’m just tired of watching this guy terrorize all of my friends. First, he takes Hotch from us, then he nearly kills Tara’s brother, and now this. I’m beginning to think we’ll never catch a break.”

           “I know you’re tired, baby. Just try to hang on a little bit longer. As much as I question some of their decisions, your team is good at what they do. You guys will catch him. I have faith in you.”

           There it is. That’s the Gavin that I fell in love with.

           “Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day and I needed to hear that.” I cast a glance back at Spencer, who was now staring down at his bandaged hand, an indiscernible expression on his face. He looked so lost, standing all alone in the grimy holding cell. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his already angular face look gaunt. The Spencer I knew was the human embodiment of light; filling up every room he was in with his delightfully idiosyncratic presence. The Spencer in the cell was so shrouded in darkness that the room seemed to be swallowing him whole, taking his brilliance and crushing it into smithereens.

“Gav, I think I need to get back in there.”

           “Yeah, alright. Just keep me in the loop this time, please. I don’t like not knowing where my girlfriend is.”

           “I’ll make sure to check in whenever I can,” I promised, before tacking on a, “love you.”

           “Love you, too.”

           I pocketed my phone with hands that shook, no longer from rage but from apprehension. I liked to think that I was good at my job. I had done well at the academy; not well enough to have graduated at the top of my class, but I did manage to be in the top ten. After lucking into the job of a lifetime, I had fully committed myself to learning to be the best profiler I could possibly be. Two years of piecing together the innerworkings of criminal minds had taught me more than I ever could have imagined about the human psyche. I had talked many a deranged psychopath down from the ledge, and I had saved more than a few lives along the way. Unfortunately, not all cases can end favorably. Those are the ones that taught me the most.

           For all that I learned, nothing could’ve prepared me to deal with the shell of a man that stood before me.

           I was standing in front of him now, fiddling nervously with my hands. When Spencer had originally told me about his battle with addiction, I had taken it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wanted to be able to identify the signs, God forbid he ever relapse. While conducting my research, I had read somewhere that the best way to support someone during a come down is by remaining positive and creating a calm, safe environment.

           I was currently the antithesis of calm, but for Spencer’s sake, I was going to do my best.

           I took a step forward and offered him a small smile.

           “I’ve never seen you in jeans and boots before,” I said. I was proud of myself when the words came out sounding relatively casual. “It’s a good look on you, but I have to admit I prefer the academic look. I suppose it’s the sapiosexual in me.”

           He gave no response, but the tinniest tug at the corner of his mouth told me that he found my comment amusing.

           I let my eyes drag over him again and I fixated on the bandage on his right hand, frowning.

           “Do you remember what happened to your hand?”

           Spencer raised his hand up, absentmindedly flipping it over and inspecting it.

           “I don’t know,” he murmured. Spencer’s usually high pitched voice came out gravely, no doubt a byproduct of dehydration related to the drugs. My eyes skimmed across the holding cell and I frowned when I saw no water fountain in sight.

           “M’ gonna go get you some water, okay?” I turned away and pivoted on my heel, taking one step before a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I spun around so fast I nearly caught whiplash.

           Spencer’s eyes were wide and full of panic, conveying more emotion than he’d had since we’d arrived. His eyebrows were drawn together as well, contorting his face into a pitiful expression.

           “Don’t go,” he rasped, his hand still firmly grasping my arm. “Please.”

           The hopelessness in his voice was like a dagger through my heart. I nodded fervently and placed my hand over his, prompting him to loosen his grip. He did, and I took his hand in both of mine. I rubbed my thumbs over his skin, haphazardly tracing patterns in an attempt to calm him.

           “Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I soothed, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a chaste kiss to the skin. “I’ve got you, Spence. It’s all going to be okay.”

           The look of panic slowly washed away the longer we stood there. He held onto my hands like I was a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to the ground. While I longed for nothing more than to really embrace him, to pull all of him into my arms and hold on for dear life, the bars that separated us inhibited me from doing so. So instead I just relished in the feel of his hand intertwined with my own.

           It would have to be enough for now.

--

           Nadi Ramos was dead.

           I didn’t have to ask Emily to know that the situation had gone from bad to absolutely fucking terrible. We knew Scratch was a horrendous individual; that much had been proved by his preferred modus operandi. We also knew that he had become fixated on taking down each of us one by one. He’d tried twice with Hotch, even going as far as to target his son, resulting in the two of them joining WITSEC for their own safety. The next blow had come when he had set his sights on Tara, or, more specifically, her brother. We’d gotten lucky with that one, having located and freed her brother just in the nick of time. After the incident with Tara’s brother, we all expected the next attack to come in quick succession. When several months passed with no sign of Scratch, we all became terribly on edge. No one was saying it, but we all were waiting to see which one of us would be next, crossing our fingers and hoping it wouldn’t be us.

           I knew that none of us were exempt from Scratch’s wrath, but for some reason, I’d never imagined him targeting Spencer.

           And target him he fucking did.

           “We know you didn’t do this,” Emily spoke for the group, knowing good and well that we were all on the same page.

           “How did it happen?” Spencer’s back was to us. His shoulders were slumped and his face downturned.

           “She was stabbed multiple times. It looked personal,” Luke answered, his voice low and careful. It was obvious to us all that he was being extra careful with his wording, making sure to broach the subject carefully. We all knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Spencer was innocent; but that didn’t mean that Spencer did.

           Chief Castenada trudged into the holding cell, the portrait of all things cranky and unpleasant. His presence acted as a proverbial storm cloud on an already shitty day.

           “We got the results of your blood work. There’s cocaine and heroin in your system.”

           “What else?” Emily asked, causing Castenada to give her a confused look.

           “He was in possession of cocaine and heroin when he was arrested. I found what I needed.”

           I felt myself bristle and before I knew it, my mouth was open and I was spouting out pure venom.

           “Thanks so much for doing the bare minimum, but we’re going to need a full tox screen panel. We’re looking for scopolamine.”

           Emily’s eyes cut over to me and if I hadn’t been fighting on Spencer’s behalf, I would’ve withered under the weight of the shut the fuck up look she gave me. Instead, I continued on, silently praying I’d still have a job after today.

           “It’ll take longer, but we need it,” I explained in what I hoped was a slightly more accommodating tone. Castenada gave a curt nod in reply before exiting the room, grumbling something in Spanish that had Luke and Emily shooting daggers at his retreating figure.

           “Do I want to know?”

           Luke shook his head, shooting a small smile in my direction.

           “Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan, and we’ll leave it at that,” he offered, before straightening out his expression and turning back to Spencer. “You were given a speed ball. The opiates block the dopamine in your brain. That’s why things go from clear to hazy. The combination of the drugs causes a dissociative state and explains the memory loss. Are you coming down now?”

           “I think so,” Spencer said. His cadence wasn’t as slow as it had been earlier, which was a relief.

           “Do you think you could do a cognitive interview?” Emily’s voice was hopeful, and if Spencer was one thing, it was a people pleaser. It was obvious that he was overwhelmed; I had taken note of the fact that he was displaying one of his nervous ticks. Spencer was touching the pad of his thumb on the tips of his other fingers in rapid succession. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded his head in agreeance.

           “I’ll try.”

           Rossi took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to hold up the plastic bag in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at it inquisitively. There were five vials of a murky, dark brown liquid in the bag.

           “There were five of these in your bag at the motel. Do you recognize them?”

           Spencer’s eyes zeroed in on the bag and its contents, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t long until a look of partial recognition flashed across his face. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been in a room of profilers, it would’ve gone unnoticed.

           “What is it?” I asked from my place at his side. He’d been somewhat clingy since the incident that had transpired while everyone was at the motel, gravitating towards me as soon as we all had been granted entrance to the holding cell. I knew that he needed familiarity right now; he was in a very vulnerable state and he needed something that made him feel safe and secure.

           Butterflies erupted in my stomach when I had realized what he was doing, that I was that thing that made him feel safe and secure.

Spencer opened his mouth once before closing it, as if trying to put his thoughts into words was difficult. He did this a few more times before settling on,

“Whatever’s in those vials, I was giving it to my mom,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he spoke. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

           “I’ll have them run it through the lab,” Rossi said, before leaving and heading towards the direction in which Castenada had retreated.

           Emily and Luke were quick to hop into a rushed conversation, leaving only Spencer and I still in the cell. I looked up at him, at the way his forehead creased as he bit his lip in quiet contemplation.

           “Are you sure you’re ready for a cognitive? I know the effects may be wearing off, but you’re gonna be cloudy for a while. If you don’t want to do it now, all you have to do is say the word,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only he could hear it. “I can tell that you’re a bit overwhelmed, and that’s okay.”

           Spencer’s response came in the form of a shrug of his shoulders.

           “I want to try, because I know it’s important. I just don’t know that it will be of much help,” he replied, casting his eyes down to me.

           “Yes, it is important, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll figure this out even if you can’t remember it all right now.”

           Spencer nodded once before running his tongue across his chapped bottom lip.

           “I don’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill her,” he whispered, barely audible. Even though his words were quiet, I could hear the desperation in them; almost as if he was begging me to believe them, begging himself to believe them.

           I made the irrational decision then to throw professionalism aside and wrap both of my arms around his torso, my grip tight and assured. Spencer’s aversion to touch was common knowledge amongst us all, but for some reason that never seemed to apply to me, and I could see in his eyes that the way we were all treating him like he was fragile was wounding him more than he would ever admit. I hoped to remedy that with my embrace, and the speed in which he reciprocated was so fast that I was certain he was thankful. He wrapped his injured hand around my waist, the other finding purchase in my hair. I felt his chest move as he let out a shuddering breath.

           “I know you didn’t, Spence. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t,” I reassured him, my words muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. “And we’re not going to stop until everyone else knows it, too.”

           I was well aware that our embrace had garnered the attention of our teammates, but Spencer’s hold on me hadn’t faltered in the slightest, so I didn’t let mine either. Instead, I gripped the fabric of his flannel shirt tighter in my hands.

--

           When Emily exited the room in which they had conducted the cognitive interview, the look on her face was grim. I visibly cringed at the sight as I felt the sliver of hope that I had left die a miserable death.

           We are so beyond fucked.

           “How’s he doing?” Rossi asked, obviously taking note of the distress on Emily’s face.

           “He’s made some breakthroughs, but I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be,” she sighed, running a hand through her jet-black hair. When none of us spoke, Emily’s eyes flitted around, finally noticing that our expressions were a direct reflection of her own. “What is it?”

           “They just charged Reid with the murder of Nadi Ramos.”

           Hearing it said aloud wasn’t any easier the second time.

--

           While the rest of us had taken it upon ourselves to lean against the cement walls, Luke had begun pacing down the short hallway. After about ten minutes of unbearable silence, he decided he’d had enough.

           “We can’t get him out of here, can we?” he finally spoke, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.

           “I don’t know how.”

           “He didn’t kill her,” I reiterated, speaking more to myself than the three of them.

           “If all I had to go on was the evidence, I would swear he did,” Rossi sighed. I knew he was right; Spencer’s personal belongings were all over the hotel room, which was about as incriminating as you could get. “But knowing Reid, hearing the cognitive…”

           “Yes, he said there was another person in that motel room, but,” Emily pressed play on the audio recording, and her voice proceeded to flow through the speakers.

           “Who has the knife? Who is stabbing Rosa?”

           “I don’t know. It’s in my hand.”

           Emily pressed the power button and the screen went black.

           “Right now, this is just more evidence against him.”

           “So, what do we do now? Do we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until the consulate agrees to the extradition?” I asked. “There’s got to be more we can do. We can’t let them take him to jail, he won’t survive in there.”

           “I called in some help from IRT. Clara Seger and Matt Simmons will be arriving at any moment,” Emily said, checking her phone after hearing it ping. “In fact, that would be them. They’re here.”

           I breathed a sigh of relief as we all fell into step beside Emily. Having people from other areas of expertise that are willing to help is a good thing. Maybe they’ll be able to see something that we didn’t.

--

           “We come bearing good news,” I announced, leading the group as we all entered the holding cell. Spencer was quick to turn around and the corners of his lips pulled upwards as he set his sights on all of us. “Back up is here.”

           “Hey Spencer,” Matt greeted, offering up a small smile before crossing his arms across his chest.

           “Hey,” Spencer replied, moving to stand up from his spot on the bench. He was still a little wobbly on his feet, but he was doing much better than he was when we had arrived. “Thank you for coming.”

           “Yeah, of course. Jack and me are finishing up a case in Costa Rica, so we hopped on a commercial plane to get here,” Clara explained.

           “We’re trying to stop you transfer to El Diablo.”

           Spencer’s eyes darted over to me and he swallowed hard before speaking.

           “Do you think it’s possible?” Hearing the hope in his voice tugged at my heart strings. The way that he could manage to stay optimistic at time like this was a true testament to his character.

           “Yes,” Clara began. “Lab reports on the vials came back and some of what was in there hasn’t been approved by the FDA, but there aren’t any illegal substances.”

           “That’s great news,” I sighed, letting out the breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

           “Is there anything else you remember about your time here?”

           “I remember what happened to the vials at home. My mom threw most of them out.”

           “So, that’s why you were here. To get more,” Clara said in an attempt to clarify.

           “It must be,” Spencer murmured, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other.

           “Well, you’re off the hook for that. There’s no contraband involved,” Matt announced. Okay, this is good. One less thing to worry about.

           “Yeah, but we’re still looking at the planted drug and the murder charges, which could keep you here for a long time.”

           “Can we do anything to delay the transfer?” I wondered aloud. Clara took into account what I said and sighed, before turning towards Spencer once again.

           “You said that you met Nadi, who calls herself Rosa, in Houston. Why didn’t she just give you the vials in the U.S.?”

           “I don’t know,” Spencer said, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but she helped us and I trusted her. I was right to. I still believe that.”

           “Well, she convinced you to cross the border multiple times. She had you risk your life,” Matt argued.

           “Because she must have something to lose, too,” I mumbled, eliciting a series of fervent nods from Clara. “Family, maybe?”

           “We need to know more about her,” Clara said.

           And then, something glorious happened. It was like a switch had flipped inside of Spencer’s head, and all of the sudden the lights were back on. I could tell that he had been struck with an idea, and it was a wonderous sight to behold.

           “What was in those vials?” Spencer asked, only solidifying my observation.

           Matt produced a paper with the lab results and began reading off the results.

           “There are so nootropic compounds like Ampalex, uh, but also some more natural stuff; coral calcium, jimson weed, coconut oil, a variety of vitamins. B12, D3-”

           “Where are we right now?” Spencer interjected.

           “Matamoros, Northern Mexico.”

           “Jimson weed, otherwise known as the Devil’s Snare, originated in Mexico but its natural growing region is further north or south of the border,” Spencer said, his words flowing out rapidly. I felt my heart soar and I didn’t even try to suppress the smile that fought its way to my face.

           “Boy Genius is back,” I announced, and for just a moment, the mood in the room lightened for the first time all day.

           “So, if it isn’t from here, then were did she get it?” Clara asked.

           “Let me get Garcia on,” Emily murmured, dialing the number and tapping her foot as it rang. On the third ring, Penelope’s bright and cheerful voice filled the room, a sunbeam shining through on a cloudy day.

           “Please tell me you’re calling to tell me some good news.”

           “Garcia, I have some questions for you.”

           “Hey, Penelope,” Matt greeted, earning a pleasantly surprised gasp from the woman on the other end.

           “Oh my God, it’s the dulcet tones of Matt Simmons,” Penelope gushed. “Are you there to save the day?”

           “I’m trying. Clara’s here, too.” A relieved sigh floated through the speakers.

           “Knowing we have you guys as backup is providing me some much-needed hope, and I work better this way.”

           “Hey, lady,” Clara greeted. “We’re trying to catch up on a few things. Where is Nadi Ramos from?” Before Clara even managed to finish her sentence, the sound of Garcia’s acrylic nails tapping away at her keyboard could be heard.

           “Mm she lives with her family just north of Matamoros.”

           “That must be where she got the jimson weed,” Emily pointed out.

           “What’s weird in she crosses the border, like, a lot.”

           “Why?”

           “Well, she works in Houston at that clinic, but she also helps at a low-income healthcare center. I can’t find a visa on her, which is double weird. And, in finishing the weird trifecta, there’s a social security number on her W2 form.”

           “Social security? She’s an American citizen?” I asked. Matt confirmed my suspicions with a nod of his head.

           “Yeah, she had dual citizenship. She was born in Houston, and her family had to move back to Mexico. She lives with them and she works in the U.S.”

           “This changes everything. We need to talk to the consulate,” Emily stated.

           Just as things were beginning to look up, Chief Castenada decided to grace us with his presence once more; and this time, he had an entourage.

           “It’s time for his transfer,” Castenada announced, looking pointedly in my direction.

           “We’ve had a break in the case,” Emily argued, shaking her head at him. “The victim was also American, and that calls for extradition.”

           Castenada merely shrugged before walking past us all.

           “I’ve got orders, sorry,” he muttered, making Gavin’s apology from earlier in the day sound heartfelt in comparison. Castenada wasted no time in beginning to place handcuffs on Spencer, locking them in place with a definitive click. Spencer and I shared a look of panic before both of us looked towards Emily in a silent plea.

           One of the men roughly grabbed Spencer by the arm and led him from the room. I watched in horror as they led him away, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I barely registered the fact that Emily was now on the phone. I just stood there, staring blankly at the entrance to the cell.

           “With the victim having dual citizenship, we now have concurrent jurisdiction. It was my understanding that the official order to extradite SSA Spencer Reid would be evaluated,” Emily damn near snarled into the phone. She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line, before a look of relief washed over her face. “I understand, thank you.” She promptly hung up the phone before turning to face Luke. “They’re taking it to their brass. Go get him.”

           Luke took off in a rush, not needing to be told twice.

           I only wished I could be there to see the look on Castenada’s face.

--

           “We’re working on all channels here. Matt Cruz is on with the consulate right now. We could get an immediate extradition, but it’s just the beginning,” Emily explained, her voice stern.

           Spencer regarded her with a weary expression. The drug induced haze had finally lifted, leaving him painfully aware of how dire the situation was.

           “I really screwed up and I’m so sorry,” he choked out, resulting in a crack forming in Emily’s hard exterior. I couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t easy to stay mad at Spencer Reid. Spencer’s eyes were like kryptonite to most; big and brown and full of emotion. I’m sure if you searched ‘puppy dog eyes’ in the dictionary, a picture of Spencer Reid would be found in example.

           “It was for the right reason.”

           “I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill anyone.” It was obvious in the way that he kept repeating the words that he was desperate for us to believe him. No amount of calm reassurance from us could quell the voice in his head that was surely telling him that we thought him guilty.

           “We do, too.”

           Clara was first to enter the cell, immediately followed by Matt.

           “Hey, they approved the extradition,” Clara announced, smiling brightly at the three of us.

           “Effective immediately,” Matt added on.

           We all exchanged relieved smiles before Matt and Clara led Spencer from the cell. Emily and I were quick to follow, right on Matt’s heels when we were stopped by Castenada.

           “I must point out that I feel like justice isn’t exactly being served with this move.”

           I pursed my lips together. In the short time we had been in Mexico, my feelings towards the man had grown from distaste to almost a full-blown hatred. That being said, I couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. If Spencer hadn’t been a federal agent, he wouldn’t be granted the privilege of the extradition. Nor would he be allowed to fly home with us. I hated to admit it, but Castenada made a valid point.

           “I understand, but I can assure you that this has gone to the highest ranks and there will be a full investigation,” Emily reassured him.

           “Thank you for working with us,” I offered in an attempt to smooth over the rift I had created earlier. Now that my judgement wasn’t so clouded by my need to defend Spencer, I could see the error of my ways. I hadn’t been the most professional.

           Castenada nodded once in my direction before turning his attention back to Emily.

           “For our reports, I would like to have the recording of that cognitive interview.”

           I felt my blood run cold. That interview would just add to the list of things that could be used against Spencer in court. He had openly admitted to holding the murder weapon in his own hands, an admission that would surely earn him twenty to life.

           We cannot give him that recording.

           Emily seemed to be on the same page as I was.

           “I didn’t record it.”

           Castenada’s face contorted into an ugly frown.

           “But that was our agreement,” he squawked angrily.

           “I determined he was still under the influence. Anything he said wouldn’t have clarified matters.”

           Castenada’s gaze never faltered, eyeing Emily in an attempt to discern if she was giving him the run around. Luckily, Castenada was unable to find a hint of dishonesty on Emily’s face, and he nodded in resignation.

           Years of profiling will teach you how to control your micro expressions.

           “You’re committed agents. And I’ve worked with the IRT before. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

           “We do. I promise,” I stated, my voice giving off more confidence than I felt. Yes, I thought to myself, there’s no doubt that we’re good at what we do.

           But so is Scratch.

--

           All was quiet on the jet, the steady thrum of the engine being the only sound that could be heard. Rossi had been the only one able to fall asleep, something that I would be sure to tease him about later. Next to Rossi sat Emily, who had busied herself with flipping through Spencer’s arresting report. Clara and Matt sat across from them, engulfed in their own hushed conversation.

           Spencer had opted to sit on the couch, but he didn’t allow himself to sprawl out like he normally would have done. He was visibly exhausted, wiping at his eyes frequently in an attempt to keep the fatigue at bay. It was almost like he was punishing himself; like he didn’t feel he deserved the solace that sleep would bring.

           “You should go talk to him. See if you can’t get him to lay down,” Luke whispered encouragingly from his seat beside mine.

           “I have no idea what to say to him,” I confessed. I tore my gaze away from Spencer and turned my attention to Luke. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any better.”

           “You’re not wrong about that, but maybe just letting him know you’re here for him will help. Just go and sit with him, I’m sure he could use a friend right now.”

           Luke was right. I let out a dramatic sigh before shooting Luke a pointed look.

           “Since when did you get so insightful?”

           A grin stretched its way across his face.

           “Always have been, sweetness. It’s part of my charm. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

           “And on that note, I’ll be going,” I announced, standing up from my seat and walking the short distance to the couch. Luke’s chuckles sounded off behind me and I couldn’t help but smile; note to self, make more of an effort to get to know Luke Alvez.

I approached slowly, hoping not to startle him as he seemed to be lost in his own world. He didn’t notice me until I came to a stop in front of the couch. Spencer’s head shot up suddenly, the worry on his face melting away to form a small smile.

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile tenfold. “You looked like you could use some company. Do you mind if I sit?”

Spencer gave me a soft smile and scooted over, patting at the space next to him. I lowered myself onto the couch, angling my body so it was facing him.

“You’re tired,” I observed, leaning back into the soft cushions. Spencer shrugged in reply, opening his mouth to argue, only for a yawn to slip out. I let out a light laugh. “Don’t even try to argue. There’s no telling how long you’ve been up. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly met mine and I felt almost paralyzed when I saw the sheer vulnerability in them.

“Researchers from the University of Cardiff conducted a two-part study looking at whether people’s daily frustration or fulfilment of their psychological needs, such as feeling autonomous or competent, affects their dreams. The results from the first study showed that people who were frustrated with their daily situation tended to have recurring dreams in which they were falling, failing or being attacked,” he rasped out, his words jumbling together as they fell from his mouth in rapid succession. “The lead author on the study concluded that negative dream emotions may directly result from distressing dream events, and might represent the psyche’s attempt to process and make sense of particularly psychologically challenging waking experiences.”

“And you’re worried your dreams will reflect what happened today.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek before nodding in affirmation.

“I can’t promise you that you won’t dream about those things,” I began, my voice coming out soft. “But I can tell you that sleep deprivation can cause lots of very unfortunate symptoms like impaired memory, reduced physical strength, and inability to concentrate. Do you know how I know those things?”

A light flush dusted over the tops of his cheeks.

“Probably because I’ve made it a habit to bore you with my information dumps.”

I shook my head adamantly, reaching a hand up and ruffling up his hair. He batted my hand away, ducking his head to try and hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Never a bore, Spence. But yes, I know those things because of you and that remarkable brain of yours. And we’re going to need that remarkable brain in tip top shape if we want to get you out of this mess, understood?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he relented.

I patted a hand on my lap, an invitation for him to use me as a pillow. He seemed hesitant, eyes flitting from my face before going back down to my lap.

“Don’t act shy around me, Pretty Boy. I know better than anyone that you’re a secret cuddle bug,” I teased, earning a snort from the man next to me.

“Am not,” he harrumphed, before deciding to take me up on my offer. He laid his head down on my lap before stretching his legs out across the expanse of the couch. My heart lurched pitifully when he nuzzled his head into my leg before letting out a loud sigh.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, casting tiny shadows on his face. I smiled at the sight and began carding my hands through his hair.

“No need to thank me,” I murmured, raking my nails against his scalp and eliciting a pleased hum from him. “Don’t you worry about a thing, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. I know we will. And don’t worry about your mom, either; I’m going to check on your mom every day, I promise.”

Spencer’s breathing stuttered at the mention of Diana, and I worried I had crossed a line. He stayed silent for a moment, before moving his hand up and squeezing my knee.

“You’re entirely too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. That’s what friends are for.”

No more words were exchanged, and within five minutes Spencer’s breathing evened out and he was asleep.

--

Several hours later, we were all filing out of the elevator and into the bullpen. I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my bare arms, but I tried not to show my discomfort. I’d shrugged off my sweater and offered it to Spencer the moment we stepped off the jet, draping it across his cuffed hands in an attempt to conceal them. Spencer had thanked me with a pitiful smile and I returned the sentiment, blinking several times to try and stifle the tears pooling in my eyes.

JJ was the first to greet him, with Stephen, Tara and Penelope following closely behind. I watched on for a moment before my attention was pulled elsewhere. Stephen’s phone had rung, prompting him to slip away from the group and retreat further down the hall. I furrowed my brow at this, taking advantage of my colleagues’ distraction as I wandered towards Stephen. I strained to hear his whispered words, but just as soon as I neared, he ended the call.

“What was that about?” I asked quietly. The look on his face told me that the news couldn’t be good, and I didn’t want to ruin the reunion going on just down the hall. They all deserved a few moments of relief.

Stephen let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“I, uh, just got a call. Reid isn’t eligible for the bureau’s legal assistance.”

Stephen’s words sent a jolt of white-hot dread through me. “How is that even possible?”            “Spencer went without being briefed, and he wasn’t in Mexico on government business. They refuse to represent him.”

I let my wary eyes drift down the hall, towards the group of wonderful misfits that I had grown to think of as family;

Penelope, whose optimism never wavered, even in the face of the absolute worst that the world had to offer.

JJ, a devoted mother with a heart of gold and a fierceness that inspired me every single day.

Tara, one of the most intelligent and caring women I had ever had the privilege to know.

Rossi, a father figure to all with enough wisdom to create a legacy that would inspire generations of profilers to be.

Emily, a fearless leader whom I trusted with my life and would follow into battle without question.

Luke, a newcomer who took special care to comfort me when I was at my worst.

Spencer, a man too remarkable to even try to describe with words. A man that anyone of us would defend until our very last breath.

That undeniable truth gave birth to the tiny sliver of hope growing inside of me. Spencer Reid was innocent, and we are all hellbent on proving it.

I nodded once in affirmation, more to myself than to Stephen, before allowing myself to meet his gaze.

“We’re on our own.”

And if anyone could pull this off, it was this team. My team.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

           -Storm Constantine

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 118

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,010ish

Summary: Y/N goes on the run.

Y/N appeared in the Zephyr. Immediately on the look out for Coulson. She turned the corner, running into another agent.

“I’m so sorry,” the agents apologized, stepping back. “Are you— you’re Agent Rogers. You’re awake.”

“Um… yeah. Have you seen Coulson?”

“Him and Mack are on the ground, doing some work.”

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Why would you—“

“Come in, Zephyr One. Come in,” Director Mace called over the comms in the front control panel.

The agent rushed over. “This is Zephyr One.”

“Agent Y/N Rogers is missing. If you find her, take her into immediate custody.” The agent looked Y/N’s way.

“Please,” she whispered, “don’t… I don’t want to force you to not. Just… don’t.”

“We haven’t seen her, sir,” the agent replied to the Director. “We’ll let you know if there’s a sighting.” The agent hung up and walked towards Y/N. “I know that you don’t deserve to be in custody.”

“Thank you, Agent…”

“Johnson.” He held out his hand. “Agent Johnson.”

“Thank you Agent Johnson. Tell Coulson that I tried to say goodbye, will ya? And that I’ll reach out if I need anything.”

“Of course. Stay safe, Agent Rogers.”

Y/N nodded before stepping through a portal. Looking around, she took in her surroundings. It was a cold December evening in London, where she had placed herself. It was time for her to work on gathering her strength for the inevitable fight and for her to figure out how to tap into the Soul Stone. Y/N also knew she needed to stay on the run, the government was going to be non-stop after her, world wide. She couldn’t afford to stay in one place too long.

Y/N found a small shop where she bought a backpack and some essentials she would need for the run. She bought a train ticket to Amsterdam and immediately headed there. In her private room on the train, the news was on. She was ignoring it, simply taking in everything going past the window, until something caught her attention.

“It has been almost two months since Tony Stark announced that he was selling Avengers Tower in New York,” the news reporter stated. “So far, he’s had many bids, but has not officially closed on anything. Rumors have it is that he’s hiding rouge Avengers, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Wanda Maximoff in the Tower. Officials have denied it, but who can blame us for asking?”

“In other news about Tony Stark, his former girlfriend has officially been announced as a wanted fugitive of the United States government. Nothing has been heard about Avenger Y/N Rogers since the Sokovia Accords were put in place, until now. That has people wondering if Stark had been hiding her until she couldn’t take being cooped up anymore and decided to join her brother and former lover, Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier, on the run.”

“Again, most of this has not been confirmed. But one can only assume that—“

Y/N turned off the tv, unable to hear anymore. No one truly understood what had happened, nor did they really try to. With a sigh, she laid down and fell asleep.

She lived like this for the past two and a half months, constantly on the move, barely making time to even sight see. She had made her way across a majority of the Europe and Asia continents. It was lonely, but she knew it needed to be done. As much as she tried, Y/N was never able to connect with the Soul Stone. That didn’t mean she stopped trying though.

Currently, she had found her way to South Africa. She had been there longer than she had been anywhere else. Y/N was enjoying it there. She was walking the streets of a market, enjoying the smells and the food when she could sense someone following her. Turning around, trying to make it normal, she couldn’t see anyone obviously following her. Pursing her lips she turned around and headed for an alley way outside of the market. Y/N wasn’t afraid to take on whoever was following her. She was honestly a little curious as to who had tracked her down.

Turning into the alley way, she was thankful that it was empty. She didn’t need any civilians in the way. Facing away from the entry, she heard someone jump down from the building onto the ground. Using her powers, she jumped into the person’s mind, forcing them to freeze. Y/N turned around to see a person in a black suit, more specifically, a blank panther suit.

“T’Challa?” Y/N questioned. They had never really formally met, but she knew who the new King was.

“Y/N,” he greeted through the mask. “Mind letting me go?”

“Not until you tell me why you’re here? Why are you following me?”

“I made a promise.”

“To the Accords you signed?”

“To your brother.”

Y/N let her hold go. She took a step forward as T’Challa let his mask down.

“Steve. Do you know where he is?”

“I do not. But I promised that I would look for you and keep you safe. You haven’t been all that sneaky since you arrived in Africa.”

“I knew I was over staying my welcome. Thank you, T’Challa, for looking out for me. But I think I’m doing okay.”

“And I think you need to rest. Wakanda is a safe place, no one will turn you in. You can stay as long as you want.”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think I want to risk it.”

“I understand but, Y/N, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You don’t look like you’ve been taking very good care of yourself.”

“Well, not every place I find to stay at is a five star hotel.”

“You do not need to stay very long. Just get some rest and then you can be on your way.”

“T’Challa… I don’t—“

“Don’t make it seem like I’m breaking the promise I made to your brother.”

“You’re good.” She smirked, waving her finger at him. “Fine. Let’s go.”

~~~

Wakanda was more amazing than Y/N had ever imagined. She had heard that T’Challa had opened it up to the world saying that they had the technology and resources to help many. But she had struggled to believe that until Y/N saw it with her own eyes. T’Challa introduced her to the Dora Milaje, the King’s guard, and their head Okoye. Y/N was extremely impressed that the King’s guard were all women. 

Next, she was given a tour of the labs, where she met Princess Shuri and the Queen Mother Ramonda. They were both so kind and welcoming, offering to get Y/N anything she needed. T’Challa then showed her to a room.

“This room will be yours for how ever long you need,” T’Challa stated as Y/N walked around. “I will have your meals for today brought to you, so that you can get some rest. Feel free to safely explore the kingdom. You are safe here.”

That last sentence made Y/N tear up. She hadn’t felt safe is so long. “Thank you, T’Challa, for all of this.”

“Of course. Please let me know if you need anything.”

He gave a kind smile before shutting the door and heading down the hallway. Shuri was at the end to meet him.

“So…” she started, “does she know?”

“I do not believe so,” T’Challa replied, keeping his pace.

“Are you planning on telling her?”

“Not unless it comes up. She needs to be able to rest, not worry about anything else.”

“Well, do you plan on telling him that she’s here? Or the Captain?”

“For now, I do not. The Captain has enough on his plate and you continue must to work with the White Wolf and try to get him better. Do not say anything just yet. We do not know how long she plans on staying.”

“She may stay longer if she knew about him.”

“We do not know that and I do not want to test that.”

~~~

Y/N let herself enjoy a delicious meal before falling asleep. When she woke, it was night and she was now wide awake. Taking T’Challa up on his offer to explore the kingdom, Y/N changed into something warm at set out to find a way out of the palace. She was honestly grateful that it was dark and that hardly anyone was out, it let her wander without the fear of prying eyes. 

As she wandered through the fields, Y/N tried to connect with the Soul Stone. It was frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t find away to tap into those powers. She wanted to feel and interact with the souls she had lost, hoping that it might calm her guilty heart. Y/N had tried to get in contact with the Ancient One, but to avail. It was becoming clearer and clearer that the Ancient One had been right, it was up to Y/N and Y/N alone to figure out the Soul Stone.

Too deep in her mind, Y/N hadn’t realized how far away from the palace and main city she had wandered. But someone else had. He kept his distance and kept quiet, fearing that what he was seeing was an illusion. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but this was a little too real. He was too busy staring at her to notice the branch his was about to step on.

SNAP!

Both he and Y/N froze. Their hearts started beating faster. His because he was scared that she would disappear and hers because she had just come to the realization that she was being followed. Completely on guard now, Y/N slowly turned around.

“Who’s there?” She called out. 

When she was fully turned around, she saw no one. But that was because he had laid down in the tall grass, trying to stay out of sight. Y/N could sense the person’s presence. She took a few, careful steps forward towards the person.

“I know you’re there,” she said. “No point in hiding. Just show your face and I can promise you I won’t hurt you.”

He sighed, which Y/N heard. Y/N waited with bated breath for the person following her to show their face. The grass several feet away rustled as the person pushed themselves up from the ground to stood. Y/N inhaled sharply at the silhouette in front of her. The man was bulky, clearly long hair and was missing one arm.

“Bucky?” Y/N breathed out.

“Hello, Y/N.” He responded, clearly nervous. “How are you?”

“I—I—I didn’t know… they didn’t tell me…”

“T’Challa probably didn’t tell you on purpose. How long have you been in Wakanda?”

“Not even a day.”

The two couldn’t move. Too scared to get closer to each other.

“How long have you been here?” Y/N asked.

“Since Siberia,” he answered. “T’Challa was there as well, he brought Steve and I here for safety.”

“Is… Is Steve here then?”

“No. He left after I was put back in cryo.”

“They put you back in cryo?”

“Until Shuri could find away to take HYDRA out of my head.”

“Did they…? Did they help you?”

“For the most part… we’re still working on it.”

They stared at each other, quietly, for a few long minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I’ve got to go.”

“Please don’t.” Bucky reached out, taking a brave step forward. “At least, don’t leave Wakanda just yet. I want to… I want to see you again.”

“I… I won’t… I just… I just need to think.”

“Of course.”

Y/N opened a portal beside her, unable to take her eyes off Bucky. “Goodnight… Bucky.” She stepped through the portal, disappearing into her room.

“Goodnight, doll.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[shyficwriter]

Who's Tougher part 2

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Thor

Summary: So the Guardians now know you aren't Terran. That makes things awkward, but things only get more awkward when they find out what you are.

Author’s Note: Part 1 here.

Word Count: 3,337

"Any chance we can just forget that happened?" you ask, nervously chuckling as you wring your hands. "I promise I'll fix that-" you stand up and look again at the ruined metal that was once the arm of a chair, "or uh... replace it?" You grin hopefully, though you were sure it came out more like a grimace.

"No! Of course we're not just gonna forget that happened!" Peter cried, his face a mix of startled amazement and incredulity, like he couldn't quite believe what he had just witnessed from his friend. "Are you crazy!? What are you!?"

You shrank back a bit, his words stung a little, whether he intended them to or not. "Ok, I had a feeling that wouldn't fly..." Your gaze dropped to the table. What were you? You were his friend... right?

"Why did you lie?" Gamora asked, not nearly as harshly as Peter, but it hurt more regardless.

You furrow your brows as you look up to her, insulted. "Hey! I didn't lie!"

"You said you was from Terra." Kraglin interjected. "An' you ain't a Terran. Think that counts as lyin'." He sat back in his chair, eyeing you. Yondu still stood next to him, doing the same.

Drax, still sat in his chair but removing his electrode leads, then threw in a, "Friends shouldn't lie," with Groot nodding in agreement as well as Mantis, but you ignored them.

"I was born there- Pretty sure that counts as 'being from' someplace." You suppressed the urge to call him a jerk and crossed your arms in front of you with a hurt expression. "Not my fault you filled in the blanks yourselves."

Yondu spoke up now. "Ya didn't exactly tell us otherwise, either." He doesn't sound angry or as confused or suspicious like the others, his statement was more matter-of-fact. You had been with the team longer than he had, but in the time that he had known you, you had never given an inclining that you were anything other than a normal Terran like Quill- or well, maybe that's a bad example... but now that Ego is dead that probably makes him a normal Terran, right?

You merely responded to him with, "You didn't ask." You had a feeling that likely wouldn't go over well, but you were too busy being offended for being called a liar to give it much thought before it was out of your mouth.

Peter made noises that couldn't be classified as words as he waved his hands around in exasperation. "Wha- You- HOW- Were we really just supposed to ask, 'Hey, do you have any cool or weird powers you haven't told us about? Like glowing eyes or the ability to crush metal with your bare freaking hands?!'"

You don't respond, just stare off into a corner.

"I think you better start talking. Or, ya know, we can always hook you back up to this thing you hated so much until you spill the goods." Rocket said with a chuckle, holding up what you now mentally dubbed as a torture device. You couldn't quite tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or not, but either way it didn't work.

You blush and instinctively wrap your arms protectively around your middle. "You don't have to be mean about it..." you say, not making eye contact with anyone.

"Ok," says Gamora, trying to calm the situation down, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. "I think what Peter means is why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you feel you could trust us?"

That hurt. You didn't want them to think you thought so little of them. You sigh, "It's not like that. I just- I dunno."

"You don't know?" Gamora repeated, an eyebrow raised.

"Look, I'm sorry. Ok? It's not that I didn't trust you, I trust you guys with my life! I do! I- I just couldn't. I don't have a better answer." You did actually, but it was too complicated. You wanted to melt into the floor.

"Hey, I got a question." Kraglin spoke back up when everyone else seemed to be at a loss for words. "'While back, when Thor was here, he told you he thought ya looked familiar, and you got all nervous-like when you told him he was mistaken. Now, at the time I thought you was just crushin' on him mighty hard, but now you've got me thinking maybe you didn't wanna be recognized."

You cringed. You knew what he was referring to. When Thor had briefly been with the Guardians he came up to you, stating he swore he knew you from somewhere. You had replied that you merely had 'one of those faces' and that he was mistaking you for someone else before scurrying off to talk to Gamora.

You had lied.

Kraglin continued. "Cuz now that I think about it, you're kinda like him... Kinda like a-"

You knew what he was about to say, and you hated it. "Please don't-"

He finished the sentence anyway, "-god."

Something seemed to click for the rest of the team and they now stared at you wide-eyed. Little Groot's mouth dropped open, while Mantis covered hers. Peter and Gamora exchanged stunned glances with Drax. Yondu and Rocket each raised an eyebrow while Kraglin just looked at you expectantly for an answer.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Please don't call me that."

Peter stared at you. "You're a god?!" All this time... All this freaking time one of his friends had been a god and never told him?? Were you a celestial like Ego? Were you another Asgardian like Thor? He had so many questions, but couldn't verbalize any of them in his shock.

You shoot Kraglin a pained look. "Dammit! You've gone and made it all weird!" You turn back to Peter. "No! I'm not a god!" This seemed to relax the others some, but not much. Yeah, you seemed cool, but why hide you could do what you just did to the chair? What else were you hiding?

"But ya are, aren't ya? Like Thor, I mean." Kraglin pressed.

You scrambled for the right words. "I- No- Well, not exactly..." You hated this. Everything was so simple ten minutes ago, couldn't you just go back to that?

"I'm calling him." Rocket says, pulling out his media pad and beginning to dial.

"Wait! No no no no no!" you exclaim, stepping forward with your hands raised. You realized you shouldn't have done that, it looked suspicious as hell, but you panicked.

Rocket looked up at you, smirking, "Why? Is it because he'll recognize you and confirm you're like him? Or... wait..." He thought for a second. "Are you some kind of fugitive?"

"No!" you say, wincing. "I mean-" You brush a hand over your face. "Ok. I did know him," you admitted, making Kraglin laugh out a "Knew it!" You shoot him a look before returning to Rocket. "I'm not a god- or a fugitive- I would just rather he -uh- didn't remember me." Truthfully, it wasn't Thor you were worried about, it was his brother, and if Thor remembered you there was a chance he'd bring it up to Loki. But, that was another story for another day. Or never. Never was good.

The rest of the team gave you a weird look for a moment. Eventually Gamora asked suspiciously, "Why?" You being vague wasn't exactly helping you right now, but you couldn't help it.

"Just... personal reasons." you reply, hoping it would be enough.

Spoiler: it wasn't.

"Yeah, no, I'm calling him." Rocket said, he had already dialed and it was ringing. If there was one thing Rocket liked, it was uncovering other people's secrets, usually to hold them over there heads, and Thor was clearly a lead to figuring out yours.

Your eyes went wide in panic again and you tried to stop him, but before you could do anything Thor's face appeared in the screen and you muttered an, "Aw, fuck."

"Rabbit! Hi! It's been a bit, what brings you to call me?" Thor said cheerfully. "And everyone else is there, too! Hello!"

Mantis waved cutely at the screen and the others verbalized their greetings. Well, aside from Yondu and Kraglin, who just gave a nod to be polite.

"Hey Thor," Rocket started, "I was hoping you could settle something. You remember our friend here, right?" He turned the screen to you and you quickly changed your expression from exasperated pleading as you mouthed the word "No!" over and over with a wave of your hands into to a forced smile as you waved and awkwardly said "Hi, Thor..."

Rocket grinned, taking glee in watching you squirm. Yes, partially because he was a dick, but also because he was actually offended that you, his pranking buddy, had kept something like this from him. It hurt, and this was how he was choosing to deal with that.

"You know, I thought I did, but I was told it was a misunderstanding... although..." Thor said thoughtfully, squinting his eyes.

Your stomach sank.

Thors face lit up. "Oh yes! I knew I recognized you! You were one of mine and Loki's playmates when Mother and Father would visit old friends on Earth!"

You winced but retained your forced smile, but it immediately fell with what he said next.

"You were the lovely Nephilim girl that Loki would get into so much trouble with!" Thor laughed heartily. "My, it's been a long time. I don't really remember why we didn't keep in touch..."

Your eyes grew wide, you didn't expect him to just blurt out what you were right there and then. Part of you had still been naive enough to think it could have been avoided altogether. However, you didn't have much time to dwell on it before the other shoe dropped. Your stomach jumped into your throat when he asked, "Loki's around here somewhere... Would you like me to fetch him?"

"No!" you say, a little too loudly, before trying to cover, "No, that's fine Thor. I- I don't think that's the best idea!"

Thor didn't hear you, he was already too busy calling for Loki.

The others could see you were real nervous about Thor putting Loki on the call. Yondu and Kraglin exchanged a look that was a mix of suspicion and amusement. It was evident now you had been telling the truth about not being a fugitive, but why were you so nervous? Was this Loki fella an ex-boyfriend or something? And what even was a Nephlilim?

The question on Gamora's mind was why were you avoiding what were apparently your childhood friends if they didn't seem to be angry with you?

Rocket just grinned a shit-eating grin, clearly thinking he was about to see something very funny -- meaning completely embarrassing for you-- happen.

He wouldn't get to see that happen, however, because with a quick, "Goodbye, Thor!" you lunged forward to push the button that would end the call just before Rocket could pull away.

"Hey!" Rocket complained, "You know I can just call him back, right?"

"Later, Rat." Yondu said, looking at you inquisitively. "He said ya were a Nephilim, what's that?" He didn't think you were dangerous from what he'd seen of you before today. You were about as damn goofy as Peter was... but what if that had been a cover this whole time? He did just see you destroy that chair arm without even realizing, like it was nothing. Why else would you have hidden who/what you were from the team? He had to be cautious.

Peter spoke up. "I've heard of those. My grandparents made me go to Sunday school. It's like the baby of an angel and a human... and they're like... super powerful... but- but you're not supposed to be real!" he said, amazement in his eyes. "I thought that was all religious bullcrap! Does this mean that God, like thee God is real??" He was asking out of utter disbelief rather than anything, having never actually believed in any of that stuff, especially after being taken by Yondu when he was a boy.

You cringed so hard. "Peter please. You're being so embarrassing right now!" You covered your face before letting your hands fall again. The rest of the team just kind of stared at each other, not really sure what to do with all this information. "Look, if the dude exists, I've never met him, and that Terran religion stuff made things so awkward for people like me. And you wonder why I didn't tell!"

Now Peter looked a little sorry, and to your surprise he actually apologized. "Look, ok, I'm sorry. You're right, but can you blame us?"

Your shoulders fell and you sighed, breaking your gaze from his. "I get it, I do. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but why does it matter what I am? I'm still me. I'm still the same person."

Drax spoke up for the first time in a while, standing up from his chair to stand with you as he patted you on the shoulder. "This small neffle-thing is right. We are family. It shouldn't matter what anyone is."

You awkwardly pat his hand on your shoulder, honestly not expecting the sudden solidarity. "Thanks, buddy."

"I do have a question though." he added, removing his hand.

You dropped your head, muttering, "Dammit."

"Peter said your kind are very powerful, does that mean this whole time you've been holding back on missions?"

The realization of what Drax had asked put strange expressions on half the faces of your team. The kinda look that says, "Hey! You've been holding out on us! What the hell?!" Rocket nearly verbalized this sentiment as such with a, "Hey! He's right! How many jobs could we have just been in and out of with a snap of your fingers?! Rude, is what that is."

"Ok, first off, I can't make anything happen 'with the snap of my fingers,' ok? I just want to make that clear," you scolded. Your cheeks began to grow hot as you continued, "and secondly... um... none."

"None!? Quill just said you were some super powerful being, and you're really gonna tell us that none of your powers could have helped us on any of those missions?" Rocket stood staring at you in disbelief, his hands on his hips in a way that would have been super adorable if you weren't so uncomfortable right now.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly great at... controlling them." you admitted, rubbing your arm.

"You can't control them?" Gamora asked, sounding a bit surprised, and maybe a little sympathetic too.

"No." You admitted again, begrudgingly. You saw they were looking at you like they wanted some sort of explanation, so you sighed before making wildish gestures with your hands at the ruined chair arm, saying sarcastically, "Exhibit A! I broke the damn chair just because the damn trash panda... tickled me too hard with his electrocution-torture- thingy..." your sentence trailed off in a mix of bitterness and embarrassment, your face flushed a decent shade of scarlet as you crossed your arms. "You know, if you ask me this is all his fault. We wouldn't be having this conversation if it weren't for him."

"You can't blame me! It was supposed to hurt! Not my fault you didn't tell us you're some weird-god thing." Rocket then proceeded to mock you. "oH No! NoT AN elEcTRiC SHOCK! IT TiCkLES TOO mUcH! i'm GOnnA bEg ROCkEt FOR MERCY And BreAK A ChAIR BeCAUsE eVEn ThOUgh I'm a GOD i'm StiLL a Big bABy!"

"I hate you," you say flatly, glaring at him before looking up at the ceiling in frustration as you said, "and stop calling me a god, I'm not a god!"

The sound of laughter brought your gaze back to the team. It was Rocket, of course. Yondu and Kraglin were also snickering, mostly due to your pouty expression, but Rocket was definitely the loudest. You frowned. "It's not funny."

"The hell if it ain't," Yondu laughed. Everyone had been so surprised by what you had done to the chair that they actually had forgotten what had made you do it in the first place.

"Aw, don't give us that long face," Kraglin teased, still laughing. "It could've been worse. Getting tickled til ya break a chair is a whole lot less embarrasin' than gettin' tickled til yer pissin' yer pants."

You gave Kraglin a scandalized look as his comment earned snickers from more of the team. He might have been trying to make you feel better, but he had actually only embarrassed you more. The only one not actually laughing was Gamora, and she looked like she was going to tell the others off for you, but she was cut off by Rocket.

"Oh cheer up, or I'll do it again!" Rocket laughed, giving you a mischievous look. "That'll teach you to blame me! If you and Quill hadn't been bickering all the time I wouldn't have made this thing to shut you up!"

You glared at him. "Threaten me with that again and I'm taking it," you warned.

To your surprise, Yondu took that moment and actually snatched the device from Rocket himself. This surprised Rocket too, and he looked up at Yondu with a dejected, "Hey!"

"Sorry there, Rat, but we don't need anymore broken chairs." He chuckled and slipped you a wink as he slipped the device into one of the inside pockets of his duster. He might have been making a joke at your expense as he did it, but you were grateful for the gesture nonetheless. You didn't need Rocket threatening you with it every time he wanted something from you- and you know he would have. As did Yondu, hence why he snatched it. You may have been a goofy little shit like Peter, and you may have hidden powers (and don't get him wrong, he was still going to keep an eye on you), but he still liked ya well enough to save you from a sadistic raccoon, for now.

Rocket pouted, muttering something about "Never let me have any fun!" as he collected Groot and sulked off.

You smiled at Yondu in return, glad the mood had been somewhat lifted, even if it was at your own expense. After a beat you look back to Peter. "Are we good?" you asked, with so much more meaning behind those three words than just asking if you two were good. Peter could see that you were desperately asking not only for forgiveness, but acceptance. There was thinly veiled fear and nervousness in your eyes that he might cast you out for keeping this secret from the team, from him. It made him feel a little guilty.

He looked at you softly. "Yeah. I mean, I still have a lot of questions, but yeah, we're good."

"I guess that's fair," you say, a relieved grin cracking your face. "But another day, ok? It's late and I'm tired." With that you excused yourself for bed, barely waiting for an acknowledgment of what you said before you were walking away, eager to just get away from this conversation for now. You did smirk a little, however, when you heard Drax ask Peter if you being a "Neffleling" meant you were the tougher one, only for Peter to sigh irritably and say, "No, Drax," and Kraglin to laugh in response and say to Peter, "Nah, I think it does," just to rile him up.

Once you were gone Kraglin spoke again, wondering out loud what had happened with Loki that made you so nervous when Rocket called Thor.

This made Peter look back and share a look with the rest of the team. Kraglin was right. You were nervous enough to hang up the phone when Thor called for Loki to join the conversation. Nervous enough to wish Thor didn't remember your face.

What had happened?

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader  chapter two: san juan

pairing: jungkook/reader word count: 6.6K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: okay, ya’ll. I really never intended to make this story anything more than a one-shot...but a couple of people asked for more and then the wheels started turning, and I had more than a little crush on this sexy, smartassed jungkook. so here we are! I hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

************************

You still think about Jungkook Jeon.

You think about him when you spot his beautiful face on the poster in the hallway at your office, with the word WANTED emblazoned across the top.

You think about him every time you fly because you leave condoms behind in the bathroom like some kind of kinky Fairy Godmother.

And sometimes -- late at night, after you’ve had a glass of wine -- you shut your eyes and think about him when you slip between the sheets and then slip a hand into your panties.

You wonder where in the world he is and how he’s getting away with life on the run -- again.

Though technically he’s not your problem anymore.

The Marshals took over his case after he pulled his vanishing act in Los Angeles, so it’s some other poor sap’s job to find him and bring him in.  You’d done your part -- you’d tracked him down and brought him to the States, even got him before a judge.  

So what happened after that didn’t happen on your watch.

Totally out of your hands.

No reason for you to still obsess over how it all went down.

At all.

Right?

************************

The humidity in San Juan hits you like a wall the second you step out of Muñoz Marín International Airport.

You quickly scan the throng of waiting drivers and find the one holding the sign with your name on it.  The suit you’d worn on the plane is already sticking to the backs of your thighs in this heat.

“Welcome to Puerto Rico,” the driver smiles warmly, offering to take your luggage off your hands. You smile back as you follow him to the line of cars idling outside.

The ding of a text alert distracts you for a moment.  

You pull out your phone and see it’s your boss, checking to make sure your flight landed on time.  The driver opens the car door and you slip inside while he pops the trunk to put your bags away.  

You’re so busy tapping out a response that you don’t realize something is off until the driver raps twice on the back of the car.

Because that’s a signal for the car to go.

Because the man behind the wheel is not the man who just loaded you and your bags into this car.

Because the man behind the wheel is --

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide on the reflection in the rearview mirror.

He’s got a snapback pulled low over his face but you can still see his eyes. And you’d know those eyes anywhere. You’ve thought about those eyes a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“That -- “ Jungkook says, pressing the gas, “-- is the weirdest way to say you missed me, too.”

He tilts his head up so you can catch the reflection of his wide smile.

You are in a car with Jungkook Jeon. In a moving car with Jungkook Jeon.  

“Start talking,” you snap.  

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

You slump back into the seat and clap a hand over your face. Damn this man and damn his stupid, smart-assed, beautiful mouth.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jungkook snorts at the note of panic in your voice.  

“To your hotel, dummy.  You have a meeting in like, two hours.”

“Unbelievable,” you sigh after a moment. “Do I even want to know how you know all of this?”

“Well in my defense,” he starts, “you guys still have really shitty firewalls.  You’ve got a lot of nerve calling yourselves an intelligence agency with that set-up in place.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your feedback,” you mutter.

“You should. So anyway, I was reading through your emails one day -- you know, as I do -- and I saw you were coming to town. I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you.”

Holy shit.

That’s a lot to take in right now and you’re still trying to process the series of events that led up to you, in a car with Jungkook Jeon.  You keep asking questions because it seems like the only sane thing to do in this entirely insane situation.

“You read my emails.”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Uh….all the time?”

You blow out an exasperated breath.  

“You’re a real piece of work. Just what makes you think I won’t have this car surrounded by Feds by the time we get to the hotel?”

“You could,” he concedes thoughtfully. He looks up from the road for a moment to lock eyes with you in the rearview. “But we both know you won’t.”

His certainty makes you bristle.  Is he right about that?

You force yourself to look away from him and redirect your gaze outside to watch the carefully landscaped palm trees speed by.  He’s been here for some time, you think, as he navigates the streets with ease.  He doesn’t seem to be looking for his next turn or second-guessing which way to go. He’s not even using GPS.

“You are in some deep shit back home, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finally. “You embarrassed them. They hate being embarrassed.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t you think it’s time to drop the formalities, Agent? I’ve had my tongue in your pussy, you know.”

He startles a laugh from you with his casual, crass statement of fact.  You forgot how funny he is -- how smart and affable and completely disarming he is.

“Anyway, that’s their problem, not mine,” he continues. “And not yours anymore either, from what I understand.”

Boy, he really wasn’t kidding about those emails.

You mentally rummage through your inbox, try to imagine what information he’s had access to these past few months.  Countless agency messages, a few personal ones and at least one exchange that could qualify as both. You wonder if he’s seen that one, too.  

You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the thought.

“So what’s your plan, then? Hide out in plain sight in a territory of the United States?”

“It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?”

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway, my plan right now is to drop you off at this hotel,” Jungkook says, turning into the drive. “Then you’re going to skip that reception they have scheduled for tomorrow night because you’re going to have drinks with me instead.”

You say nothing for a moment.

It’s absurd that your first reaction to his words is a tingle of excitement. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t picked up the phone to call this in by this point. It’s fucking bananas that you’re picturing yourself sharing a drink with this man instead of having him arrested.

The car rolls to a stop.

“Now, as much as I’d love to act the part of a perfect gentleman and help you with those bags, I can’t,” Jungkook says, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Your hotel is crawling with cameras and believe it or not, I’m trying to minimize the number of stupid risks I take these days.”

You snort.

He reaches behind his seat to hand you the note.

“Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 7 o’clock. Be sure to wear something tight, yeah?”

“You are out of your mind,” you say from between clenched teeth, snatching the paper out of his hand.

Jungkook laughs.

“I know, right?”

***********************************

You should call the Marshals.

You should really call the Marshals.

Why haven’t you called the goddamned Marshals?

“ -- do you think, Agent?”

Fuck.  

You can’t seem to keep your mind focused on this meeting and now everyone around the conference table is looking at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you’re forced to admit. “Catch me up?”

“I was saying,” Agent Dominguez starts again, “that given the damage done to the office here in San Juan, we should move agents to the mainland temporarily.  Miami, preferably.”

“Yes,” you agree. “That would be best.  Until we can get things back on track.”

Dominguez smiles in a skeptical way, like he knows you’re preoccupied and he’s curious as to why.  You smile back and hope it’s convincing.  

“We’ll have to go over some logistics, of course, after the final decisions are made,” he continues, turning his attention back to the room at large. “But for now, let’s consider that a flight from Miami is just a hop, skip, and a jump.  It makes sense.”

The rest of the assembled meeting guests murmur in agreement.

Your mind wanders back to that slip of paper tucked away inside your bag at the hotel, back to the man who gave it to you.  The ridiculous, self-assured little asshole who just knows you aren’t going to rat him out. Who just knows you’re going to join him for drinks like he’s not an actual federal fugitive and you’re not an actual federal agent.

Dominguez continues to drone on in the background.

“...and if you look at the numbers, you’ll see post-storm crime is actually way down…”

What you would give to be anywhere but this meeting right now.  You pinch the bridge of your nose, shut your eyes and go down the list of facts as you know them.

He’s been reading your emails.

Following your every move.

He wants to see you tonight.

What the hell is wrong with you that knowing all of this excites you instead of freaking you out? What does it mean that a part of you -- a really big part of you -- wants to take him up on his offer?

******************

Dominguez pulls you aside after the morning round of meetings wraps for lunch.  

“Hey,” he says, stopping you in the hallway.  “Are you alright? You’ve seemed just a little off since yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say apologetically. “Been feeling a little off these past two days.”

Not technically a lie?

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dominguez replies smoothly.

“Hope you’ll be feeling up to attending the reception tonight,” he continues. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

You offer him a weak smile.  The look on his face right now is making you a bit queasy.

What if they knew? What then?

Once was insane enough. Once could be written off as a mistake, a terrible lapse in judgement.  An embarrassing and regrettable fluke.

But twice? Twice is a choice, a conscious decision.  

Twice would make you complicit -- a co-conspirator, a co-defendant and a whole host of other “C” words you’d rather not contemplate right now.  

There would be no explaining away twice.

You busy yourself with getting a bottled water from the vending machine just to have an excuse to look away. You tell yourself not to be paranoid. You have no reason to suspect they know anything and this is not the time to borrow worry.

“I’m going to try and get some rest after we wrap for the day,” you say finally, opening the bottle to take a drink.  “See if I feel better after that.”

Dominguez’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  

“You do that, Agent.”

***********************

Wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower, you alternate between staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror and looking back at that damning piece of paper in your hand.

You should put on the nice-but-work-appropriate cocktail dress you’d chosen for the reception that you should be attending tonight.  You should drop this piece of paper in the trash, forget Jungkook Jeon exists and move on.  You should be having drinks with your colleagues from the San Juan office in an hour, making decisions that don’t amount to career suicide and living life on the straight and narrow like a normal fucking human being.

Should, should, should.

You walk over to your suitcase and pull out a slim-cut sundress with spaghetti straps instead. You smooth your hands over the delicate material, imagine the light weight of the fabric would feel just right in this humid weather.  You slip the dress over your shoulders, smooth it down with your hands, turn from side to side to assess the fit.

For a moment you close your eyes and allow yourself to imagine Jungkook slipping his hands underneath this dress, pushing the hem up your thighs. You imagine his thumbs and fingers circling the sensitive skin there.  His lips on your neck.  His voice in your ear.

The sound of an incoming text knocks you out of your fantasy and you open your eyes to see your flushed reflection staring back in the mirror. You reach for your phone.

you gonna make it out tonight? [ 5:48 PM ]

You stare at Dominguez’s message for a moment.

Decision time.

Are you?

************************

You’ve been over every step you took before leaving the hotel at least a dozen times by now.

You’d sent Domniguez a text, claiming to be under the weather.

You’d left your phone in the safe in your room.

You’d walked out of the hotel through a service exit and into a waiting car.

All clear, decisive, sane choices despite the fact that you are obviously a crazy person. Because no one in their right mind would be pulling this kind of stunt.

The ride is short, only a few minutes from your federally-funded accommodations to the much more humble beachside hotel where Jungkook told you to meet him. You give the driver more than enough money to cover the fare and tip and step out into the thick night air.  You spot him a short distance away, sitting at a tiki bar just off the water.

Puerto Rico has apparently been very good to Jungkook Jeon.  

He is reclined casually in a barstool, drinking a bottled beer.  The creamy off-white of his linen shirt is a perfect contrast to the deep golden tan he’s managed to acquire these past few months. He’s let his wavy black hair grow long again and it falls just below his ears. The laugh he shares with the bartender reveals his smile and makes him look relaxed and radiant and fucking perfect.

Jungkook turns in his stool just as you approach and the slow, appreciative once-over he gives you makes your entire body feel warm. The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile.

Dammit.

You’ve got to get your head on straight.

Jungkook isn’t some hot, available guy you’re trying to land. He’s a wanted man and the fact that he’s sitting out in the open at this tiny outdoor beach bar makes you nervous. It’s a saving grace that the bar is damned near dead but there are still too many angles, too many clear lines of sight. You’re annoyed that he’s being so flippant about keeping a low profile.  

You wait until you are close enough to whisper before you speak.

“This is a terrible idea.”

He cocks a brow. “Drinks?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you hiss. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

“Christ woman,” he groans. “Don’t you know it’s polite to wine and dine me first? I’m not a piece of meat, you know.”

He grins when you huff your frustration.

“Besides, if you were really worried about drawing attention --” he pauses, rakes an appreciative gaze across your décolletage, “-- you certainly wouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, does he ever turn it off? Is he incapable of recognizing how risky and fucked up this situation really is?

“You’re an idiot,” you bite out, turning to leave -- but Jungkook grabs for your wrist.

“Relax,” he soothes, pulling you back.  “Seriously.  I have the situation under control.”

A charged moment passes as you give him a long look. His hand remains firm and warm around your wrist.

“Do you trust me?”

What a ridiculous question.  

What you know about Jungkook Jeon could fit on an index card, and what little information you do have doesn’t exactly do him any favors. You’re putting your career -- potentially even your freedom at risk even being here.

But something about the naked sincerity on his face makes you want to trust him.

God only knows why.

You take a deep breath in and out before sliding into the barstool he’s pulled out for you.  The bartender smiles from a few feet away, makes his way over.  You tense, turning to face away and Jungkook puts a steadying hand on your knee.

“It’s cool,” he murmurs. “He knows me.”

“Why on earth do you think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” you fire back.

“I think -- you just need to have a drink,” he reasons, eyes sparkling. He lifts his beer to his lips and you catch yourself staring for a moment at the way the tendons in his arms flex, the way his lips slide over the mouth of the bottle.

Has the simple act of drinking a beer always looked that masculine?

Shit, you do need a drink.

You order a mojito without ever looking the bartender in the eye. Whoever he is -- Jungkook’s buddy it would seem -- he’s understanding about your appalling lack of manners. He can probably recognize a truly fucked-up situation from a mile away and is steering clear like someone with an inkling of common sense.

For his part, Jungkook has dropped the flirtatious act for a moment and the small smile that plays across his face is calm and reassuring.

It works.

“Alright Jeon,” you sigh after a moment. “Let’s talk. How did you do it?”

He takes a long drink of his beer.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

You’d expected as much. You would bet everything in the bank that his parents helped him get out of Los Angeles.  The kind but guarded look on his face is the closest you’ll get to a confirmation of that fact.

“Ask me anything else.”

“Fine.  How did you pull off the stunt at the airport?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Jungkook teases. “I found the driver holding your name card and offered him twice the fare. He was happy to help me out. Nice guy, actually.”

“He’s lucky you didn’t cut me into pieces,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs. “You’ve got a wild imagination. Besides, who wouldn’t trust a face like this?”

To make his point, he turns from side to side to offer you a better look at his profiles. Outwardly you roll your eyes, but inwardly it’s hard to ignore the sharp line of his jaw, the perfectly symmetrical angles of his face.  You take another long drink from the cocktail in your hand.

“Why Puerto Rico?”

“Why not? The scenery is beautiful, the food is delicious, and people know how to mind their own goddamned business,” He takes another sip of beer. “Besides, you guys didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of options when you took my passport. And hey -- thanks for that, by the way.  Finding a good fake is a real bitch.”

“We’re not travel agents, Jeon,” you snort.

He laughs.

“So this -- “ you motion to the small building attached to the tiki bar, “ -- is where you’ve been staying?”

“Dammit, woman — I said ask me anything, not everything. You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”  

He grins at the glare you fix him with.  

“I’m kidding, obviously. No way you’d be able to hide a wire under that delightful little number.”

He chuckles when you flush.

“So yeah, this is one place I’ve been staying. Mostly locals around here.  After the storm, so many new people turned up to help rebuild that it’s been pretty easy to blend in with the new faces.  Plus, it’s not hard to find work.”

“So you’ve got this all figured out, huh?”

“Some of it,” he demures, and you can’t help but notice he’s managed to slide a little closer.  His proximity is distracting. You’ve only had one drink and you already feel a bit lightheaded.

Jungkook scrubs a hand down his mouth, fixes you with a long look.

“Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Fair enough,” you concede.

“You gonna go to dinner with him?”

You exhale a nervous laugh against the rim of your glass. You’d wondered if the series of back-and-forth emails between you and Agent Kim Namjoon would come up. You should have known it would.

Agent Kim’s last email came this week. It said he would be traveling to Los Angeles for some training soon.

It said that he wanted to take you to dinner.  

You should have fired back an enthusiastic yes! right away because Agent Kim is hot and smart and to your knowledge has zero outstanding warrants.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook tilts the mouth of his beer against his lips.  

“Well?”

“Yes,” you say, finally.

“Don’t.”

The reply is so abrupt, so emphatic that you have to laugh.

“Why?”

“He’s an empty suit. A cardboard cut-out. Not right for you at all.”

The smirk on Jungkook’s mouth indicates he’s teasing, but his tone indicates something else entirely. The territorial current that runs under his words is annoying and exciting and complicated.

“He’s just trying to fuck you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that.

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“No,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I have fucked you. I plan on fucking you again. He and I are not the same, at all.”

His words set off a throb between your thighs and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, uncross and recross your legs.  Jungkook leans back, looking satisfied with how much he’s managed to unnerve you.

“So this is some kind of pissing contest?”

You laugh to keep the sounds of your words light, but your words come out uneven. “You stalk my inbox for months and abduct me from the airport to what -- keep me from fucking Agent Kim? You hate him that much?”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Kim,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“You know what this is about. Don’t play with me.”

He’s right, of course.  You do know what this is about.  

It’s why you fucked him in an airplane bathroom against all rules of decorum and common sense.  It’s why you’re here, making stupid decisions and taking dumb risks instead of back at your hotel playing it safe. It’s why you’ve never been able to stop thinking about him.

Something connects you to this man, something you don’t really understand -- and now you know for a fact that whatever it is, it isn’t one-sided.

Your body is rigid, unnaturally still as the bartender drops off new drinks and you immediately reach for the glass, if for no other reason than to stall.  Jungkook takes a long sip from his new beer before speaking again.  You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t look back.

“I like you.”  

No sarcastic quip follows. No charged sexual innuendo.  Something about that simple admission is more intimate than the fact that he’s literally been inside you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” is the only thing you can think to say.  

Jungkook shoots you a playful smile.

“I know you like mojitos.  I know you have a standing appointment with some fancy hair salon in LA every six weeks.  I know you order Chipotle far more than is necessary or probably healthy.”

He leans closer and the look on his face changes into something different -- something that makes you shiver.  He slides his hand under your jaw, tips your head up, strokes a thumb across your cheek.  

“I know what you sound like when you come,” he whispers. “I know I’d like to hear that again.”

Oh, God.

This must be what it’s like to drown. To see your demise play out before your eyes but still feel powerless to stop it.  Every smart-assed retort you could fire back dies on your tongue and all you can do is blink when Jungkook brushes his lips against yours.

“And I know you like me too,” he whispers against your mouth.

He’s right.

You do.

You really, really do.

*****************************

It’s like a switch flips inside your brain.  Once you start kissing him, you can’t stop.  

You both fall through the open door to his room in a tangle of limbs and lips.

Jungkook lifts you up off the floor and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, never stopping the assault on his mouth and skin.  He moans when you lick a stripe up his neck. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and sex and you are so desperate to feel him inside you that you can’t think straight.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he protests, walking you both over to the mattress.  He drops you unceremoniously on top of the bedding.

“Stop.”

“God, no,” you groan, panting.  “Why?”

He takes a deep breath in and out, shoves a hand through his hair.  

“I promised myself I was going to take my time with you if I ever got this chance again,” he explains, voice ragged with arousal. “No cuffs. No rush. Not this time.”

You huff in exasperation and climb up onto your knees on the mattress.  

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you drop both hands to the hem of your dress and pull it up and off in one swift motion.  You’d had to forgo a bra given the skimpy nature of your sundress and it’s easy to forget he hasn’t really seen you naked. The look on his face says he heartily approves.

“Take your time later,” you fire back.  “Take your clothes off now.”

Jungkook laughs.  “Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes.  If you wait one minute longer I’m going to sober up and realize this is a terrible decision. Take your clothes off.”

“Hush woman.”  

He silences you with mock annoyance as his fingers drop to work the buttons of his shirt. You catch your mouth before it drops open as he pulls the shirt off, exposing the chiseled planes of his body.  You swallow thickly when he drops the garment to the floor.  

No human being should be allowed to look like this.

It’s obscene.

The tattoos that run across his hands and forearms extend up to his shoulders, across his chest. The defined lines that outline his abdomen are made even more plain by his deep breaths.  He is -- hands down -- the sexiest man you have ever seen in your life.  

“Shit Jungkook, you’ve been holding out on me,” you breathe, a note of awe in your voice.

“And I knew you had amazing tits,” he grins, shoving his jeans off his hips. “Lie back.”

The gruff command makes your body tight with anticipation.  Jungkook’s face is damp with sweat, locks clinging to his brow when he sinks down onto the mattress and crawls until he’s hovering over you.

“Goddamnit,” he whispers, slanting his lips over yours.  “Goddamnit, I’ve been thinking about this for so damned long.”

You sigh into his mouth.

Me too, you want to say. But you don’t.

“I’ve thought about the way you taste every single day, did you know that?”

He circles one aching nipple with his tongue and teeth.  You whimper at the heavy drag of his tongue.  

“I’ve imagined getting my mouth on you again far more than is normal or sane,” he whispers against your skin, pulling the damp lace of your panties off your ankles and tossing it away.

“Jungkook,” you whine. “Please.”

His lips skate over the sensitive skin between your breasts, across your stomach as he slides downward.  Your body stills when you feel his lips at your entrance, breath warm against your wetness.  

The first touch of his tongue is quick, teasing.  You’re wound so tight your hips jerk off the bed at that light contact.

“Easy girl,” Jungkook teases, sealing his mouth over your clit.  The strong fingers of one hand press into your hip, grip you tight to keep you from pulling away.  He slips one long finger from his other hand inside you to join his tongue in the all-out assault.

“God you are sexy,” he groans, licking deeply into you.  You grab handfuls of his damp hair in between shaking fingers.   “You’ve ruined me for all other federal agents, you know.”

Your laugh bleeds into a gasp when Jungkook slips a second finger inside of you, presses harder against you with his tongue.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, legs trembling. You roll your hips mindlessly, enjoying the way he moans in response.

“You gonna let me hear it again?” his words vibrate almost painfully against your already aching clit. “Be as loud as you want this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh in agreement, feeling that telltale prickle building between your thighs.

He sets you off with the firm press of the heel of his hand on your mound.  You can’t control your body’s reaction when the pressure against that sensitive wall and the stimulation of your clit combine.  Your back arches high off the bed when you start to come apart, moaning wantonly.

Your orgasm seems to go on and on forever and Jungkook whispers words of encouragement as you ride it out.  He doesn’t stop with his tongue and fingers until you start to quiver from the overstimulation, breaths hitching when shudders run up and down your back.

“Dammit, Jungkook,” you gasp once you regain control of your ragged breathing.

He laughs as he kisses his way back up your body, across your chest and neck.  You welcome the press of his body when he settles over you.  He grinds his hips down and you whimper at the feel of his rigid cock straining against his boxers.   You clench hard at the memory of him deep inside you.

“Take those off,” you order, scraping your teeth against the damp skin of his neck.

“Ask me nice and I might consider it,” he teases.

You shoot him a playfully disapproving look before pushing against his shoulder until he rolls over.  His eyes fall shut when you climb over him and drag your drenched center against the firm outline of his cock.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers, and you lean forward to seal your lips over his.  He pants into your mouth as you rock against him.

You slide down his body after a moment, hooking your fingers into his boxers and pulling them down with you.

The thing about your hurried little encounter inside that airplane bathroom is that it’s hard to remember the details.  It was so rushed and illicit and bizarre that you can barely recount what he felt like, what he looked like in the moment.  But right now -- when his cock springs free and he looks down at you from beneath heavy lids and he looks so sincerely fucked out -- you make sure to commit this moment to memory.  

Jungkook sucks a strangled breath between his teeth when you take him in your mouth.  His fingers immediately wind into your hair and you sigh around his length when he groans his satisfaction.  His hips jerk when you pull off of him, dragging your tongue against the sensitive spot under the head of his cock before releasing it.

“Shit,” he moans, “I forgot how good you are at that.”

You laugh and wrap one hand firmly around the base of his cock. He’s already leaking at the tip and he hisses when you sweep your tongue across the swollen head. He gathers your hair in his hands, pulls gently on the strands but you can feel the restraint he’s exercising. His body is radiating tension, taut with unspent energy.  

“You can get rougher if you want,” you breathe, pumping him steadily with your hands.  

His agonized groan tells you he’d love to take you up on that offer.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he pants, words sounding pained. “I’m doing everything I can not to literally blow my second chance here.”

You release his cock with a smile and he pulls away to shift his body up the bed. He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a condom.  He holds it up for a moment and the two of you share a knowing laugh.

The laughter dies the moment you crawl up the bed to join him and take the condom out of his hand.  Jungkook’s eyes are dark and focused as you rip it open and roll it down his straining cock.  Once it’s in place he steals the air from your lungs with a deep kiss and pulls you onto his lap.  

You’re struck still for a moment when you look down at him just as you are lining him up with your entrance. He looks back at you with those blown-out pupils and kiss-bitten lips and you lose your momentum.  You should say something or do something but it’s so damned hard to focus when he’s looking at you like that.

He brushes a damp lock of hair away from your face with his fingers and fixes you with an expectant look.

You want to tell him how handsome he is.

You want to tell him that he’s the most interesting person you’ve ever met.

But you don’t.  

Jungkook rescues you from your sudden crisis with a well-timed tease.

“You’ve been rushing me since we got here,” he chuckles, brow raised. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”

He grabs the base of his stiff cock with one hand, rubs the head against your clit to make his point. You answer him with a desperate kiss, swallowing the groan he makes when you finally sink down.

His hands move to either side of your ass to guide the movement of your hips.  Your first few thrusts are hesitant, shaky as you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you.  He feels harder and thicker than you remember.

“Oh, god --” you moan.

You feel his faint hum of satisfaction against your breasts.  He tongues messily at your aching nipples, sucks them into his mouth.  His fingers dig into your ass as he thrusts up to meet your thrusts down.  

His mouth is full of you. His hands are full of you.  You are full of him.  The feeling of filling and being filled is unbearable at this point.  It’s so much stimulation at once that it borders on painful.

“Feel so good wrapped around me like this,” Jungkook groans. “I can’t get enough.”

Me neither, you want to say. I’ve been dying to feel you like this, you nearly whisper.

But you don’t.

You feel disoriented for a moment and grab onto the headboard for desperately needed balance.  It gives you the leverage you need to take him deeper, faster, and the steady rhythm of his thrusts and breaths starts to pick up in speed.

Then you make the mistake of opening your eyes and looking down into his face.

He is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes hooded and mouth slack with pleasure. He fixes you with a look so erotic you nearly blush.  It’s pretty ridiculous to be literally riding a man’s cock and feel suddenly shy, but that’s exactly what happens.  

You force yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck. You feel one of his hands move away from your hips, down to where the two of you meet. The rough pad of one thumb starts to work your clit and the stimulation distracts you for a moment, makes your rhythm sloppy.  

“I want to feel you come,” he breathes, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone and neck. “I want to know what it feels like when I’m inside you.”

“So close,” you whine on a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna go off like a bomb,” he groans, stroking so deep you see stars.  “Take me with you.”

If it weren’t for the one hand keeping you anchored to the headboard, you’d have collapsed onto him with the sheer force of your orgasm.  You whimper as Jungkook’s orgasm rips through him, body shuddering as he pounds harder and faster.  It takes a few frantic, frenzied moments for his rhythm to slow and his moans to subside.

Then you do slump onto him, spent and sweaty and rubbery with utter exhaustion. You’re both still for a moment, damp bodies pressed together as you both catch your breath.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

***********************************

You take a shower together.  

Afterwards, you both fall back into bed clean and warm.  

You make good on your promise to let Jungkook take his time this go-around.  He fucks you slow and relaxed from behind while you lay side by side.  The steady lap of the waves outside his window is a perfect backdrop as he whispers into your ear and buries himself deep inside you.

Afterwards, everything is still but the waves.  

You both enjoy the complete silence for a while.  Your stroke your fingers across the strong forearm Jungkook has wrapped around you and he breathes deeply into your hair.  It feels natural, somehow.

It feels good.  

You can’t remember the last time anything felt this good.

“Stay with me,” Jungkook whispers after a while, nosing into the nape of your neck.  He drops a soft kiss on the sensitive skin just below your ear.  

“I can’t,” you whisper back.  “I have a meeting first thing in the morning. Don’t tell me you skipped that email.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I wasn’t talking about tonight.”

You go rigid from head to toe.  Maybe you didn’t hear that right.

“What?”

“Stay with me,” he says again, like it’s going to make more sense the second time he says it. “We could go all over the world and eat the best food and fuck in the most beautiful places.”  His fingers stroke up your side, sending chills up your back. “It could be great.”

You wait for him to laugh.  He doesn’t.

You pull out of his hold, flip your body so that you’re facing him.  You expect to see his teasing smirk staring back, but you don’t. He looks serious.

“What the fuck was in that beer, Jeon?”

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he says quietly. “You could think about it for a while.”

You stare at the side of his perfect profile, dazed for a moment by the strange combination of feelings swirling inside you right now.  

There’s disbelief at the insane Bonnie and Clyde fantasy he’s decided to pitch.

There’s disappointment because there’s a tiny part of you that wants to entertain that fantasy.

And there’s a little bit of heartache because right now he looks so lonely.  

That’s the part that gnaws at you.  It makes you feel raw and exposed.  So you do what you know best and try to redirect with humor.

“Who’s got a wild imagination now, huh?”

His lips twitch into a wry smile.  

************************

You’d waited until you were certain he was asleep before slipping out of his arms and out of the bed.  He slept heavy, not stirring once while you slipped into your clothes and shoes.  He slept like someone without a care in the world.

Hardly.

It had taken a moment to find a piece of paper.  It was only just as you were about to give up that you remembered Jungkook’s note, tucked safely into your bag.

You looked back at him in the bed -- studied him for a moment before quietly scrawling a note on the other side of that piece of paper.

you know i can’t. i’m sorry.

[darkeninganon]

Ha, more Gream (Ghost Dream). Ranboo is weak to smol things. Want proof? Tubbo and Michael.

Gream stared out the window. His room was looking out over a grave. Tommy's grave. It was... something that made him feel strangely bitter. Like, he felt like he should be happy, but wasn't actually happy. Staring at the grave made him want to laugh and spin and cheer; but yell and scream and cry at the same time. Gream huffed, flopping onto his bed. It was green, like his curtains, rug, and anything else he could make green in his room. Ranboo had kicked up a storm about how weird it would look and that it wasn't a good idea, especially the window, but Tommy and Tubbo had talked him into accepting the changes.

Well, accepting wasn't really the right word, he still refused to accept the green room, but he didn't do anything other than glare at the door or window when he passed it. At least... Gream thought he was glaring. It was hard to tell because he had no eyelids.

Gream shuddered at that. Ranboo produced tears, and didn't need to blink in order to keep his eyes moist, but his tears hurt him when he cried. The guy was a disaster and probably shouldn't even exist, yet he still did. The ghost tried to avoid the half enderman as best as he could, but wanted to speak to him about... something.

With a sigh, Gream left the comfort of his bed, leaving his room to wander the mansion. Ever since that siren had sounded, the two teens told Gream he legitimately couldn't leave the mansion, or else the man with the gold tooth might find him and... and...

Gream shook his head, acid burning at the wood beneath his feet. "Oh, oh no. Not good, not good!" The ghost looked around, desperate to find a chest filled with spruce wood to replace the slowly eroding material.

"You thinking about what Tommy and Tubbo told you?"

Gream spun around, Ranboo standing there with a baby zombie piglin clinging to his pant leg. Ranboo looked... bored? Angry? "I'm... I'm sorry, I'll replace it! I just need to find-" Ranboo sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry..." Gream muttered, pulling his feet up to float noticably off the ground.

"It's fine. Just... keep an eye out for Michael." Ranboo huffed, picking up the little piglin. "Yes! That's right, we need to be careful with you." Ranboo cooed, nuzzling his child.

Gream just watched, surprised at how different the half enderman was acting. "you... Yeah. I'll be super careful." The ghost stated, lowering his legs back down to appear as if he were walking. He floated over to the two, smiling behind his mask. "hey there Michael. You... You need to stay away from me, okay?" Michael let out a little snort, "are you the monster? You have a mask like the monster." Michael then took out a wooden sword...

And smacked Gream with it.

"Ow! I didn't- I mean... I'm sorry?!" Gream looked between Ranboo and Michael, confused what he had done to be hit over the head.

Ranboo rolled his eyes, taking hold of the toy sword. "He's not the monster Michael. Good effort though. Yes! Such a good effort!" Ranboo resumed nuzzling him again, earning a laugh from the piglin. Ranboo stopped for a moment, looking to Gream.

The ghost stared back at the half enderman, literally shrinking under his unbreaking gaze. "So, um... Where is the-"

"Take some emerald blocks from the chest near the front, and trade with one of the villagers. One should have spruce planks to make into slabs." Ranboo turned and left, leaving the now small ghost to float and find his way to the trading center inside the house.

Gream sighed, floating towards the front of the house to look for the chest. Ranboo's directions weren't the best as there were at least five or six chests near the front, and Gream had no idea what was in which chest. He'd never bothered to look before.

"You're sure you haven't seen anything?"

That voice. Gream froze, listening in to the muffle conversation.

"You an Tubbo built your house close to the prison. If he was going to look anywhere for supplies, he'd probably look here."

That voice sent chills down his spine, making him want to shrink down to his smallest size and hide inside the chest. The chest lid dropped from his grasp, slamming shut loudly. He had shrunk to his smallest size. He really needed to learn to control his abilities.

"What was that?"

Gream ducked behind the chest, clamping his hands over his mouth to stay quiet. The voice couldn't find him here... he'd be in deep trouble... his food would be taken away, his bed, his flags, his books, he'd be taken away to someplace terrible.

"Probably just Michael." Ranboo. Ranboo was... lying to that voice? Was Ranboo insane?!

"Since when could zombie piglins open and close chests?"

Silence followed. Heavy and tense. Neither person was backing down. Even from his hiding place, Gream could imagine Ranboo glaring at whoever had that voice. The Warden. That's the name that came to mind with that voice. That cruel, cold, heartless, paranoid voice.

"What? You think I'd let Dream stay here? You'd think I'd be that dumb?" Ranboo hissed after the silence. Ranboo... was he working with the man with the golden tooth? Was this... Warden guy one of his goons? Gream shook his head, tangling his hands in his hair. He wanted to remember... he needed to remember.

"You two had a secret conversation, and when I asked you about it you didn't remember. Then you come crawling to me, demanding to be let in-"

"I said to put me in the prison. As an inmate. But you said I was a good person!"

"Are you saying this wouldn't have happened if I locked you up?!"

"Maybe! I don't know at all! I don't know where Dream is, and even if I did I wouldn't be able to tell you! Just like how I can't tell you that I b-" Ranboo's voice suddenly died. He growled, a static noise coming from deep within his throat. It stopped, somewhat, lessening to background static; "Put your sword away. I'm not going to attack you. I have better control than that."

"What the hell kind of noise was that?!"

"The kind of noise I make when someone attacks me!" Gream could hear the Warden backing down now, thrown off by Ranboo's suddenly inhuman noises. It made sense though, Ranboo was half enderman. "You come into my house, accuse me of harboring a fugitive, who you know would kill my husband if given the chance, and you call into question if I had anything to do with it when you know I have a terrible memory and apparently was a traitor! Yes! I'm angered! Now get the hell off of my property."

Silence followed. Gream peered over the top of the chest, finally spotting the duo. Purple puffs flew around Ranboo frantically, similar static and garbled chirps coming from all of them. Some were buzzing around the Warden, clearly trying to intimidate him into leaving. Even with his mask on, Gream could see the glare the Warden was sending towards Ranboo. "This isn't over. If you come anywhere near the prison-"

"You'll kill me on sight. Yeah, whatever. That's your battle cry these days." Ranboo stepped up, getting right in the Warden's face. "If you come near my family ever again, I'll return the favor in such a way, you'll wish you were dead."

Gream listened to the heavy footsteps of the Warden retreat, ducking low  in hopes of not being seen as Ranboo turned to enter the house. The ghost heard the hybrid sigh, sinking to the floor with his back against the door. "You can come out now. Sam is gone."

The small form of the ghost man peered out from behind the chest, acid bubbling against the wood. He pulled his hand back, cringing behind his mask and ready to be scolded. Ranboo was staring at him, and he stared back, curling in on himself so as to not accidentally dissolve anything. "I'm-"

"Why do you shrink?"

Gream jolted. Ranboo was still staring at him with that pseudo-angry look he always seemed to have around the ghost. "I... I um... I don't know... I just... I really don't want to be seen, then I'm small like this, and burning things with acid, and... I'm sorry, I'll learn to control it."

Ranboo sighed, standing up and walking over to Gream. The half enderman knelt down, scooping up the tiny ghost and holding him up to his face; "Relax. It's fine. Did you... do you know who that is?"

Gream shook his head, pausing before shrugging. "I... Not really? His voice sounds familiar... badly familiar, but as for a name... Warden... The Warden." Gream looked up to Ranboo now, hugging himself as he stood on the teen's hands, the netherite protecting his hands from the acid Gream always seemed to drip. "Do you... I mean are you... Is he-"

"Relax. I don't pick sides. Unless they're Tommy and Tubbo. I'm on the side of those two, but only if I need to be." Ranboo wished he had eyelids right now, then Gream probably wouldn't be so scared of him. "Sam... The Warden is... He's stressed easily, and..." Ranboo glanced at Gream's eyes, or where he thought his eyes were, a cold stone of pity resting heavy in his gut as he was hit with the realization of just how scared the little ghost was. "I'm not really working with him, but... I am pret-" his mouth suddenly sealed shut, as if he had just swallowed a block of honey. Ranboo tilted his head in confusion. No, that couldn't be right... "I'm pla-" Again, he was stopped from speaking. With an annoyed sigh, he set Gream down on the chest. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I wish I could, but... I'm stopping myself, as you can see. Much like you and your... shrinking and acid, it's not something I can control. Please, don't tell Tubbo or Tommy."

Gream nodded. "I won't. I promise, just... help me with the floor please? I'm not sure how to get big again or turn off... Turn off? Stop? The acid issue going on." He muttered, picking up one foot to reveal a growing puddle of slimey acid. Ranboo chuckled, a gentle smile coming to his face. "Alright. But only if you use the magic word."

"Please and thank you?"

"There we go." Ranboo cooed, patting Gream's head. The half enderman set the little ghost down on the chest and went to repair the floor.

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 7: Getting Better

It has been one year since you first meet Endeavor. It only took you a few weeks to find an apartment. You use the word apartment loosely. Not many people would want to rent to a wanted criminal, let alone one with a demon living inside of him. It was only one room, with chipping paint, stained floors, cracked windows, dim ceiling light, but it was yours. The only reason you put up with it is because you couldn’t stay in Endeavor’s house forever and it did have 2 windows.

Living with Endeavor was awkward to say the least. Even though it was a family, no one acted like it. No one talked to each other unless it was required. Everyone just lived their own lives under one roof, it was very uncomfortable for you as you could sense the emotions were tense.

However, once you moved out, the paperwork finally was in for you to start your training. Endeavor personally trained you on combat training. He was quiet surprised the first time you took over his body, but his will power was stronger than your power at the time and he was able to break free. You also helped Enji with a lot of office work and you often went to lunch together. There was also the basic training of hero work, how to handle paperwork and deal with the rules and regulations. The one non-hero help you got was a therapist. You saw him every week and it did seem to help you with your emotions and memories. They might not go away, but at least you could keep them managed when they did come to the surface.

Speaking of feelings, you try to keep your feeling for Endeavor under control. At first you thought it was just because he saved you but every time your around him, your heart begins to flutter and you’re an emotional wreck. You get excited when he asked if you want to go out to lunch with him even if it is for business. Red is your favorite color and his crimson hair drives you wild. The way his muscles flex under his hero suit, the way the flames frame his face makes you want to just feel him all over. The first time you saw him without his fire mask, you practically passed out, that jaw line of his, the facial hair, everything was too much. Even thinking about him starts to make you feel all warm inside. That’s the best part about him, warmth. All your life you only knew cold and that man is the epitome of warmth. Just being near him was enough for you to relax. Oh, how you wonder what it would be like to be in his arms. You quickly stop your emotions as you know it will never happen.

You look at yourself in a full-length mirror leaning against the wall. All of the training has managed to put some weight on you, but your still only 160lbs, just under 6 foot. Your still covered in scars. Thanks to Zaheer, you are much stronger than you appear. As you continue to look at yourself, you feel a presence behind you and you look in the mirror. A 9 ft tall muscular body appears with red skin, golden mane with beard and golden horns. His face isn’t entire human, complimented with small white tusks. You see a large hand grip your shoulder as the claws dig in ever so little. He kneels down to match your height.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine Zaheer.” You look over to him instinctively but you just find yourself in an empty room. You look back to the mirror and he is there again.

“We have a big day ahead of us.” He smiles with a toothy grin. His pure white eyes shut with excitement.

“I know, we finally get our hero costume. I wonder how it will look.”

“I’m sure it will look great.” The demon goes to hug you. You look in the mirror and see he is but you only feel a vague presence.

“We better get going, we don’t want to be late!”

You walk for a little while until you reach your destination. It is one of the best hero suit makers in Japan, of course Endeavor would get your costume from there. You are working for him so he wants you to have the best. Once you enter, you see the man himself waiting in the lobby.

“Good Morning (Y/N), how are you today.” He sounds almost tired but you let it go. He is a hero after all and probably tired from everything he does.

“Good morning Endeavor, I hope you were not waiting too long.”

“Not at all, only a few minutes. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” not at all hiding your emotions.

Right as you said that, a woman approach. “Sir, we are ready for you in the fitting room. Follow me.”

You follow her to a hallway with many rooms. Luckily, because of the help you have been getting this doesn’t bother you at all. Once in one of the rooms, you find a hanger with the costume hanging. “Try it on and come out when you’re ready so we can make any adjustments needed.”

It takes you a few moments to get everything one but once you do, you exit and see Endeavor and the tailor sitting quietly. You step out with black boots most of the way up your calf, with straps to hold them tight. Next there are slate gray cargo pants with a red belt holding them up. You have a black tee shirt on with a demonic symbol on the chest in red. A red hoodie vest over that and the hood is down but there are dark red goggles over your eyes: partly to protect them, partly to conceal them. Finally, you have red and black fingerless gloves that go almost to your elbow. You don’t have any weapons as of yet, but you’re not really a combat hero. Endeavor looks over you as the woman gets up and checks the fit of everything. She is going to have to take make some adjustments as you grew a little since she took the measurements, but overall, she is happy with how it turned out.

“Do you like it?” You ask Endeavor.

“Well, I think it looks great, but how do you feel?”

“I like it!”

“And you Zaheer?”

“As long as (Y/N) is happy, I’m happy.”

“Well,” the tailor interrupts “if your happy with it, I’ll go ahead and take it and have the final adjustment for you by tomorrow. Just one last thing, what is your hero name for the records”

“My hero name?” You thought. You never have given much thought before but one name does come to mind. “Don’t laugh, but I think I have one.”

“What would that be sir?”

“Hellboy.” You state quietly almost expecting a laugh from both of them. “Hell for Zaheer and boy for me. The only reason I thought of boy is because I get called that all the time.”

“I only call you that when I’m angry.”

“Your angry a lot because that’s all you call me.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” Endeavor chimes in. “I kinda like it, it’s short and to the point.”

“Thank you.” You almost sigh with relief.

“Well, that takes care of that. If you could change out of your costume, you can be on your way.”

You both start heading out. It’s around noon now after everything. You start to get hungry.

“Did you want to get some lunch, Endeavor.”

“That’s fine, and you don’t have to keep calling me Endeavor, you can call me Enji when we are not working.”

“Oh, alright Enji. Did you want to get some katsu?”

“Hmm, that does sound good right about now.”

“Great! I know of this great place we can go.”

You walk for a little while until you round a corner to a back ally and go into a small restaurant. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in almost a month, I was getting worried about you.” The older man greets you and Enji. You sit down at the long bar and look over the menu. You get your favorite pork katsu while Enji goes for chicken. You two have some continue small talk. Even though you have seen Enji without flames on his face and in normal clothes, you still find yourself looking at him more. You find him so attractive. You internally try to push the feelings down: he is your boss, the person who trains you. You can’t have feeling for him, but he notices you staring at him and he raises and eyebrow while looking at you. You quickly look back to your food and jam a huge amount in your mouth to distract him from your stares.

After you pay and leave, your about to head to the agency but you forgot your phone at your apartment.

“Can we go back to my apartment real quick, I forgot my phone.”

“You’re always forgetting that phone of yours. Very well, we can go get it but make it quick.”

“Alright, follow me, it’s not far from here.”

You walk about a mile more. As you get closer to your building, you two start going deeper into the more dangerous part of the city. Enji knows that this is where more of the crime happens, he doesn’t believe that you live near here.

“Just a little further, it’s that building there.”

The building has half of the windows broken or cracked, the walls are starting to fall apart and the building overall looks like it should be condemned. Enji is still silent as you enter the building. The smell of chemicals and vomit fill the main lobby. He almost gags as you head up the crumbing stairs and was you walk down the hall, the doors of each apartment slam closed as each resident sees Enji. You open your door and he sees your room. He takes a good look at it as you grab your phone, you turn around and see the shock on his face.

“You can’t possible live here.”

“This is all I could get, not many people are going to rent to a fugitive.”

“How is this building not condemned?”

“I didn’t ask, I just wanted to get a place to live. I didn’t want to stay to long with you; I felt like I would be imposing.”

“You’re coming back with me. I can’t have you living here, it’s not safe.” He grabs your arm as he pulls you out of the apartment.

“But I still have a month…..”

“We are leaving now! I’ll have someone come get your things.”

You two quickly leave the apartment faster than you entered. Enji almost seems mad that you have been living in suck squalor. Secretly, deep in your heart, you’re glad to go back to live with him.

Next Chapter

[alberivh]

i don’t believe in the afterlife.

kaeya x gn!reader

warning : major character death, angst.

a/n : i’m sorry if this kinda messed up i wrote this while i’m having a one of a kind (?) writer block. yes this is a totall heavy angst so if you’re uncomfortable with angsty fic, please do stop yourself from here before we comtinue to the inword. sorry for the grammar mistake i’m not a fluent english speaker so please do ignore it. If you also don’t mind please help me share it if you like these type of content or so. :)

Kaeya Alberich the cavalry captain of the knights of favonious, who sworn his life for you and his future days. He might be the biggest and cockiest bastard of all monstadt. But he is a true gentlemen indeed, helping you with your troubles and even giving you a gift of season greetings and such. How sweet it is to imagine such a person you love gaving you a bless of image?

so once, when you were on your way to his usuall hiding spot from the crowded area of monstadt; which he barely saw as a comfort. You had a mind of question you wanted to ask, not because it was an answer to a past you must cleared out. totally no, kaeya is not even a part of your past, he is just a chance of light for your future.

Instead, after buying your thoughts to the time. you found him, looking so exhausted yet charming. you asked him, not knowing if he already realized your appearances or not, Or even the thought inside your mind.

“..kaeya my dear, have you ever believed in the afterlife?”

“What sort of question is that darling?” , quietly he turns his-now soft gaze onto you. Looked so curious yet so gentle.

“have you ever though about meeting ‘them’ again on your afterlife, then?”

“how can i imagine, dear? I don’t believe in the afterlife..it’s a stupid universe to imagine if i have to say” , still trusting his words, while he knew you would ask the same thing again and again before he paused the question from your mouth.

“Well it’s just so dearing for me to imagine such a universe you know…why won’t you believe in it?”

“one thing straight darling..the fugitive never knew to imagine, they only live to survive”

“You always say that kaeya.. let yourself dream once won’t you? It’s not hard to gave yourselves a ticket of favor” , it’s the first time you ask him this. For kaeya, this might count as out of the line for you to ask. But who cares at this point? Once a question could be an answer at the future. he kissed your cheeks in a sudden of second ; It’s a kiss to represent his gratitude for your love. He never knew what to thank you at first. But once, he knew everything would comeback to you for being here with him. So it was simply a gratitude for everything.

Until Now, when you saw him in this state, you saw his true intentions on loving you and keeping you safe. It was a favor from him which he need to return to his self before losing your conscious from his slightly empty arm. “You told me before, i though it wouldn’t hurt for giving myself such..a favor” , he looks onto you, lying and dying in his arms ; feeling like the time are so slow for the sake of your living. You already look like a corpse instead of a dying new-born, the droplet of bloods fill his clothes and ground. So sorrow and so painful..how can you do this to him? How can you just left him after he loved you that much of a deal?

you couldn’t even move your fingers anymore. darling let me wipe your tears. Wish he could hear your thoughts and wishes. Kaeya looks so unforgiven, yet he still manage to love you even after he realized he have no time once again. He look so tired, still he manage to carry you with care. You shaped a form of breath for him to listen, it was barely a voice. But he still could hear it, how dumb it is for lovers to stay with the dying ones

“Kaeya…i love..you..” , so frail and so painful. It was the last goodbye kaeya could hear from you, the last and the most important of all.

Finding a comfort to rest your head on his warm chest, you lose your consciousness. Your body slowly became so light, even so fragile for him to continue his ran. The source of his energy lost from his hand, could he even continue this living then?

“..we’ll met again soon darling..in the afterlife i proceed to trust because of you..i love you..”

In the end, kaeya alberich couldn’t manage to return his favor onto you and his own self. He try to dream like you say and he try to do a favor for his sake, but it all failed miserably, just because his only favor was to protect you and love you for all time. He dreams about the afterlife, after the day of your passing. only to remember how ridiculous it is for him to dream such a thing when you’re not even here with him anymore.

[dameronology]

forever & then some {obi-wan x reader}

summary: sometimes you doubt the jedi order - but you could never doubt obi-wan kenobi (for @ohhellokenobi - u said u wanted fluff and i hope this delivers)

this a repost of one i posted about 2 hours ago cos it wasn’t showing up in the tags and it was irking me am soz 

warnings: probably language? a very brief mention of the usual star wars canon typical violence but other than this is 100% pure unadulterated pining and yearning

- jazz xx 

It had been easy at first to pretend that you were okay.

When the war was only just beginning, you’d managed to stay hopeful. You’d managed to cling onto every last bit of optimism that you’d had, scrambling to find it with each passing battle, as though you were desperately gathering up pieces of a shattered illusion, trying to string it back together. Was that not what the Jedi order had been built on? Justice; the desire to find a balance in the galaxy, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, the equality would stay. That mantra was built into the very core of the beliefs you’d dedicated your life to. Every time you marched into battle with your men behind you, you’d repeat it over and over in your head.

Peace. Security. Justice.

Most of the Jedi would blindly follow the orders of the Council without so much as a shadow of a doubt. If they came from the Council, they were just. They were right, and they had pure intentions. You were fighting the good fight, right? The Jedi were the good guys. The other side were the bad guys.

But was it always that black and white? Acknowledging that the other side were bad didn’t automatically make you good. You were losing men everyday - good men, innocent men - and even though they had been born and bred to fight, it didn’t take away from the pain. They were your friends, and you’d found yourself wondering if you were doing the right thing.

It wasn’t an easy train of thought to deal with, not when you spent twenty-hours-a-day fighting in the war. You didn’t really have time to be introspective, let alone allow your mind to wander off to a place of politics and morals. Questioning everything wasn’t an option when you’d been taught to follow orders without a second thought. That didn’t mean you forgot about it - just pushed it to the back of your mind. You’d been taught to put your faith into the Jedi, and to believe that the light side would prevail. There were days where it felt like putting your blind trust into the Order was like stepping off of a ledge with a noose around your neck and hoping that there was sufficient ground below you to save you from the rope.

You were particularly feeling that on a cold, wet Friday afternoon.  Rain was lashing down on Coruscant, enveloping the city in a bubble of grey and gloom. You were sat in a bar a few miles out from the Temple, mindlessly staring at your drink and occasionally blinking at the reflections of the bright light that glared up at you from the flat beer. Who’s idea had it been to drink today? Wolffe’s, probably. With the right amount of encouragement, he probably had the power to turn the entire 501st into raging alcoholics.

‘You’re being awfully quiet.’ Obi-Wan commented from beside you.

If you were looking for a silver lining, the difficulty of the war had any prior complications about your secret relationship seem like an absolute doddle. You’d never doubted Obi-Wan - not once in the years that you’d known one another - but the current climate was simply a reminder of how much you needed him. You knew that he dealt with his own demons, and that he struggled with the war and the loss it brought, but it felt like he always knew what to say. If you were looking for a reason not to leave the Order, he was it.

‘I’m fine.’ You murmured, gently pushing your drink away. ‘Just don’t feel like drinking.’

The Jedi moved closer, shuffling up next to you in the booth you were in. ‘The energy around you is enough to give the entire city depression, darling.’

Fucking Force connection, you thought. It made hiding things from him impossible - not that you liked doing it, but it’s not as though you gave him weather forecasts on what your mood was. You didn’t want to talk about it. You just wanted to...simmer.

‘Pleaaaaase just let me wallow in my pity.’ You groaned, gently ghosting your hand over his.

‘You have a lot on your mind.’ He said.

‘You think I don’t know that?’ You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head towards him.

‘Come on.’ Obi stood up, exiting the booth and holding his hand out to you. ‘Let’s go home.’

‘But I promised Rex-’

‘- he’s had five pints of beer. Rex can’t tell the difference between you and a lamp post right now.’

Nodding - but not without a grimace - you tossed a few credits onto the table and followed Obi-Wan out the bar. The rain was still coming down hard on the city, bouncing off the streets and reflecting the bright lights of the buildings back at you from the wet ground, creating tiny galaxies in the puddles as you trudged through them.

Once you were far away enough from the bar to be clear of any clones, Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. The gesture was natural and entirely thoughtless, but the tension you were holding in your bones immediately evaporated at his touch. His presence was almost intoxicating in that sense; calming, addictive and occasionally enough to make you a little bit giddy.

He had to release his grip once you’d got to the Temple - you had to keep up appearances after all- but the minute you reached his quarters, his hands were back on you and pulling you towards the refresher. He worked on autopilot, pulling off your damp robes and passing you fresh ones. The clothes belonged to him, but they were clean and dry and smelt faintly of his aftershave. They weren’t that far off from one of his hugs.

‘Sit.’ Obi-Wan almost strong-armed you into a blanket, wrapping you up against his mattress. Even when you had your own quarters, you near enough spent every night here. ‘Now talk to me.’

‘I told you, Obi.’ You murmured, snuggling further into the duvet. ‘I just have a lot on my mind.’

‘Sharing is caring.’

‘That applies to things like cake. Not depression.’

‘What’s mine is yours?’

‘Same principle-’

‘- darling, please.’ He twisted on his side to face you, hands gently cupping your face. ‘I hate seeing you like this.’

‘You won’t like it.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Fine.’ You sighed. ‘But it’s a lot.’

‘Try me.’

You cleared your throat, sitting up slightly.

‘I think I’m losing faith in the Jedi Order.’ You stated. ‘Not just the council, but everything we stand for. There are days when I can’t see the difference between what we’re doing and what Grievous is doing and I just...I wonder if we’re on the good side.’

Obi-Wan blinked at you in surprise. Aside from when he’d broken his promise of no attachment (worth it), you knew that he had utter and complete unwavering loyalty to the Jedi. Perhaps that’s why you’d been so resistant to tell him - because he wouldn’t get it.

A small sigh escaped his lips, and he pushed a few strands of hair out your face. ‘How long have you been feeling like this, my love?’

‘I can’t pinpoint it.’ You murmured. ‘I did try to push it down at first, to ignore it and act like I was overthinking but I’m losing people, Obi. What if it’s you next time-’

‘- hey, stop.’ His grip on you grew a little tighter. ‘It won’t be. I can promise you that. I will always come home to you, okay? I’m not going anywhere.’

It was hard not to believe him, because he said it with so much confidence, as though he were so sure of his love for you that not even a droid army could get in his way. You had faith in that, because you probably would have done the same. People didn’t always find their strength until the thing they loved the most was at stake. Grief and fear were sometimes the most powerful things.

‘I know.’ You let out a small sigh, nodding. ‘And I also know you’re the last person who would ever question the Jedi and maybe I’m just being too introspective-’

‘- your feelings are valid.’ Obi pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Especially with everything going on, and it’s natural to lose your faith in things.’

‘So how do you do it?’ You asked. ‘How do you keep your faith when the world around is a giant ceiling fan filled with bantha crap?’

‘I find faith in other things.’ He said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘I’ll admit I’ve had my trust in the Order shaken too, so I find it in other places.’

‘Where?’

‘In the clones. They’re good men, and I know they wouldn’t go into battle and engage in combat unless it were for a good reason.’ He began. ‘And the individuals on the Council. I’ve worked with them for years and I trust them to make the right calls.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘That’s a good point.’

‘But above all, I have faith in you.’ That part caught you off guard. ‘I completely and entirely dedicate myself to the idea - perhaps even the fantasy - that if everything around us falls apart, I’ll still have you. Whether that’s as Jedi, or as two fugitives running around the galaxy, I know that everything will be okay as long you’re by my side.’

‘Damn.’ You murmured. ‘I can’t top that.’

Obi let out a small laugh, shaking his head at your comment. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘It makes sense, though.’ You replied. ‘Sometimes you’re the only thing that makes sense - like the only thing I can really trust. The only constant.’

‘I love you.’

Obi-Wan always stated it so plainly and simply: I love you. He didn’t have to say anything else because he didn’t have to. Your love for one another was just a fact of life and something that didn’t need to be explained, in the same way that Mace Windu was bald or that Anakin was a pain in the ass. It just was.

‘I love you too.’ You said. ‘So much.’

‘And whatever happens, it’ll always be you and me.’ He reminded you. ‘Above all, that is the only thing that matters.’

‘Once again, I cannot top that.’

‘Darling, once again, you don’t have to.’ Obi-Wan laughed. ‘Anything you fail to say, I can feel.’

‘Oh maker, is it time for a monologue about the Force?’ you groaned.

‘I thought you loved my monologues.’

‘I tolerate them.’ You poked his cheek playfully. ‘It’s you that I love, idiot.’

‘And you’ve sworn yourself to me forever.’ He leant down to brush his lips against yours, momentarily causing you to ascend any planetary atmosphere the galaxy had to offer. ‘So who’s the real idiot?’

‘Me.’ You dropped your head into his shoulder, letting out a groan.

‘Forever.’

‘And then some.’