#save myself and everyone else the goddamn trouble

[teethgnashing]

you will spend every day fighting to like yourself fighting to be happy fighting to want to live and then you will look in the mirror and realize that after everything you still absolutely despise yourself and then what is even the fucking point

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Chapter 8- hate you too

Summary: Rafe is back at Tannyhill, taking care of “business.” Pope gets himself into some trouble, and you get to talk to Rafe again. But by doing so, you betrayed the pogues and your brother.

Series masterlist

“Look at you! You’re so grown up!” Big John told you, you gave him a smile and wrapped your arms around him. It had been a while since you’ve seen him.

Everyone celebrated big John’s return to the Chateau, JJ hopping on his back with a wide smile on his face.

JJ thought of him as the father he never had, whenever your guys dad used to hit him, he always had a place at the Chateau. You had even been there quite a few times, when it got real bad.

You all sat down now, listening to them explain everything.

“Yeah, yeah, so we, um… we went to the archive in Charleston, and, uh… it was a dead end. A dry hole.. so…”

“So that’s the gold, the cross, and now El Dorado. We’re there for three, guys.” Pope spoke, pausing. “The streak continues.” He scoffed. “That’s great.”

Pope and Kiara left, you looked at JJ and he stood up. You did as well, mostly because he was your only ride at the moment.

You got him a new bike with some of the money you saved, and you were fixing the car later.

“I’m going fishing. Thanks for the beer.”

“Yea, thank you. See you guys later.” You told them, giving John B and Big John a small smile before following him.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“The cross is not on the train, Rafe. It did not arrive. Somebody stole the cross.” Wards voice spoke over the phone.

“Oh my God, wait, who stole it?” Rafe spoke, feigning his confusion.

“I don’t know who stole it, Rafe!”

“That’s rough.. I- I mean it could’ve been anybody, really, right?”

“Not really, Rafe. It could be one of a very few people.”

“Well, I mean, you know, we were just giving it away anyway… so, who cares?” He shrugged. “Who cares?”

Ward exhaled, making Rafe have a smug smile on his face.

“Okay, Rafe, okay. That’s done for now. I need you to finish the list I gave you. I want you to… sign for the east river property, when that’s completed, shut down the offices-“

“Yeah, no, I- actually I wanted to talk to you about that. Uhm, I’m thinking maybe we should keep the offices.”

“..what?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking maybe I should stay down here for a while. You know, really grow the company. I think it’d be good for us, right!”

“Listen to me, Rafe-“

“No. No, no, no, you listen, okay?” He put himself on speaker. “You listening? You remember when you told me to make myself useful? Well, thats exactly what I’m doing. I’m making myself useful, alright? I can do shit, you know? Explore options… so for the benefit of all, I think I’m gonna hang out for a while, okay?”

“Rafe, listen to me, you are there for one reason. You are to act as my proxy to shut down the companies, okay? That is our one play, and if you cannot do it-“

“If I can’t do it? If I can’t do it, then what? Then what?” He shouted, “you gonna hop on a plane? Come down here? I mean- it’ll be like a goddamn Elvis sighting! Ward Cameron, everyone! Oh my God, he lives! He’s back from the dead!”

Rafe scoffed, looking down at the ring on his finger.

“I got the family ring now, Pops. Yeah, I’m wearing it, and it’s my time to step up, okay? You’re dead.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You took a deep breath, raising your hand to knock on the door.

“Hold on!” Ricky shouted from inside, you heard rummaging before he came over and opened the door.

He looked at you, your eyebags dark, your clothes dirty and ruined, your expression tired.

“Holy shit.” He spoke, dropping whatever was in his hands before stumbling to pick it back up.

“I- i heard you were back and i tried texting you- but-“ he said with a laugh when you wrapped your arms around him.

“Broke and lost my phone.” You told him, smiling as you pulled away from the hug.

“Shit- uh, come in.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵��︵

“And rumor has it, along with everything else, you stole that catamaran out there.”

“I didn’t s- I was with Sarah Cameron when i was on that boat. That’s their families boat!” He pointed.

“Not according to the registration. It’s Rafe’s boat, and he says you stole it. He’s keeping it here because he doesn’t want you around it.”

“Okay, Billy, come on. There’s got to be something.”

“I’m sorry kid.” Billy sighed out. “Guffy put the nix on it. Okay? I can find cheap help that doesn’t piss my clients off.” The phone started ringing and Billy glanced over. “I gotta go.” He sighed, leaving.

As JJ walked on the dock with tears begging to be let out, he heard a familiar voice shout.

“Damn, Rafe. Come on, country club. Bro, how are you gonna have this and not even tell me! You got a whole YMCA up on this bitch, dude.” Barry spoke with a laugh.

“Barry! Time to think. All right, we need to make a move.” Rafe shouted, standing up now.

“That’s all we do, bro. We been making moves.”

JJ hid, watching the conversation and listening in on it.

“Yeah, well we don’t have much time. Yo, come down here, you’re not gonna believe this shit.” Rafe spoke, all of them stepping down.

JJ sighed, thinking as he stood up. He took off his shoes, and dove into the water.

“I’m just saying we need to take this shit seriously.” JJ heard Rafe say when he went closer, now in front of the boat.

“Dude, bro, i should get a tooth made out of this, huh?” Barry asked, smiling as he held up a bar to his teeth.

“Look, don’t be touching the shit. Just put it back.” Rafe told him.

“So paranoid, bro.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the cross. I’m trying to make money.”

JJs head snapped up at his words.

“I told you, my aunt, she got some contacts. She gonna help us move these little bitches. The gems, the nuggets, the whole damn melted enchilada.” Barry told Rafe.

“These gems are mint, man. The golds bullion. We’re selling it in bars. Alright? I’m not gonna deal with some half assed pogue shit with some reject from Zale’s, bro-“

“Watch how you speaking about my auntie, dog.”

“I’m not talking about your aunt. I’m just…” JJ swum back to the dock, the rest of the conversation not important now that he knew about the gold and the cross.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Pope… he has the cross and he melted it down.”

Popes face fell, he stared out into the water.

“Fuck!” He shouted. “Of course it was Rafe.” He said as he panted.

“Yeah, I mean, we probably coulda guessed that.” You said.

“The cross of Santo Domingo, desecrated! For money? God!”

“I know.. so.. I think we need to stay calm to make a plan, but we got to stay-“ JJs sentence was cut off as Pope smashed the floorboards.

“Getting better at that.”

“This is messed up, man. Even for them.”

“I know.” JJ said.

“Couldn’t agree more.” You told them.

“And they’re just gonna keep getting away with it. They’re gonna keep doing that shit. Gonna keep winning.”

“I mean, pope, is this news to y-“

You hit JJs shoulder before he could finish that sentence, giving him a pointed look as he rubbed his shoulder.

“No. But I’m sick of being the good guy.” He said, before walking away.

“Pope.” Cleo said, but he started to run. “Pope, where are you going?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Well, I appreciate the help, you three.” Mrs. Heyward spoke, you and Cleo coming out and setting up tables.

“You know I ain’t missing Mrs. Hayward’s cooking.” JJ said with a small smile, wiping down the table.

“Unlike my derelict son. He’s usually here by now”

JJ tried to steal something off the grill, but his hand was slapped away.

“I’m sure he’ll be back any second, Mrs. Heyward. Probably just going through a rough time. It’s been hard adjusting back to normal life. For all of us.” You told her, a hopeful smile on your face.

“Either one of yall moved the pistol from in there?” Heyward spoke, pointing to the inside. “The one I keep under the register?”

“JJ?”

“Whoa, okay, I didn’t touch it. Okay?” He quickly defended

“He didn’t.” You told him.

“Yeah, well somebody did. Cause it’s gone.”

“I got my own gun, Mr. Heyward.” You held your hands up in defense when he looked at you.

“You see? I- dang it. I gotta find it.” He stormed inside, Mrs. Heyward following.

“Shit.” You muttered, turning to the both of them

“He’s going after Rafe.”

“I’ll check the marina.” You quickly spoke up. “Okay… I’ll come with.” JJ spoke, but you shook your head.

“Go with Cleo to Tannyhill. I doubt he’ll be at the marina still.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“I haven’t talked to you in a minute, all right? No, look, listen, okay, the situation is we got… I got it. I got it right here. It’s bars, in bullion. All right.” Rafe spoke on the phone, pacing on the boat.

Pope held the gun, moving it up. He cocked it, pointing it to Rafe and aiming carefully with tears in his eyes.

He heard the footsteps before he heard your voice.

“Pope..” you mumbled. “If you do this, your whole life will go to shit. Trust me.”

“I don’t care.”

“But you care about your mother. And your father. What would they think?”

“I think they would understand how I feel.” Pope said, tears now streaming down his face. “For once, he would lose like we always do.”

You sighed, sitting down next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, as he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter anyways. I’ve lost everything.”

“Are you kidding? You have a family, you have a home. You have friends that would kill themselves for you. Pope, you are the smartest fucking kid I know, but that is some bullshit coming out your mouth right now.” You paused for a moment.

“I know that right now it feels like nothing matters, and believe me, I’ve been there, but trust me, what you do is going to matter.” You continued.

You grabbed his arm, lowering it along with the gun, he exhaled and sobbed. You held him, letting him cry into your shoulder.

“Just breathe, dude. You’re good.”

You glanced back at Rafe on the boat, watching him pace back and forth on the phone.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“I’m sorry, J. I already asked, but there’s no room left in the house. I’m sorry.” You told him, a sad smile on your face.

“You think you can stay at the Chateau for a while? I- I just got this new job, and I’m really trying. I swear. I’m gonna get like- I’m gonna have to get like two more, but I swear, I’m gonna get some place soon, even if it’s like.. a fucking shithole-“ you rambled on.

JJ nodded, cutting your off with his words. “I’ll figure it out, it’s all good. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”He told you, shrugging and putting his cap back on his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, I’m sure. Jb won’t mind, I already practically lived with him before, I’ll do it for years again if I have to.” He shrugged.

“Thank you, JJ. See you,” you nodded, giving him a small smile before walking away.

“See you, dude,”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Yeah, a lot happened after that. John B showed up, Big John had been kidnapped, and now JJ and John B were going to some professors house to get info on where he might be, because all they knew is he was somewhere in South America.

And you were currently working two jobs, one of which was a bartender one.

The bar was in a club on figure eight, so of course you heard a bunch of shit. But today, you couldn’t help but listening in on the conversation.

“You know that Rafe Cameron is sellin’ fucking gold? From like some… ancient artifact or something?” One man said to another, downing the shot he had just gotten.

“Sell a bit here, a little bit there. Under the radar.” Rafe had told Barry when he talked about the plan for selling the gold. Clearly, that had not worked as well as they hoped, since word got around.

You listened intently, your job of wiping up the bar now forgotten.

“What? That’s weird. Heard he’s been on his fuckin’ rocker ever since his dad, and ever since that one girl from the cut.. what’s her name?”

“You talkin’ bout Maybanks sister?” The man asked, not even glancing at you as you filled up his cup again.

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers. “Her. He’s been weird since they broke up.”

“Has he, now?” You asked them with a quirked eyebrow. It was then they looked at you, eyes widening in realization.

“I mean, shit, I see why now.” One of them mumbled when you walked away, making you smile to yourself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Tannyhill parties. You hated them. You sighed as you stood in front of the house, shaking your head to yourself as you went in through the back and hopped through an open window, avoiding the dude at the front door.

Rafe really had to hire his own bouncer? That’s low.

You tried not to get spotted, and somehow it had worked. Because among all the drunk and horny teenagers, you were hidden.

You went up the stairs when you didn’t see him anywhere. And you glanced in his room, no sign of him.

“And, if you would kindly follow me, Miss Sofia.” Rafe spoke, guiding her outside.

“VIP section.” He spoke, putting an arm around her.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, only very, very special people are allowed here.. so.”

“Mm..”

“So you can see the water…” he pointed out to the ocean.

“Hey, that ain’t no Jim beam bullshit! All right? That’s Pappy Van Winkle, that’s like a days salary bro! Aye, if you don’t have a drink in your hand get the hell out of my house! Get off my property!” He shouted to the partygoers, all of them cheering at him.

“So this is the VIP life huh?”

“Mm-hmm. Yeah.”

“Cool.” She beamed at him.

“You wanna see some more?” He asked, but before she could answer he heard a a familiar voice.

“Nice party. This shit still tastes like garbage.” You told him, holding up the red cup with some expensive shit you got downstairs.

You wouldn’t admit it stung to see him with another girl. But you did like the way her smile faltered and fell when his eyes were on you now.

“How’d you get in here? Thought I had-“

You shrugged. “I used a window. Can we talk?”

He glanced at you and back at Sofia.

“Alone.” You clarified.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere, yeah?” He told her quietly. She nodded.

You both went into his room, he shut the door behind him. You stood in front of him, your arms wrapped around yourself as you looked around the room.

“You wanted to talk, so talk.” He snapped impatiently.

“Jeez, okay, okay. Just cut to the chase, do you have my jacket? I haven’t been able to find it and I know I always left it here.”

“You came here, through a window, for a fuckin’ jacket?” He asked, his tone annoyed.

“No… that’s… that’s not my point. I just… Rafe, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to be.”

He was listening now.

“Why the fuck did you burn down the cross?” You asked him.

“What?” He laughed, your sudden change in demeanor was hilarious to him. “I- it’s mine. Don’t you guys get that?” He pointed to himself, his eyebrows furrowed. “Mine. I fuckin’ went to hell and back for that thing.” He pointed, voice louder now.

“Yeah, all for some fuckin’ money! Which, may I remind you, you already have plenty of. You’re being an asshole, Rafe-“

“Yeah, and when am I not with you?” He scoffed.

“Do you really wanna have this argument? Right here? And while I’m here, I broke up with you, so why are you telling people it’s the other way around? You don’t wanna seem like a pussy or something?” You are practically shouting now, happy that the music drained out the noise.

“Oh, don’t even!” He laughed. “Are you fucking-“

“It is Popes cross, not yours. And just admit you don’t wanna be seen as the boy who begged and cried for his girlfriend to come back!” You yelled at him, poking your finger into his chest.

When the fuck did you two get so close to each other? You thought.

You looked up at him, panting. He stared down at you. He grabbed your wrist, harshly holding it in his hand.

Your heart raced as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a fiery, heated kiss. One full of anger, pent up feelings. Of course, you didn’t reciprocate at first.

You fell under his spell, however, seconds later, kissing him back. His hand let go of your wrist, and were currently on your sides, pulling you even closer as you both crashed onto the floor, you straddling him.

“I- I fucking hate you.” You muttered when you both pulled away, causing him to smirk against your lips.

“Hate you too.” He told you, going back to shoving his tongue in your mouth.

————————

Taglist:

@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah

[imweirdimjazzy]

Questions of Hell

Pairing: Alastor x GN!Reader

Description: after tiring a day, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for the radio demon chasing you with questions spending the night, right?

Warnings: mentions of drugs and that’s about it (alastor is prick btw)

Word count: 2104

A/N: hello! This is kinda my first time posting here in tumblr so bear with me on my first post here. Also this isn’t proofread so there could be couple of mistakes here and there so I’m sorry about that. No use of Y/n. But please enjoy it! Btw this fic can be taken as romantic or platonic either could work. Enjoy! :)

For most of my human life I thought death would be simple and morbid. Once life expectancy reaches its limit for how much it can go, the body starts to get tired and the brain will shut, just as the body decomposes.

And just like that you would be dead.

I never tried hard to question the afterlife since it had gave me a headache if I had think too hard about it but I do admit I had a few times where I did think about it too hard.

I just didn’t expect to wind up as a goddamn sinner in a literal pot of hell.

I can admit I wasn’t exactly the most holiest person. I fucked up. Quite a lot of times. And I suppose that life is all about whether you be rewarded to get into heaven or thrown down to hell for punishment.

And for that I now have to deal with the princess of hell and her friends in the Hazbin Hotel.

Charlie was energetic to know that I was another guest at the hotel ready to redeem sinners and probably grab the chance to get to heaven. Seems quite ridiculous once the opportunity was handed to me. Honestly I stayed because I knew nowhere else would let me stay without paying or doing something to repay back.

Yet I got to meet some of the most interesting people. Starting with Angel Dust who was porn star himself and only seems to make it his whole personality but he sure knew how to make a party start going. He also makes anything—and I mean ANYTHING to be dirty.

Vaggie who seems to be strict on everyone and trying her best for all of us to actually have good morals. Sure, we didn’t care but we all understood she wanted for the best of us. Sir Pentious was there to spy on them because of the Vees but then accidentally liked the idea of staying and making a better change of himself.

And there was Nifty who has a certain quirk driven into her personality that was unlike everyone else but she was almost a kid just needed to be protected. Just try not to get stabbed by her. Husk who seems to tell everyone to fuck off even though he’s bartender and you’re sitting at the bar specifically wanting a drink. He acted he hated everyone, but he never really did. He just hated someone who seems to fake who they actually are.

And I’m guessing that’s why he isn’t particularly fond of Alastor.

Alastor is a unique demon. To say in a short sweet way to not say any bad word on his name. Yet it’s hard to say he’s quite a mystery to all of us. Charlie might own the hotel but Alastor is faculty manager of the hotel. He’s always looming somewhere in here and always there with an eye to watch us.

I have to admit I even avoid him. His presence was kind I never had bump into, I rather make it stay that way.

My legs had grown numb and heavier as I kept walking back to the hotel. I was exhausted from Charlie’s shenanigans today. Trying to encourage other sinners out there to come to the hotel and save themselves from the extermination. Failed horribly since how many either attempt to kill us, offer sex, or offer straight up cocaine.

I gave up and had left Charlie with the others to keep going. It was getting late either way and they were planning to go into club.

Didn’t want to get myself into too much trouble anymore either way.

Pushing the doors to let myself in the hotel—I had let out an exhale that I had held all day. My body was slumped and all I could think was my comfy bed.

“My, my, you look quite a mess dear!”

The radio voice had made me slightly jump out of my skin.

To the right of me I could see Alastor sitting on a couch in the lobby. One hand with whiskey in a glass cup and the other with a book. His legs crossed with one leg on top bouncing to the sound of jazz playing background.

“Alastor?”

“Didn’t expect a fellow like me up around this hour, but I couldn’t resist such a great novel here wouldn’t you say?”

He made that little hum that sparked a few radio statics in his voice.

“Look, if you’re here to mock or annoy me today I make sure those antlers of yours are gonna be long gone before you know it.”

Alastor laughed and got up with swift movement with his cane. That smile was almost stitched to his face every glance I took of him. I expect there won’t be a day where I don’t see that venom smile of his.

His hands clasped in front of him as he eyed me down. “Now why would I do that? I merely checking up on is all.”

He said it with such a smirk in his voice.

“Sure, whatever, do what you want I guess,” I grumbled under my breath.

Attempting to head upstairs, Alastor tried to get in my way as he kept reappearing in front of me in every corner I try to go.

“What the—“

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going?” A playful tone was layered into his voice. Letting out chuckle as his antlers move just for a second.

He knew it was getting on my nerves.

“To my room. Is there something that you want?”

I was a bit hesitant when I first spoke, especially since Alastor was a type of demon who never necessarily wants nothing out of someone except manipulation.

He makes that same hum again, letting out a sing-song voice. “Well, I’m bored and I’m in the mood of doing something.”

“Okay—kill someone or some deer.”

I tried again walking away but he reappears again in front of me on the steps of the stairs. Keeping his eyes on me as he leaned on the handrail of the stairs. I could tell from his eyes that my annoyance was kicking the roof by now.

“Not really in the mood for that kind of fun tonight dear. I was actually hoping to maybe play some sorts of game with you.”

“A game?” I questioned.

“Yes! Just any sort of ordinary game. A game where I can ask questions about you and you have to answer them.”

I blinked at him for a moment and then narrow my eyes.

“So you’re interrogating me.”

“No, nonsense! Now, come on, sit on the couch and make yourself comfortable.”

Alastor nudge me downstairs and I follow him. I had no choice and I rather didn’t wanna push any limits with radio demon exactly. He wasn’t the type to be messing around.

Suspicion was written all over my face as I sat down.

Alastor offers whiskey in a glass with a smile. “Whiskey, dear?”

“Um—-no, no thank you.”

He sets the glass on the side table along with the book. Peering to my side I notice the book was the classic Dracula book.

Alastor sat on the other end of the couch. A leg propped on the other. Resting his chin on his hand on the arm rest.

“Now, I’ll start of the with an easy question to start off soft,” stated Alastor. “Do I annoy you?”

“Yes. Next question.”

His smirk grew wide yet his eyes narrowed down on me. Letting out a laugh that sounded for sure forced but as well annoyed.

“Okay, let me ask an easier question. What is your favorite color?”

“Oh well um—maroon. Maroon is my favorite color.”

Alastor hummed to himself. “Quite an unique answer. Didn’t take you as the type to like color such as maroon.”

“Red or maroon. I just like good color of red. Next question.”

Alastor tapped his fingers along the arm rest as he thought of another question to ask.

“What’s your favorite time of day?

Looking back at him with a tilted head I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Alastor rolled his eyes jokingly and chuckled, seeming slightly amused of me. “I mean exactly what I said. What is your favorite time of day? Mornings? Afternoons? Nights?”

He lists off with this condescending tone, as if he spoke to me as a child.

“Watch your tone, and watch your ears, deer,” I hissed. But since you’re so damn curious. It’s night. And sometimes late afternoons. Not as much anymore though. I love them more in human life.”

“Human life you say?”

Alastor watches me as I adjust the black turtleneck I wore.

“Next question please.”

Alastor didn’t say anything but made a louder hum as he thought. Still overbearing me with annoyance of course.

“I’m running out of quite a lot of questions here but I suppose I should’ve asked this first, how are you liking this hotel so far?”

The tone switches and audibly notices it. Turning into this nonchalant tone. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be curious or crack me under pressure with his eyes seeming to only stare at me.

With a sharp inhale I spoke direct.

“Annoying as fuck. I never was too fond of the idea of redeeming since it was hard to wrap my head around the fact that sinners here can even get the chance to go up to heaven with the rest of angels.”

He kept silent with his smile but I kept continuing.

“I didn’t think it would work. And I still have mixed feelings about it but…I do have to admit I kinda like the friends I made here.”

His eyebrow raised and he tilted his head almsot intrigued of what I had said. “I see. And these friends you’ve made here..”

His smile twisted into a smirk as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees.

“Any particular ones you admire the most?”

It was a question that had me actually thinking this time around and I knew it was a way for Alastor to get to me, and I didn’t want him too.

“Well, each person has their own unique thing to admire.”

He tweaks his head to the side and only narrows his eyes. Still with smile.

“Charlie can be a lot and maybe too hyper, but she’s willing to give people a chance. Vaggie pushes everyone and is harsh but does it for us to get better.. Sir Pentious is someone willing to give up villainous tendencies. Angel is…well Angel but he is a friend that is loyal and would do anything to back up friend.

Husker and Nifty are the same as well. All of them have everything to admire about.”

Alastor listened intently on how I spoke each of the hotel residents living here

“Interesting. Very interesting.”

He sat back once again, his legs still crossed and his hands back in his lap. Alastor chuckled again, looking at me for a moment.

“And what about me? Is there anything you admire about me?”

I scoffed and smirk a little.

“A bit full of yourself are you?”

His eye twitched a little and seemed ready to respond, but I quickly added on.

“You always stay in control. Even if you aren’t or you’re not wanting to, you always are. You piece of shit who certainly earn a spot living here. I’ll give you that, but even I can admit that you’re intelligent in what you do. Even how manic and evil it can be.”

Alastor chuckled again. He was quite amused by my words. That wasn’t what he was expecting, but he was satisfied by it. He leaned forward a bit again, resting his arms on his legs. His elbows on his knees once again as he stared right into your eyes with his permanent smirk.

“How observant you are my dear. I thought you’d think of me as a annoying bastard”

“No, I also think that too.”

A smile spread on my lips as genuine the pit of fire in hell and before another word had slipped out of Alastors mouth, a rush of familiar friends came through the door.

“I need fucking a drink what the hell was that!?” Angel's voice rang through the hotel and same with others.

I laughed and got distracted by them as soon they called for me but Alastor sat on the couch there observing the others.

Asking himself many questions of himself now.

For how much this sinner might’ve made him rethink his plan.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 3 EPISODE 10 || HEAVEN AND EARTH ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Over the next few days, a routine set in, as it does in even the most desperate circumstances, provided that they continue long enough. The hours after a battle are urgent and chaotic, with men’s lives hanging on a second’s action. Here a doctor can be heroic, knowing for certain that the wound just stanched has saved a life, that the quick intervention will save a limb. But in an epidemic, there is none of that. Then come the long days of constant watching and battles fought on the field of germs—and with no weapons suited to that field, it can be no more than a battle of delay, doing the small things that may not help but must be done, over and over and over again, fighting the invisible enemy of disease, in the tenuous hope that the body can be supported long enough to outlast its attacker. To fight disease without medicine is to push against a shadow; a darkness that spreads as inexorably as night. I had been fighting for nine days, and forty-six more men were dead. Still, I rose each day at dawn, splashed water into my grainy eyes, and went once more to the field of war, unarmed with anything save persistence—and a barrel of alcohol. There were some victories, but even these left a bitter taste in my mouth. I found the likely source of infection—one of the messmates, a man named Howard. First serving on board as a member of one of the gun crews, Howard had been transferred to galley duty six weeks before, the result of an accident with a recoiling gun-carriage that had crushed several fingers. Howard had served the gun room, and the first known case of the disease—taken from the incomplete records of the dead surgeon, Mr. Hunter—was one of the marines who messed there. Four more cases, all from the gun room, and then it had begun to spread, as infected but still ambulatory men left the deadly contamination smeared in the ship’s heads, to be picked up there and passed to the crew at large. Howard’s admission that he had seen sickness like this before, on other ships where he had served, was enough to clinch the matter. However, the cook, shorthanded as everyone else aboard, had declined absolutely to part with a valuable hand, only because of “a goddamned female’s silly notion!” Elias could not persuade him, and I had been obliged to summon the captain himself, who—misunderstanding the nature of the disturbance, had arrived with several armed marines. There was a most unpleasant scene in the galley, and Howard was removed to the brig—the only place of certain quarantine—protesting in bewilderment, and demanding to know his crime.

As I came up from the galley, the sun was going down into the ocean in a blaze that paved the western sea with gold like the streets of Heaven. I stopped for a moment, just a moment, transfixed by the sight. It had happened many times before, but it always took me by surprise. Always in the midst of great stress, wading waist-deep in trouble and sorrow, as doctors do, I would glance out a window, open a door, look into a face, and there it would be, unexpected and unmistakable. A moment of peace. The light spread from the sky to the ship, and the great horizon was no longer a blank threat of emptiness, but the habitation of joy. For a moment, I lived in the center of the sun, warmed and cleansed, and the smell and sight of sickness fell away; the bitterness lifted from my heart. I never looked for it, gave it no name; yet I knew it always, when the gift of peace came. I stood quite still for the moment that it lasted, thinking it strange and not strange that grace should find me here, too. Then the light shifted slightly and the moment passed, leaving me as it always did, with the lasting echo of its presence. In a reflex of acknowledgment, I crossed myself and went below, my tarnished armor faintly gleaming.Elias Pound died of the typhoid four days later. It was a virulent infection; he came to the sickbay heavy-eyed with fever and wincing at the light; six hours later he was delirious and unable to rise. The next dawn he pressed his cropped round head against my bosom, called me “Mother,” and died in my arms. I did what had to be done throughout the day, and stood by Captain Leonard at sunset, when he read the burial service. The body of Midshipman Pound was consigned to the sea, wrapped in his hammock. I declined the Captain’s invitation to dinner, and went instead to sit in a remote corner of the afterdeck, next to one of the great guns, where I could look out over the water, showing my face to no one. The sun went down in gold and glory, succeeded by a night of starred velvet, but there was no moment of grace, no peace in either sight for me. As the darkness settled over the ship, all her movements began to slow. I leaned my head against the gun, the polished metal cool under my cheek. A seaman passed me at a fast walk, intent on his duties, and then I was alone. I ached desperately; my head throbbed, my back was stiff and my feet swollen, but none of these was of any significance, compared to the deeper ache that knotted my heart. Any doctor hates to lose a patient. Death is the enemy, and to lose someone in your care to the clutch of the dark angel is to be vanquished yourself, to feel the rage of betrayal and impotence, beyond the common, human grief of loss and the horror of death’s finality. I had lost twenty-three men between dawn and sunset of this day. Elias was only the first.

48 MOMENT OF GRACE ~voyager

[bomberqueen17]

crabwise

I have been goddamned useless this week. I have a sort of schedule this summer where I"m at the farm three weeks and then home one, more or less, and in that one week I'm meant to get all my random shit done, but i have done none of the things I was supposed to this week and I'm going to be in trouble before the end of the month when I don't actually renew my driver's license or go to the dentist or eye doctor or any of those things. But. You know. Well.

I have spent much of this week listening to Patrick O'Brian audiobooks, which I had meant to save for car rides but they have these cliffhangers, see, and if I just-- so mostly i'm listening to them while sewing or cleaning but sometimes I'm just sitting there listening to them, which is a sinful waste of time. but. There is so little joy in this world let me have this.

This is why i don't read very much, incidentally; I am like an addict, and I only want to read and don't want to do anything else in my life, and I'd managed for a while to substitute writing for reading, which is equally absorbing but at least I can tell myself it's productive. Which is sort of a toxic way to consider it, but there it is.

Anyway I've made desultory progress on a bunch of shit this week but the one thing I *have* achieved is that I have assembled an entire novel treatment for a fanfiction literally nobody really needs, about Tom Pullings and the character variously referred to as either James or William Mowett depending which book you consult. (I think his name is really meant to be James and then he got slightly confused with William Babbington, the other midshipman.) Anyway I just think they're cute, and Tom Pullings is absolutely a black Lab, just 100% earnest, anxious, diffident shy morose guilt, except occasionally when someone offers to take him for a walk (or promote him), when he's just this radiant being, and on the occasions when he is allowed to pursue a groundhog (or, y'know, a ship action) when he is suffused with joyful, savage ferocity. But most of the time he is a little apologetic for existing and is anxiously trying to hold everything together at all times for everyone and blaming himself if it isn't perfect. And I want to chew on him like a squeak toy.

However I also used this to bribe myself into actually editing chapter 2 of Not A Crest, which is now actually perfectly postable, and I now know how to progress in that story, so perhaps I will actually have something to post at the end of this week. We'll see.

Hence the title of this post, I feel like I've been scuttling sideways by accident into any kind of forward progress in my life but at least I'm moving.

[that-darn-clown]

another ask before church, let's go:

so these are just some general thoughts on my beloved Charlie Emily in the Rewrite.

both of the twins are just like their dad, but in different ways.

Sammy is more quiet and aloof, but he can be a silly guy when he wants to. like Charlie and his father, he's interested in robotics and Maybe taking over the business someday. he's not good with emotions (his own and everyone else's), and he wants William dead (although he's certainly more...impulsive than Henry).

Charlie is calm, generally viewed as the one people go to for comfort (whether she's exactly prepared to or able to is another question entirely), as well as a guiding, leading figure. she's got a temper like her dad, though. if she's pissed, she retorts first and asks questions later.

as Henry says, it's in her nature to protect the innocent. she lifts people into her arms, and yet very few do the same for her.

like, i love the fanon thing of Charlie being pretty competent in her role as Soul Protector for the other children, but. i've always found the idea of Charlie just barely knowing what the fuck to do even funnier.

like, this kid just got murdered. she now has five more, potentially much younger kids that are also confused. okay, now it's six because Cassidy. like. sure, she'll help the best she can but That Doesn't Mean She Knows What She's Doing.

i like to imagine it's stuff like this:

"Okay, can we be a bit less murdery? Y'all can chill the fuck out-"

"Jesus fucking- Okay Gabi. Uncle Will's being a dumbass and murdering kids again, so we've gotta stop him from doing that, okay? Yeah I know, I know, you're tired, but I ain't doing this by myself and you're the only one up right now. No I'm not asking Cassidy for help with this-" (Charlie immediately pre-SAVE THEM)

"NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE: I'VE BEEN PROTECTING PEOPLE FROM YOUR BULLSHIT THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME!" (< talking to William post-SAVE THEM)

"Cassidy, I love you like a younger brother, you know that. Stop fucking murdering the nightguards, you're gonna get us in trouble and shut down again."

"Cassidy, I'm gonna turn around, and you better not be about to show me Alex's dead body- Why do I even fucking try at this point."

"Uncle Will, this is why you should've quit your bullshit. Because now you're dead and stuck inside your fursuit for the rest of time. Why are you treating that like a good thing the fuck-" (< not upset about the furry part. it's quite literally everything else that's fucked up to her)

"STOP TRYING TO KILL MY BROTHER, ASSHOLE-"

"STOP TRYING TO KILL YOUR SON, ASSHOLE-"

"Cassidy. Cass. Cassy. My little brother in a better universe. You can move on, you don't need to keep torturing your dad. I mean I get why you're doing this, but fucking Christ-"

and those are just a few examples of Charlie being very tired of this shit. give my girl a break, she needs one

Hahaha charlie just being so tired of this shit but. She loves these damn kids so by god she's getting their shit together

[hangezoeenthusiast]

You failed me

multiple x gn!reader

word count: 2,524

warnings: cursing, yelling, arguing, death, angst, blood, explosion, the egg (it deserves its own warning)

synopis: you guys failed me(us)

(the lyrics go with each person, might not get everyone, and also xd’s part is kinda wonky)

song: rät by penelope scott

I come from scientists and atheists and white men who kill God They make technology, high quality, complex physiological Experiments and sacrilege in the name of public good They taught me everything, just like a daddy should

Quackity, Karl, George, and Sapnap left you. Your mentors, your friends. The ones who taught you everything you knew. They went to build their little “Kinoko Kingdom” while you stayed in the ruins, the dust. “They’ll regret that.” you swore. You built something better, something greater.

It was called “Las Nevadas”. A place where everyone was allowed. They would remember not to fuck with you. They would soon realize that they should watch their back for the rest of their short, stupid lives.

“Watch out, you guys, I'm watching your every move.”

And you were beautiful and vulnerable and power and success God damn, I fell for you, your flamethrowers, your tunnels, and your tech I studied code because I wanted to do something great like you And the real tragеdy is half of it was true

Wilbur majorly fucked up. He was supposed to be with you to the end, your guys’ country, right? No. He left you behind. He went to find peace, find his heaven, while you stayed on earth, wallowing away until your flesh seeped off your rattling bones, rotting away by yourself, with no one to bare witness.

“Why didn’t you bring me with you Wilbur?” you asked his stupid grave on top of the once L’Manburg. “Why did you get the ecstasy, why do I get the remains?”

“I’m coming for you Wilbur, and when I do, we are going to wreck upon justice on everyone who wronged us, wronged you, they will feel our wrath.”

But we've been fuckin' mеan, we're elitist, we're as flawed as any church And this faux-rad West coast dogma has a higher fuckin' net worth I bit the apple 'cause I trusted you, it tastes like Thomas Malthus Your proposal is immodest and insane And I hope someday Selmers rides her fuckin' train

"Y/n!" Technoblade yelled. "I TRUSTED YOU, AND YOU BETRAYED ME, FOR WHAT, TO BLOW UP A STUPID COUNTRY, A COUNTRY THAT WAS DOOMED TO FAIL FROM THE START." He started to battle you, missing every single swing, blinded by fury.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE.”

"LOOK AT ME GODDAMN IT."

You looked up at him in the eyes and boldly said, "No, Techno, don’t you see, you’re in the wrong here, you’re the one who betrayed me." You were blinded by friendship, you couldn’t see that Tommy had betrayed Techno, and that what the Butcher Army did to Techno was terrible.

"What do you mean Y/n, you know what they did, they wronged me, they used me, they tortured me, they gave me hell, so I gave it back to them, I destroyed the things they loved, the people they loved, you see Y/n, those who have treated me with kindness I will repay that kindness tenfold, and those who treat me with injustice, that use me, that hunt me down, that hurt my friends, I shall repay that injustice a thousand times over, do you understand?"

"No I don't, Techno, you can't do this.” you begged. He pushed you out of the way, "Get out of my way Y/n." “No, I won’t, I won’t let you destroy everything we worked for.”

“Well, then I have to fight you.”

And thus the battle began, Swords clashing against each other, blood spilling from open wounds, friends digging each other into a whole both of them couldn’t get out of. Techno was letting you off easy, he knew his strength, he knew that he could’ve beaten you in one swipe, but he didn’t want to kill you.

So when you had the opportunity, you swept from under his feet, and knocked him down. You placed your blade onto his neck, pressing down until a little drop of blood appeared, “Stay down Technoblade, or I’ll do something worse than try to put you on trial.”

He watched as you walked away from him, trying to save L’Manberg from a worst fate than death itself.

“One day Y/n, you’ll see, I’m on your side.”

I loved you, I loved you, I loved you, it's true I wanted to be you and do what you do I lived here, I loved here, I bought it, it's true I feel so stupid, and so used I feel so used

"Why would you do that Dream? You didn't have to do that." you interrogated. Dream had stupidly blew up the community house. You both didn't plan that, he had gone behind your back. "I had to Y/n, you wouldn't understand."

"What do you mean I don't understand, you went against my back, we were supposed to-" you cut off yourself, "Dream, don't you understand, you did something stupid, and what did you get, you got stupid jail." "The reason I did that is because I needed to isolate myself from humanity." he said, proudness lacing his words.

"What do you mean?" you questioned. "If anyone knows I can revive people, I'm screwed, so that's why I need to be by myself, yeah it sucks major ass, but at least no one else will know, well, besides you anyways." "I have a task for you Y/n/n, I need you to find a way to bring Tommy and Ghostbur in here."

"Why Dream?"

"I'm going to revive Wilbur."

I was your baby, your firstborn, the hot girl in your comp-sci class And I was Darwin's prep school dream, bred, born and raised to kick your ass I fell for circuit boards, rocket ships, pictures of the stars If you could only be what you pretend you are

"PHILZA MINECRAFT COME BACK HERE." you were chasing Phil, through the woody forest, covered by oak trees. He had information on Technoblade's whereabouts and you needed it. You chased him with your enchanted netherite armor, netherite sword and axe, and a few op potions. Your goal was to capture Philza and interrogate him on where Techno's place was. The thing was, you were his child. His own child trying to kill his own son.

He felt betrayed, his own child turned against him and their brother, their family. "The Butcher Army must've gotten to you somehow." he thought in his head. Surely, his darling Y/n didn't do it on their own will, right?

He was incorrect, you did it because you believed that Techno needed to be brought to justice, by punishment. You believed that your own sibling needed to die, because he was a "liability" to L'Manberg's growth and future. He needed to die because as long as he would live his long life with his little enderman Edward, retired, he would still cause trouble to everything you, Quackity, Tubbo, Fundy, and Ranboo had built.

He pleaded, "Stop Y/n, you don't have to do this." You argued, "I do Philza, as long as he lives, my plans for L'Manberg will forever cease to exist."

He felt like shit, you called him Philza, not Dadza, or Dad, or anything besides his normal name. "Did I screw something up?" he asked himself quietly under his breath. "Yes you did Phil, you took the traitor's side." you had heard Phil mumble.

"HE'S NOT A TRAITOR." Phil yelled at you. "Yes he is, he deserves what he is about to get, I will say it again, where is his base?"

"I'm not saying, Y/n, why are you doing this, Techno is your own sibling." "He's not my sibling anymore, that stopped when he destroyed L'Manberg, you're lucky I forgived you." you declared.

"Y/n/n, please don't do this."

"I have to Dadza, I can't let him roam free."

When I said take me to the moon, I never meant take me alone I thought if mankind toured the sky, it meant that all of us could go But I don't want to see the stars if they're just one more piece of land For us to colonize, for us to turn to sand

Bad had tried to convice you to join the Eggpire. You had no effect while being next to the egg, and he had to take you out. People who had no effect towards the egg had to be eliminated.

He was creepily following you, waiting until you stopped to get a chance to capture you. He had hope that you did have an effect, that you would join the Egg with him. He didn't want to kill you, you were his best friend, besides Skeppy of course.

"Come back here Y/n." he said. "No chance in hell Bad, get the fuck away from me." "HEY, LANGUAGE!" he exclaimed. "No language, get away from me, you're creeping me out."

He threw his trident, spinning in the air, trying to catch up to your frantic steps. You were trying to get to Church Prime, where no one could kill anyone, hopefully Bad would abide to that rule. You were just about to step on Church Prime when you bumped into a hard, armored chest.

You looked up shyly, and saw Punz, with his red eyes reflecting anger. "Where are you going Y/n?" he questioned. "Somewhere." you blankly stated. You were desperate, you didn't want to die, or anything else that Bad was going to do to you. You tried to dodge Punz, but he placed a hand on your shoulder, "Stay right here Y/n."

"No, get away from me, I don't know what's wrong with all of you, but go away, I don't want anything to do with your stupid Eggpire." He raged, and grabbed your wrist heavily, "DON'T TALK ABOUT THE EGG LIKE THAT, IT WILL TAKE CONTROL OF THE SERVER, AND YOU ALL WILL BE ITS SERVANTS." "LET ME THE FUCK GO PUNZ." you screamed. You were wiggling in his grip, trying to escape his lunatic self.

While he was holding you, you saw two other shadows behind you. It was Antfrost and Bad. "What do you guys want from me, I didn't do anything wrong."

"You are against the Egg Y/n, people who are like you and Tommy have to die."

"Well, I'm not dying today." you murmured under your breath. "What was that you said?" Antfrost asked you.

You smirked, "I'm not dying today, I'll tell you one more time, let go of me."

Bad and Antfrost walked closer to you, Punz right behind you, all of them cornering you into a tight spot. "What you going to do about it Y/n, you're cornered."

"You'll know when they get here, but for now, you better run boys."

'Cause we're so fuckin' mean, we're so elitist, we're as fucked as any church And this bullshit West coast dogma has a higher fuckin' net worth I bit the apple 'cause I loved you, and why would you lie? And then I realized that you're just as naïve as I am Oh, you're so traumatized it makes me want to cry

"Tubbo, don't do this." Schlatt had unfortunately found out that you were a spy, that you were on Pogtopia's side. He had ordered Tubbo to kill you with fireworks, to light you on fire, give you blisters all over your body. "Please Tubbs, you're my friend." you pleaded.

"I can't Y/n/n, or something worse will happen." he whispered to you. "What do you mean?" you asked. "He can-" he trailed off, looking somewhere else besides your eyes. "Tubbo, you don't have to do what that stupid bastard tells you to do, you're your own person, with your own thoughts and actions."

"I'm sorry Y/n, I hope you can forgive me."

"TUBBO N-" you was cut off by firewords hitting your skin, making blisters and burn marks all over your body. You lost your second canon life, feeling betrayed by Tubbo. He killed you for what, a stupid father who never cared about him in his entire life, a father who exiled his friends that actually treated him like a person, and not like some random piece of trash.

You respawned in your bed, feeling bruises and bumps mostly on your forearms and your back.

"I'll help you Tubbo, I’ll get rid of him.”

You dumb bitch I loved you, I loved you, I loved you, it's true I wanted to be you and do what you do I lived here, I loved here, I bought it, it's true I'm so embarrassed, I feel abused

“Come on Y/n/n, come with me.” Punz begged of you. He wanted you to visit the Egg. You didn’t want to be controlled by a stupid omelette. "I'm not Punzo, why are you so obsessed with that stupid thing."

"DON'T SPEAK OF THE EGG LIKE THAT."

You put your hands in front of you, accidentally touching Punz's chest, "Ok calm down buddy." He didn't calm down and instead yelled at you on why you had to join the Eggpire.

"If you join, you will be forever happy."

"If you join you'll get whatever you want."

You were tired of the members of the Eggpire to convince you to join them, you didn't like eggs anyway. "Punz, for the last time, I'm not joining you, stop telling me."

“Then you have to die.”

So fuck your tunnels, fuck your cars, fuck your rockets, fuck your cars again You promised you'd be Tesla, but you're just another Edison 'Cause Tesla broke a patent, all you ever broke were hearts I can't believe you tore humanity apart

“XD!” You were pissed at him, he had destroyed your house, made your friends pissed at you, just everything you liked. All because he wanted you for himself.

He wanted you to be dependent on his every word, and he was being a manipulative psychopath. And you didn’t tolerate that, it was like he was his human counterpart, Dream.

He walked to you with confidence, waiting for to get a hug from you, well, he didn’t get that. You slapped him so hard his head swung to the left.

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

“That’s what you get you stupid son of a bitch. You fucking ruined everything.” “Calm down Y/n/n, what is wrong?” He acted concerned, but you knew that he was faking. He would do anything to get someone’s approval.

“DO YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT’S WRONG, IT’S YOU, YOUR STUPID PRESENCE IN MY LIFE. YOU KEEP ON WALKING AROUND LIKE YOU FUCKING OWN THE PLACE.”

“Calm down darling, just take some netheri-” you interrupted him by slapping the ore out of his hands. “I don’t need jack shit from you XD, you know what, take back the necklace, I don’t want it.” You pulled the shiny, green emerald necklace off your neck, and pulled XD’s palm out.

You placed the necklace filled with memories, and put it on his hand. You closed up his palm, and walked away, leaving XD to his own accord.

“We could’ve had evertything X.”

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[looooooooomis]

F I N A L  G I R L  |  O N E

You were his final girl.  And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t   o n e  |  c o r n   m a z e

masterlist here 

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader  word count: 4.3k warnings: implied/referenced cheating, swearing (obv), angst, drinking, fluff, pending smut + mentions of smut. as mentioned, part 2 will be allllllllll the smut x

You were going to kill Randy.

In fact, as the five of you crossed the threshold into the corn maze, you thought of the various ways you could do it without it coming back to you. You could strangle him with the tape of one of his precious Jamie Lee Curtis flicks, you could push an entire shelving unit of said movies on him during one of his shifts, hell, you could just lure him over to your house with the promise of sex before ultimately throwing him out your window. Any of the above sounded good to you tonight because the bastard was running late. Which meant that you were currently fifth wheeling on what was supposed to be a slightly boozy corn maze with your friends. Only now it was a slightly boozy corn maze with yourself and two loved up couples as you all impatiently waited for the idiot to arrive.

Yeah, you were definitely going to kill Randy.

You and Randy were friends, had been for years, and you were always there for each other when it came to these types of activities. Nobody liked being a fifth wheel but at least with two single people in your little gaggle of friends, it made things easier. You were happy as a clam being single, you preferred it in many ways if you were being honest, but at least with Randy around, you could ignore the weight of his stare.

Billy’s stare.

His brown eyes were on you constantly. You could feel them on your skin, feel them raking over every inch of you as though he was trying to soak you in from afar. His stare had a weight to it, you found. No matter how far away he was or where you two were – be it at school or hanging out or even in a goddamn corn maze – you felt him all over you.

At least with Randy around, it was easy to ignore. The two of you could joke around and escape the couples long enough to focus on anything else but the weight of Billy’s stare. But tonight, it was impossible to ignore, and you hated Randy in that moment for unknowingly leaving you with the one man you hadn’t been able to get out of your head for the better part of three years.

You hated Billy more, though, for making you feel as though every inch of your skin was on fire. For making you feel this level of guilt each and every time you hung around with Sid. Sid was one of your best friends, as was Tatum, which only made this entire situation so much worse.

“You think they’ll kick us out if they find out we’re loaded?” Stu asked with a quiet chuckle, glancing behind them for effect as though he was being tailed by the owners of the farm.

Tatum smacked his chest. “Maybe if you said it a little louder, Shit for Brains.”

Stu giggled again and slipped his hand into his jacket before pulling out a mickey of cheap vodka wrapped haphazardly in a brown paper bag. “Then I guess they’d be really mad at this.”

Tatum opened her mouth to tell him off but seeing it as your only saving grace, you reached across the divide and plucked it out of his hands to take a big sip. The vodka burned all the way down your throat, and you could feel all eyes on you as you licked the remainder of it from your lips and bottled it back up before handing it back to Stu. “You’re a saint, Stu.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Tatum laughed, “I can’t even be mad at that.”

Stu was smirking across at you, knowing exactly why you were choosing the bottle tonight which only made you feel worse than you did. Of course he knew. Where there was a Billy, there was a Stu. The pair didn’t have secrets between them much to your chagrin which only made nights like this all the more awkward.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” Sid asked, sweet as ever.

Your stomach twisted in your gut at the genuine concern radiating off of Sid’s features and your heart fell into your stomach when you watched her lovingly place her head on Billy’s shoulder. Where the fuck was Randy?

“All good, Sid,” you smacked on a breezy grin and shot her what you only hoped was a convincing wink. “I haven’t done a corn maze since I was a kid, just preparing myself is all.”

Tatum leaned into Stu’s lean torso and frowned. “Why? You scared?”

“Nah, she’s not scared,” Stu hummed, grinning across at you with a gleam in his eye. “On edge, maybe. Why so jittery, girl?”

You rolled your eyes and flipped him the bird just as Billy spoke up. “She’s not jittery, pencil dick,” his velvety voice was closer than you’d expected and when you saw him reach for the bottle in Stu’s pocket to take a rather big gulp himself, you swallowed hard. “She’s just getting this party started.”

You held his stare for a moment, feeling your entire body light up like a switchboard, before the familiar voice of Randy rang out. Breathlessly, he waved you all down and grinned. “What’s this I hear about a party?”

Tatum rolled her eyes and hugged her jacket closer to her body. “About time you got here, dick, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I know a way we can warm up,” Stu teased as he leaned down to nibble at her neck.

Despite your mood, you found yourself smiling across at the pair. They were a good match and you could tell that Stu genuinely made Tatum happy. Just as Billy made Sid happy. Your smile fell at the thought.

Randy’s eyes circled around your group of friends briefly before he threw an arm around your unsuspecting shoulders. “What did I miss?”

“The usual,” you chimed in, smiling across at him. “Tatum and Stu sucking face, Billy and Sid cuddling up and me drinking my weight in cheap beer from Stu’s dad’s mini fridge in the garage.”

Randy grinned. “I chugged a couple beers before I left the video store, so good to know we’re all on the same level.”

Your chest was already starting to feel lighter now that Randy was around. Granted, Billy’s eyes hadn’t left yours for a second since Randy slung his arm around you, but that was to be expected. At least you had Randy here now. With that kind of distraction, you’d be just fine.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” Billy suggested, running a hand through his unruly mop of brown hair. When everyone’s eyes were on him, you could have sworn he gave you a little smirk before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “We should split up.”

“Fuck that,” Tatum laughed, “no chance in hell.”

“Yeah,” Sid agreed quietly, “I don’t know.”

“That’s literally what they tell you not to do in scary movies,” you chuckled. “When everyone splits up, trouble starts.”

Sid shivered and leaned into Billy’s chest. “Yeah, Billy, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Oh, come on,” he was grinning excitedly now, looking between Stu and Randy for backup. “It’ll be like the movies. Dumb teenagers wander into a corn maze and split up for the sake of the plot. Halloween’s tomorrow - why the hell not, right?”

A slow grin began to pull on Stu’s face as he listened to Billy. There was a mutual understanding between the two men in that instance and if you blinked for just a second longer, you would have missed it.

It made you nervous.

“Dumb teens wander into a corn maze on the night before Halloween,” Randy repeated, “you know what, I like it. I’m in.”

You snapped your neck up to look at him. “What the hell happened to the Do’s and Don’ts of a horror movie? This is easily number one: Don’t split up.”

But Randy only shrugged. “I’m still a virgin, I’m safe.”  

“How about you three idiots stick together,” Tatum gestured to the boys, “and the three of us stick together. Whoever makes it out first gets a prize.”

You and Sid were nodding along to her words, but Stu simply pulled her in for a quick kiss and laughed. “Or we all split up and see where the night takes us.”

“I’m not Lewis and Clark, Stu,” you grumbled, “I had every intention of letting Randy and Sid lead us out of here alive while the rest of us idiots followed.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Billy smirked across at you, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Sid seemed to still be unsure of the entire situation as she mulled over the suggestion. “Y/N is right, what if people get left behind?”

“It’s corn, not the berlin wall,” Stu pointed out incredulously. “Fucking walk through the stacks until you find an exit if you get too lost.” As if on cue, Stu’s eyes lit up as he noticed one particular bend of the maze that held six different options. With a burst of laughter, he took off running towards it and pointed to his newfound discovery. “If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.”

You, Sid, and Tatum begrudgingly followed the boys to where Stu now stood giddily beaming across at everyone. “This is a stupid fucking idea,” Tatum grumbled as she took her place in the row beside her boyfriend. “We only brought one flashlight, how do you idiots plan on seeing the route?”

“Here,” Billy gently tossed the flashlight to Tatum and shrugged. “Moon is bright enough for me.”

With another roll of her eyes Tatum flicked the flashlight on and scowled across at her route. “Girls, if you see a flashlight, come to me.”

Stu laughed. “What about me?”

“You lost that right when you agreed to this stupid idea,” she groused. “You’re on your own.”

Grinning – and probably much drunker than he gave himself credit for – Stu rubbed his hands together and began counting down from three.

“You okay to do this, Sid?” You found yourself asking. Her mother had only died a few months prior and the idea of the poor girl meandering around alone in a cornfield sounded barbaric considering what she’d just been through.

“I’m fine,” Sid vowed, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

“It’s okay, Sid,” Randy muttered. “You’re safe, I promise.”

By the time Stu reached one, you took a hesitant step forward and embraced the darkness that surrounded you once you delved further and further down your path. You could hear the footsteps and crunches of the stacks around you as your friends eventually all split up to take their own trail and you swore that you heard Randy bump into Sid a few minutes in, putting you slightly at ease to know she wasn’t going through the maze alone. But, as time went on and you continued to circle the gigantic moonlight maze by yourself, your nerves began to eat away at you.

You weren’t one to scare easy but there was something about being on your own in the middle of a corn maze that was eerily off-putting. You’d seen Children of the Corn one too many times to feel at ease right now and the fact you could only see a few feet in front of you at any given time wasn’t helping one iota.

Hugging your denim jacket tighter around your body, you turned left and were met with a dead end. Groaning, you threw your head back in defeat and turned on your heel to retrace your steps but stopped when you heard a loud snap come from the wall of tall corn stacks before you. Swallowing hard, you narrowed your eyes in an attempt to see through the wall of decaying crop, but it was to no avail.

You couldn’t see a damned thing.

Another snap of a corn stock echoed out before you, making your skin crawl. Why the fuck had you agreed to splitting up? This is exactly how every horror movie you’d ever seen started and sure enough, here you were. About to be killed by a child of the corn on the eve of your favourite holiday.

Another snap.

And then, just as you were prepared to run for your life, a husky raccoon came bounding out of the thick hedge with a mouthful of hard corn. Your scream caught in your throat as you jumped back from the wild animal but, before you could think of bounding away, your back connected into someone’s chest.

With a high-pitched yelp, you turned only to be met with Billy’s wide brown eyes watching your every move. “Hey,” he cooed, reaching across to steady you. “You okay?”

That familiar cologne of his hit you like a tonne of bricks and for just a second, you allowed yourself to get lost in it. You knew that smell well. You couldn’t count how many times you’d woken up to that smell all over your pillows and sheets, wafting all over your bedroom like a slow mist that never quite subsided. Swallowing hard, you blinked out of your reverie and took an instinctual step back. “I’m fine,” you breathed out, “a racoon just scared me, is all.”

He glanced over your shoulder briefly before those brown pools soaked you in yet again. “You sure you’re okay?” He asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You’ve barely said a word to me all week.”

You offered him a polite smile. “I’m fine, Billy. Just been a busy week. With swimming practice and—”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he muttered, voice strained. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Billy,” you sighed, pinching your brow, “I’m not doing this here. We can’t.”

His brows pulled together and a pained look crossed over his handsome features. “I meant what I said,” he rasped out. “You’re my girl, Y/N.”

“No, see that’s bullshit, Billy,” you bit back, “Sid is your girl. I’m just an easy lay. That’s all I’ve been for the last six months and I can’t do it anymore. I won’t.”

“You can’t believe that,” he stepped towards you and visibly flinched when you stepped back. “Sure, Sid’s a good girl but it’s compli—”

“Complicated,” you choked, “yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few hundred times in the last six months, Billy. And you’re right. It is complicated because me and you are making it complicated. For god’s sake, she’s one of my best friends, Billy. I’m fucking one of my best friends’ boyfriends. Do you get how fucked up that is?”

“Me and Sid are complicated,” he reiterated, ignoring your little tirade entirely. “But me and you, sweetheart, we work. We’ve always worked. You’re it for me. You’re my final girl.”

You shook your head and grabbed his wrist, yanking him closer to you to avoid having one of your friends creep up on the two of you and hear him rambling on. “Jesus, scream it a little louder, moron,” you growled, pulling him into the corner of the maze where the racoon had just jumped out of. “What is wrong with you? Do you want one of them to hear you?”

“I don’t care,” he admitted, “I miss you. I miss feeling you squirm against me when we watch a scary movie. I miss smelling you all over me the next morning. My fucking pillow smells like your shampoo and the fact that you haven’t so much as said a word to me this week is killing me, Y/N.”  

Looking over his shoulder to ensure none of your friends were coming, you nearly hissed as you pulled him further into the thick wall of corn stocks. The tall stacks towered over the two of you and shielded you away from any prying eyes.

“One week, Billy. It’s been one week and it’s hurting you? Try being in love with someone for three fucking years and watching them fall in love with someone else. And then, when he can’t get his whistle wet with his girlfriend, he ends up in your bed.” You ground your teeth together in an effort to control the burst of emotion pounding in your chest. “That is the shit that hurts, Billy. I wasn’t good enough to be your girlfriend, but I was easy enough for you to sleep with and I was so enamoured with you that I was willing to overlook the fact I’m hurting Sid each and every time we do it. I won’t do it anymore.”

The moon managed to seep in through a barren patch of the maze wall and struck Billy in such a way that you lost your breath. Those brown eyes you’d fallen in love with all those years back were glued to your face. He’d always had this air of intensity about him but, right now, looking at the long shadows cast against his face from the illumination of the moon, that intensity had all but dissipated. You’d never seen Billy look more beautiful in your life.

The silence that followed your words was thick and tense, but those damn eyes never left your face. Not even for a second. Slowly, Billy leaned in and, in the softest voice you’d ever heard him speak, he managed to break your heart all over again. “You love me?”

“Oh, shut-up,” you snarled, “like you didn’t know.”

“How the fuck would I have known that?” he whispered, taking a step closer to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?” You snapped. “Billy, you have a girlfriend. I’m already fucking you, what am I going to do? Confess all of this in between sucking your dick and packing up before Sidney catches wind of us?”

“Don’t cheapen it,” he cautioned, “not when it comes to us.”

“There is no ‘us’, Billy!” You reminded him. “There is a you and there is a Sidney. Then there is me.”

“Fuck Sidney,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “And don’t act like it’s only been sex between us.”

You snorted. “Maybe the odd movie, sure.”

Anger flickered across his face as he took another step closer, backing you into a particularly sturdy corn stock. This was a side of Billy you rarely saw, this unhinged almost animalistic side that came out when his emotions got too overwhelming. You’d seen this look only once before. It was few weeks into your sneaky little affair when Billy had snuck in through your bedroom window with red, bloodshot eyes and bleeding knuckles. It was the night his mother had left, and he’d just had lost a one-sided fight with the brick wall of his house.

“You were there for me when nobody else was,” he leaned his forehead against yours and you watched the muscle in his cheek clench several times over as he chewed on his words. “When my mother left, you were the one that was there for me. Not Sidney, not my father – you.” You felt his hands trail up your jean-clad hips before guiding your hips towards the thick corn stock behind you. You should have pushed him away, stuck to your guns, and ran off to find the rest of your friends. But, you couldn’t. Not with Billy looking at you the way he was.

“Billy,” you tried, but there was no conviction behind it. “I meant what I said.”

“Which part?” He asked. “When you said you loved me or when you said you couldn’t do this anymore.”  

“Both,” you told him. “Sidney’s a good friend and—”

A growl escaped his throat as he shut his eyes, but he never stepped away. With his forehead still leaning against yours, it was as though he was afraid to break contact in fear of losing you all over again. “Can we not talk about Sid for one goddamn second?” He took a few even breaths before those brown eyes opened back up, capturing your gaze instantly. “I love you.”

“Don’t,” you warned him. This time it was your turn to shut your eyes as the pain of hearing those three little words sliced you from stem to stern. “That’s not fair, Billy.”

“What? You don’t believe me?” You felt his hands slither up the side of your waist and up the length of your body until they cradled your face. “Look at me.”

“No,” you griped, “to both of your questions. Don’t say shit you don’t mean, not when it comes to that. It’s cruel.”

His calloused thumb danced across the apple of your cheek. “Look at me,” he demanded, barely above a whisper. “Sweetheart, look at me.” Frowning, you opened your eyes but remained silent. Bumping your nose with his, Billy pushed your hair back and away from your face and shook his head. “I fucking love you.”

“You’re with Sidney,” you reminded him, sounding like a broken record. “If you loved me, we wouldn’t be hiding in the middle of a goddamn corn maze while our friends blindly stumble around looking for the exit.”

“Stu knows,” he admitted. “And when it’s a good time, so will everyone else.”

“Colour me shocked,” you rolled your eyes. “Stu knows everything.”

“You think I don’t want to parade you all over town?” Billy questioned. “I get so heated when I see Randy or any of those goons on the football team flirt with you. I want you every second of the day.”

You swallowed hard. “Then please, Billy, just be honest with me. Tell me why things are so fucking complicated with Sid? I get break-ups are hard but cheating on her isn’t the answer.”

Billy was truly torn as he took in the desperation in your eyes. Things with Sid were complicated but not in the way you thought they were. There were no feelings involved with Sid, at least not the romantic kind, but there was no chance in hell he was divulging his plans with Sidney. Not with you. He couldn’t stomach the idea of losing you knowing full-well you’d try and sway him on it. Or worse. What if you went to the police about it? What if you tried to stop him? No. He wasn’t getting you involved. You were the one person in his life who hadn’t let him down and he was hell-bent on doing the same for you.

The less you knew, the better.

“Just give me some time, alright?” He pleaded, grabbing your hands to ghost his lips across your knuckles. “She’s still dealing with the loss of her mother. I can’t spring a break-up on her, too. Not yet. But soon,” he kissed your hand, “I promise.”

“I don’t want to hurt her any more than we already have, Billy,” you told him, “we could end this here and now and then when you do break-up, we can continue whatever the hell this is. But we shouldn’t d—”

Before you could say another word, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a bruising kiss. Everything about this man was electric and despite everything –  the guilt, the secrets, all of it – the way his lips seemed to mould against yours so perfectly, stopped you dead in your tracks. Placing sloppy kisses down from your mouth and along your jaw, Billy nipped at your ear. “I really do fucking love you.”

You leaned into the kiss and tangled your fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he continued his assault down your jaw towards your neck where he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. “You give me a fucking hickey and you’re dead,” you chastised breathlessly. When he responded with a gentle bite, you gave his hair another gentle tug. “I mean it, Loomis.”

Pulling back from your neck, you were met with one of Billy’s rare but genuine grins. He was all teeth as he leaned his forehead against yours again, scraping his thumbnail gently across your cheek as he fought to catch his breath. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Your girlfriend would beg to differ, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Groaning quietly at the mess you and Billy had created for yourselves, you reached up and pushed a strand of his brown hair back and away from his face. “We should go,” you told him. “Before anyone besides Stu finds us.”

Giving you one final peck, he nodded in agreement and pushed a few stocks aside for you to escape from. Before you stepped out of the covering, however, Billy reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I promise, Y/N, everything is going to work out for us.”

Giving him a small, resigned smile, you leaned in and gave him a quick, chaste kiss. “I’ll leave my bedroom window open tonight,” you told him. “Do what you will with that information.”

Billy watched you disappear back into the maze with a shit-eating grin on his face. God, he was in deep with you. Too deep, perhaps, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not yet, at least. For now, he had you back and he had no intention of letting you go again.

part two HERE

[bring-it-all-down]

When thinking about Eleanor Guthrie, I am continuously reminded of Audre Lorde’s essay, “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle The Master’s House,” which she gave at a 1984 NYU conference on feminism. She notes in this essay that, though she was asked to be part of this conference, she is speaking on a largely white panel and to a largely white audience of liberal, feminist academic women. As a critique of white feminist academia, she states:

Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society's definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference -- those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older -- know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master's house as their only source of support.

This quotation, I think, perfectly summarizes Eleanor’s role in Black Sails.

The show immediately makes clear to us that Eleanor is different from the typical notion of “woman” that existed at the time, differentiating herself in terms of both gender presentation and sexuality. Her clothing occupies a space between masculine and feminine, matching her approach to wielding power. Because she is a woman, she has to constantly worry about men taking her power seriously, and she uses whatever tools she possesses to hang on to this power. When appropriate, she wields this authority in the same way as a man would: she reminds pirates time and again that she controls their economic security, and should they cross her, she has the power to cut them off entirely. 

Because of her womanness, though, this assertion of power is not enough. It would fall apart if she didn’t continuously reinforce it with her sexuality. Indeed, it is only through getting Charles Vane to fall in love with her and thereby betray his mentor and father figure, Edward Teach, that Eleanor is able to obtain power in the first place. She returns to this trick time and again: whenever she is in trouble, she has sex with Vane to convince him to give her what she wants. He is the necessary male authority cementing her power. She eventually comes to do the same thing with Woodes Rogers, though she actually claims to love him.

The problem with Eleanor is that, in order for her authority to exist, she must in some way tether herself to the established order of civilization. Thus, the end for this type of authority is always subservience to society. There is always a time limit to this power, and it will always result in becoming the wife of the governor, in donning the dress and manners of civilization and in thereby allowing that initial level of authority to be worn away until it does not exist anymore. 

Tied to this problem is that Eleanor only wants power for power’s sake. She wants to control Nassau because she thinks she is owed it due to being the daughter of its governor. In other words, she wants to be exactly like the male authority figures of England, only a woman; she constantly worries about her father’s return because he will supplant her rule, but she rests heavily on her last name as her claim to rule in the first place. There are no principles behind her rule, no greater efforts to advance women as a whole. It is an entirely selfish venture inspired by the very customs of civilization she believes from which she exists separately.

Her claim to authority, then, rests solely on her whiteness. She fails time and again to understand that assimilation is not liberation. She fails to liberate Max, the woman she supposedly loves, because leaving Nassau behind would cut her off from her power. In season 4, when she and Max reflect on that moment in season 1, Eleanor tells her, “I was so close to saying yes…[but] I had put so much of myself into this place, in that moment, I honestly didn't know where I ended and it began. There may be ways of severing oneself in that way...sacrificing one part to save the other. But in that moment...I honestly couldn't find something sharp enough to make the cut” (4.04). When Max asks her what would have been enough, she doesn’t answer, because nothing would have been enough to make that cut. For Eleanor, whatever relationships she has will always be secondary to her quest for power, and so she constantly justifies the harm she causes others, particularly the Black people to whom she is closest, on the basis of her quest for power being good and right.

This fact is made clearer in Eleanor’s conversation with Flint while he is imprisoned. After he tells her that Madi and the Maroon Queen are alive, Eleanor becomes angry over the fact that Mr. Scott would hide this knowledge from her. She says that the power she obtained was always done so “with a man behind me doing his damnedest to bend it all to his benefit. My father, Scott, Charles, you. So many goddamn men here. Too many goddamn men here” (4.05). To her, Mr. Scott is just like every other man, exerting his patriarchal control over her. There is no acknowledgement on her part that she and her family had enslaved him and thus he did not owe her any sort of allegiance or trust. 

By the time Madi confronts her with the truth–– “My father didn't mistrust Flint. My father mistrusted all of you”––it is too late for Eleanor (4.06). For her entire life, she has obsessed over the fact that her womanness differentiated her from everyone around her and has not once stopped to think about how her whiteness supersedes all of those gender-based differences. She has staked her claim to authority on the perpetuation of the white supremacist system: using her last name, tying her control of Nassau to the continuation of its plantations, betraying everyone who questioned her claim to authority, sacrificing Max and Mr. Scott and Madi whenever doing so suited her.

Thus, the very thing she attempted to prevent––a second Rosario Raid––is what ends up killing her. Through her efforts to attach her legitimacy to the white supremacist, cisheteropatriarchy that is civilization, she sows the seeds of her own destruction, as well as the destruction of those she supposedly cares for. Her use of her master’s tools results only in building yet another house for her master while leaving everyone else homeless.

[reidswritings]

even after all these years

word count; 7.2k

warnings; mentions of death, stalker stuff, mentions of guns, curse words, and angst angst angst

authors note; so this was like 3 days in the making, so i hope yall enjoy!! please let me know what yall think!! ignore any typos im doing my best 😁😁

two years ago;

“I’m done.” She had said after the door closed, once they were alone. Once there was no one to stop what was going to happen. Once there was no one to talk some sense into The Young Girl. 

The Pretty Boy, who she had come to love more that she ever thought possible, was no longer standing pretty in front of her. His once love filled eyes—the hazel beauties that used to look at her with so much admiration now were void, cold— were holding back the tears she knew he so desperately wanted to let flow (but wouldn’t with her standing there). She knew that once she left him, he’d break down. She knew that he would spend all of his nights on the couch rather than the bed they shared for so long. She knew that he would rather die than look at the happy pictures on the walls sans the few that she had stuffed into her getaway bag. She knew him too well— she knew how he would react once she was no longer the love interest in his story. 

She knew and yet she was still doing this to him. She was doing this to him— she was causing him so much destruction and pain, barely batting an eye at him. For being a profiler, he was shitty at reading people’s body language and emotions. Because to him, she seemed fine; she seemed like it was just another day. To Spencer, it seemed like she was bored. To him, it didn’t seem like she was also breaking. It didn’t seem like she was hurting just as much. Maybe if he was better, he would’ve seen. Maybe if he was better, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The eyes that she had fallen in love with—that she was still hopelessly in love with— were dark, almost black. He had a white piece of gauze taped against his neck, covering a once life threatening bullet hole. There was a red spot, small bits of blood seeping through the stitches holding his skin together. If she wasn’t so preoccupied she would’ve thrown up from how much the injury bothered her. She would’ve gotten so worked up that she would’ve passed out. 

Her eyes burned with tears, looking at the goddamn wound that started this all. The wound that ended their relationship. She blinked and it was over for her. Her façade dropped and her tears rolled over her eyelashes and onto her cheeks. Spencer’s arm twitched before he jerked it back to his side, fingers clenched. He wanted to wipe her tears away so desperately. Despite the words that had just passed her perfect lips, he still wanted to hold her like his life depended on it— because honestly, it really did. 

She was his life preserver in the wild sea that was his life. 

The Boy was holding his keys in his hands, jingling the metal with his fingers in attempt to calm his heart, his mind, his emotions. They had just gotten home. He was in Texas when it happened— he was in Texas working a case when he almost got himself killed. Thankfully, The Team had flew His Girl out and she had been the first face he saw when he finally woke up. 

Alex, being the wonderful human she is, had just dropped the two off, leaving only after she admitted to Spencer that she was leaving, too. They had just gotten home and she was springing this on him, out of nowhere. She was doing this to him even after all the people that had already left him. She was doing this to him the same night one of his best friends had just left him. She was doing this at the most inconvenient time— not that any time would be better, he would still be loosing the love of his life either way. 

He was sure he hadn’t heard her right. He was sure that he hadn’t just heard His Pretty Girl say the words he thought she’d never say. The words she promised him that she’d never use. She was doing the one thing he was most afraid of; she was abandoning him. . . just like everyone did. 

His heart was beating so fast. It was so loud, he was sure she could hear him. He was on the brink of a panic attack. His breath was hitching and he couldn’t stop it. As big as his brain was, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. His mind was running a mile a minute, carrying a thousand thoughts with it— yet, none of the thoughts were helpful ones. There were no thoughts walking him through his breathing exercises, no thoughts telling him to calm down, no thoughts telling him to speak up. 

The only thing on his genius mind was one sentence; She’s leaving me. She’s leaving me. She’s leaving me. She’s leaving—

So, he said, “W-What?” Breathless and choppy. He was having trouble focusing. He needed to sit down. He needed the world to pause for just one second. He needed to get his thoughts in order. He needed to sit, but his legs refused to move. He was stuck. He was stuck in this terrible, awful moment that his eidetic memory would never let him live down. He knew that he would think of this moment for the rest of his life with so much regret in all the things he didn’t say. But still, he was stuck, frozen. 

Unable to fix things— unable to make her stay. 

“Spence,” She paused, looked down and sighed. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t, because if she did she would wrap him up in her arms and never let him go again. She knew if he caught her eye that she would apologize until she was blue in the face. The girl refused to meet his eyes because she knew if she did that she wouldn’t be doing what she was doing. She needed to do this, she couldn’t back down now. “I. . . I can’t do this anymore.”

His voice was low, raspy and broken, “Do what. . .?” He knew what. He wasn’t dumb, he knew what she meant, but he needed to hear her say it. She had to say it or he wouldn’t ever let go. He would be stuck with her for the rest of time. He needed to hear her say it, even if that meant he would be more broken than he had ever been before. He needed this. He needed it even if it killed him. 

Now she met his hazel eyes— her favorite part of him, she was committing it to memory because after this, she would never see him again. She knew that. She counted on that. “This, us. Spence, I almost lost you today. . . I can’t do that again. You’re— You’re everything, I-I— you’re my everything. I can’t ask you to quit your job, I won’t be that person. . . So, I’m removing myself. I can’t watch you get killed— I won’t do it, Spencer.”

Everything, all at once, became sharp. It was like his mind could finally form full sentences. He was full of ideas, he was full of air. He knew what he had to do. He knew how to keep her with him. 

Before either adult knew what was happening, he was moving, quick on his feet, to the couch. He was throwing open his messenger bag, hands messily pulling things out. He was searching for his phone, he was searching for the one thing he could think of that would save him— save them. 

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked him, moving behind him, reaching for his arm, trying to see what had him so worked up. He jerked away from her, grunting in the process. And again, with no words spoken, he was moving again. He was going too fast, he was going to tear his stitches, he was going to hurt his still healing wound. He was now moving into the kitchen, still looking, hope flooding his veins. This was his last chance, he knew that. 

“Spencer!” She followed him, just as frantic as the newly hope-filled boy, “Did you hear me?”

She heard him let out a chocked sob, a broken laugh following— though, no humor was tied to it. She stopped in front of him, heart wild, anxiety flowing through her body. He was typing on his phone, chest raising and falling faster than she liked. The girl asked again, “What are you doing?”

He looked up now. His eyes were wild, more so than she had ever seen. He was so worked up that his body was literally twitching with each breath that passed his lips. It scared her, she had never seen him like this. She had never seen him so manic. It hurt knowing she was the cause. 

The thought of him like this did nothing for her, though. She still continued on her path of destruction. 

“I’m calling Hotch. Telling him I’m done.” He was bringing his phone up to his ear while his mind planned out the words he needed to say to get off The Team. His free hand was holding onto the counter, keeping himself straight up. His knuckles were turning white; Y/N was worried he would break his hand— or the old table. Either way was inadequate. Without it, he was afraid he’d fall to the floor in a mess of tears and anger.

He was doing it, he was doing it. He had figured a way to make her stay, he was going to do it. He would do anything to keep her with him. 

The phone was ringing. It was ringing and Spencer could feel his panic draining away with each passing second, his boss was going to answer and everything was going to be alright. His boss, who doubled as his friend, was seconds away from answering the phone, he just knew it. 

Everything was working itself out, this would be okay— that is until she intervened. 

She was ripping the phone from his hands, hanging up in the process. Spencer felt his breath catch again, his voice was wild as he asked— screeched, “What are you doing?!”

The boy reached for the phone but she whipped it away from his reach, “Stop! Give— Give it back, Y/N!” 

“No! I-I’m not letting you throw your life away for something so fucking stupid, Spencer!” Spencer watched her as she began to turn around, walk from the kitchen and probably his life. He couldn’t move again. His phone started to ring in her hands. They both froze, listening to the phone until it turned itself off. 

He was following her now, like a lost puppy. He would follow her anywhere. She was the one. She was it for him. There was no one else. 

“Y/N. . . please. Please, don’t do this.” He was broken, voice thick with tears. Her back was to him, he stepped closer, hand falling to her shoulder. 

He heard her sigh, “Spencer, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He begged. He was more broken than she had ever seen him. More than when he lost Maeve. More than when he lost Emily. More than when Elle left him. More than when Alex told him about her son that was so similar to himself. More than when she walked out right after. More than when he talked about his mom. This was it— this was the worst for him. This was his rock bottom. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover. 

This was it for him— there was only darkness after Y/N. He couldn’t see a future without His Girl by his side. 

There was no Spencer Reid without Y/F/N Y/L/N. 

“Please don’t leave me. You—You promised.”

She turned to face him, face absent of all emotion. A complete 180 from only a few moments ago. She handed him back the outdated phone, along with his crushed up heart. “I lied.”

now; 

It wasn’t very often Y/N crossed Spencer’s mind, but when she did it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest all over again. Spencer’s had his fair share of trauma in his life, but by far Y/N was the one that hurt the most. After watching her walk out of his life—for ever, he’d assumed— he was sure that he wouldn’t ever recover. He did, of course. 

It just took longer than he cared to admit. 

It took a lot of shedding tears at the most inappropriate times (and things), more support from his friends than he ever thought he’d get, too many late nights playing that last night over and over again in his mind, and way too many calls to his sponsor. 

If he was being honest, he was terrified that he would relapse. He was afraid that he would become his old self. He never wanted that; he hated that guy more than he hated anything in his life. He didn’t though— he made her a promise all those years ago and he didn’t break promises. She may have broken all hers but that didn’t mean he broke his. 

He had gone those two years without ever seeing The Pretty Girl. He was grateful for that— he knew if he ever did see her again, he’d probably die. Well, not actually, but it would hurt like hell. He was more than positive that if he saw The Beaut that it would feel like he was dying. He knew this because that’s how he felt when she left all those years ago. 

He tried not to dwell on that fact— he tried not to think about her. 

He really did. He even tried to move on. He tried to love other girls, he tried to let himself go, he tried to find solace in women that weren’t her. It just never came— he never got the peace he so desperately craved. 

She was just too unforgettable. She was everything— she was the air that he breathed, the ground he walked on, the smile that he got every time something wonderful happened. 

She was everything and it was near impossible to let go of everything.

By now, he had convinced himself, with the help of his BAU family, that he’d never see her again. He had been convinced that it was really over. He was trying to convince himself to let her go. He was trying to lose that tiny piece of hope he carried in his heart with him with every day. He knew he had to let her go— he’d never get what he wanted again. It was time. 

Too many years had passed, she wasn’t his anymore. 

She was a pretty girl; she had probably settled down by now. She had probably settled for someone. She probably lived in some small town with a dog and a perfect boy that wasn’t him. Her life was probably everything she ever dreamed of. 

He liked to think that. He liked to think that she had gotten everything she’d ever wanted. He liked to think that she was happy now. It kept him going, fantasizing about her and her perfect life— the one she created without him. 

He never thought he’d see her again. And you know what? He was coming to terms with that. 

That was, until the day he did. The day his heart stopped beating again. The day that his breath was knocked from his lungs. The day that he only dreamed about. 

Until His Pretty Girl walked through those big glass BAU doors. 

The Stunned Boy felt his body betray him. He was suddenly standing, mouth agape and eyes wide, unblinking. She had stopped too, arms clutching a ominous folder to her chest. Spencer drank her appearance in; she hadn’t changed very much. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. She looked absolutely gorgeous. 

She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt— Spencer was more than positive that it was his— and frame fitting jeans. She had paired the comfortable outfit with the running shoes she had bought so many years ago. It was ironic because she had bought them to start working out, but never actually got around to doing so. 

Spencer met her eyes. They hadn’t changed, they were still the eyes he had fallen in love with. He took a moment to notice that her face was void of any makeup— that was different. She looked tired too; her hair was thrown up into a messy bun, another thing that he noticed was different. She looked absolutely exhausted— he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what had happened to make her look the way she did; what had brought her back— back to him. 

Both Spencer and Y/N were still unmoving, despite the world moving around them. His voice came out soft, and he was sure that she couldn’t hear him from across the bullpen. He wasn’t completely sure that he wasn’t dreaming. He spoke anyways, “Y/N?”

She blinked and then her world started again. Her breath was knocked back into her body; she was here for a reason. She needed help. 

JJ walked through the doors, coffee in hand, tired eyes heavy on her face. She stopped in her tracks, suddenly awake, upon seeing Y/N. A gasp came from her lips, causing the spell between Spencer and Y/N to end. The unchanged girl turned to her old friend, the smallest smile he had ever seen on her face, “Hi.”

JJ smiled too, arms wrapping around the smaller girl before she could stop them. “Hi! Oh my god, hi! W-What are you doing here?”

Y/N’s eyes met Spencer’s again—he still hadn’t moved— then back to the blonde’s. “Um, I— Um, I need your help.”

Ever so curious, JJ nodded and led her old pal to her desk— the desk that was directly in front of SSA Spencer Reid’s. As they approached, Spencer felt his body lower itself back into his chair. Jennifer pulled an empty chair by her desk, motioning her friend to sit. Now with all three adults sitting, The Beautiful Blonde asked, “What’s happening?”

Spencer pretended to be busy, opening a case folder and staring. Y/N knew he was listening— it never took The Genius Boy more than, like, 10 seconds to read one page. Despite the listening ears, Y/N cleared her throat and began to speak.

She placed the folder onto JJ’s desk. It landed with a soft thump. The blonde flipped it open, keeping eye contact with her friend— soon to be victim of their next case. Page after page of threats laid there for anyone to see, it made Y/N feel quite exposed. She hated this; she hated that this was happening to her.

“I think— I think,” she paused, eyes flicking to Spencer, who was now watching the two girls with no shame, brows furrowed and bottom lip tucked under his teeth, “someone has been following me.”

Y/N felt her leg start to bounce in anxiety, she wished she could rewind the clock and convince herself not to come to the office. She wished she could’ve just pretended that she was safe and that nothing was happening to her. Spencer launched himself to his feet. His heart was anxiety-ridden “What?” 

Both girl’s attention moved to The Frantic Boy. His mind was as wild as his curls; there was no way this was happening to him again. It wasn’t fair— why couldn’t his girls just be left alone? 

“Um, yeah— I don’t know,” The Young Girl nodded, hands dismissing her thoughts. She felt dumb for coming back, and it showed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. I know you guys are good at this stuff.”

JJ placed a sympathetic hand on Y/N’s arm, calling her attention back. “It’s good you did.”

The Blonde nodded along with her friend, “Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna show this to The Team, see what we can do. Okay?” She was waving the blank folder in her hands as Y/N nodded. JJ stood, eyeing Spencer, a secret conversation happening between the two. 

As soon as the girl left, Spencer claimed her seat. The boy leaned back, one leg crossing over the other— the iconic Spencer stance. Y/N’s hands were folded in her lap, eyes trained on her faded jeans, her mind willing her to be anywhere other than in front of The Boy she broke.

Spencer cleared his throat, His Pretty Girl looked up. “It’s good to see you. . . You, uh, you look good.”

He noticed the slight blush that appeared on her cheeks and nose. His cold heart softened ever so slightly. It was like a window had opened and his anger bit by bit flew out. Even after all these years he was still head over heals for her. She scoffed, tucking a piece of hair back into her bun, “. . . Shut up.”

“No, seriously. You haven’t changed at all.” More blush on her cheeks. More anger out the window. 

Y/N licked her lips— a nervous tick, Spencer noticed, “Spencer, I—” 

His heart sped up at her words, mind wondering what she was going to say. He hoped it was the apology he’d wanted for the past two years. He wished it was her asking for him to take her back. He wished, he wished, he wished. 

“—Y/N, we’re ready for you now.” JJ’s voice interrupted the girl. Both Y/N and Spencer turned to The Blonde who was standing in the door of the round table room. Her hand was clutching the door as she leaned out. Y/N could see in the room, thanks to the floor to ceiling window directly next to Jennifer. The entire Team was inside, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen any of them since she did what she did to Spencer. She wondered if they held any anger towards her. If they did, she deserved it. After what she did to Spencer she deserved everything unwelcoming and bad.

The Boy Wonder sensed her anxiety. He stood up, encouraged her to as well. Once she did so, he led her into the room, all their eyes landing to her. Spencer and His Pretty Girl came to a stop in the room, standing side by side. Y/N could feel the warmth radiating of the boy next to her, it calmed her nerves. She missed that— The Spencer Effect.

“It’s so good to see you again, Y/N,” that was Emily. Emily Prentiss; best friend of Spencer Reid. Her eyes, Y/N noticed held a bittersweet tone, “Wish it was under different circumstances, though.” 

Her eyes looked at each and every member of The Team— none of them held any judgement or anger. Sure, some held sadness, others held understanding, but mostly, she saw compassion. She should’ve known; she used to spend every weekend with these people— she should’ve known they wouldn’t hold anything against her. She should’ve known.

Holding the pages that Y/N had printed out, JJ spoke first. “Well, it looks like its all been online?”

The victim nodded then coughed, “Well. . . actually, last night, I found this outside my apartment.” Out of her purse, she pulled yet another folder. Handing it to Spencer, she rocked on her feet. Inside the folder was picture after picture of Y/N. Many were captured when she was in the public eye, doing errands, hanging with friends, walking her pup. The part that caused Spencer’s blood to run cold were the few at the end. 

Whoever was terrorizing Y/N, had managed to get into her apartment and capture pictures while she was sleeping, showering and even lounging on her couch— though the last bunch were from outside a window, most likely on her patio. 

The boy tossed the pictures on the table in anger, the rest of The Team all began to sort through them. Surprising Y/N, and The Team, he did a full 180 and stormed from the room. Against her better judgement, she watched him go. Her eyes followed his every movement. Even after all these years, her eyes still watched every move her boy executed. 

Before she could protest, her feet were carrying her to Spencer. He was pacing in front of his desk, hands nervously rubbing over one another. A tick that she remembered Spencer often doing. 

“Spencer?” She asked. It was soft and innocent. It was everything Spencer had missed and that pissed him off. 

“Y/N?” The tone surprised her. It was harsh, different from how he was treating her only a few  minutes prior. 

“Are you okay?” He laughed but didn’t answer her question, so she tried once more. “What’s wrong? . . . Spence?”

“No—!” He turned to face her now. His outburst surprised her (and apparently The Team too, as they had all stopped what they were doing to watch the horrific scene unfold. Yet none of the six moved to help The Broken Girl. She deserved that— she deserved the harsh words that were leaving the boy she loved so much), he continued, “You— you don’t get to call me that anymore. You lost that privilege when you left.”

That hurt, but she let him get it out. She knew it was years in the making— she knew it was healthy for him to express himself, even if it was all the anger he accumulated the past two years. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his tone held all the anger he had been holding for the past two years. The boy’s hands made their way into his curls, pulling at the root. Y/N’s eyes were wide, mouth stuck open. 

“Spencer, I-I’m sorry!” Tears were stinging her eyes, causing The Beautiful Boy to go blurry. She was absolutely positive that Spencer could see her unshed tears and she hated herself for it. She felt so fucking stupid. She shouldn’t have come— it was stupid to think he would ever help her. 

“Yeah? Well, it’s too late now, Y/N.” He stepped towards her, she took a step back. His heart took the bullet, but he didn’t let it show. And before he could stop the word vomit, he brushed past her, knocking shoulders and said, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

She watched, blurry eyed, as the boy who she still loved ran up the BAU steps and back to the round table. She felt her breath hitch and then she felt her body lower itself into the chair that just so happened to be Spencer’s. She needed to get a control on her emotions. She couldn’t break down— she needed to help The Team help her. 

Finding a stalker was hard work, apparently, because it was nearing the late hours of the night and there was still no face to the tyrant who so badly wanted Y/N’s attention. The Team was beginning to burn out, frustrated with the lack of answers. With the lack of safety for their old friend. With the lack of anything that wasn’t naked pictures of Spencer’s Old Girl and threats directed from some deranged place of love. 

After Spencer’s meltdown, the two hadn’t talked— let alone made eye contact. It wasn’t without effort though, Y/N had been doing her best to get The Boy Wonder to look her way. Unfortunately though, he seemed to have his own thoughts on the matter. He had kept his back to her for the last three hours. Instead, focusing on the white board in front of him. 

Taped to one side of the board were pictures of Y/N as well as the threats she had received in the past few months. Spencer could barely look at that side— he had been focusing his efforts on the left bit. His eyes had been locked on the few leads they did have. Which, to be summed up, was nothing. The Team had The Victim look at the men on the wall— none of which she knew, to their disappointment. This discovery drove them no farther than they were when the girl first walked in. 

It was when Y/N was growing antsy again when Hotch’s rough voice spoke up. “We’re not getting anything done here. I think we take the night and come back with fresh eyes. Yes?”

A moment passed, then two. No one moved to disagree with the boss. Y/N stayed put in her seat, watching as her old friends began to pack up their belongings and file out— not without a few comforting words in passing. The Young Girl sighed, standing too, until she noticed a certain genius still staring at the wall, arms crossed. 

He had abandoned the sweater that he once wore and was now sporting his well-fitting button down. And damn, it looked good. It was this deep maroon color that he wore so well (Her eyes committed the image to memory, not wanting to forget what a handsome hunk he was. Because, honestly, she knew after all this was done, she’d never be seeing him again). He had rolled the sleeves up to his bicep and unbuttoned the top two buttons, as well as losing the tie that once brought the whole look together. His beautiful curls were aggressively frizzy, sticking up in all the wrong places. It took everything in her not to reach up and fit it, like she used to. 

She wanted to speak, she wanted to reach out to the boy. She knew that he hated her— she knew that he was beyond angry with her. She had so many things she needed him to know— needed him to understand. But, now wasn’t the time. Now definitely wasn’t the time to get into the nasty bits that was their past. No, now was the time to save her from the impending doom of this goddamn stalker. 

“Spencer?” She asked, before she could stop herself. The boy turned, aggravated— with her, with the situation, with everything. His arms dropped, hands stuffing themselves in his pockets. He bounced on his feet, eyes tired. She continued, “I-I know that you hate me—”

“— I don’t hate you,” It was a lie. She knew that. She knew he was lying, she knew that he was just saying things to make her feel better.

So, she said, “Look, I, um— do you think— could you—”

The angry boy, who’s anger was once again draining with every breath— she had that effect on him—sighed and let the tension leave his body, “Do you want me to take you home?”

Sheepishly keeping the eye contact she had longed for, for so long, she nodded. The girl pulled her arms into her chest, “That would be really great. . . only if you can, though. I don’t want to put you out.”

Another sigh and another bullet to the heart— only this time to Y/N’s and not her ex lover’s. Spencer collected his few things and placed a soft hand on her back, leading her out. And just for a moment, for a moment, it felt like old times. It felt like everything was okay and that they were going back to their place and that everything was perfect. 

Sadly though, life was no fairy-tale for the two and there was no perfect ending. The two once lovers sat in the boy’s car, silent and awkward. They were only a few streets from Spencer’s—their old place— place, stopped at a red light. The light was finding it’s way into the car, flashing a beautiful hue on the boy next to her. One of his hands was holding tight to the wheel, the other was laying on the arm rest between them. It took every bone in the girl’s body to not reach out to feel him— it had been so long. She missed his touch. 

Maybe it was that feeling that made her do it. Maybe it was just how beautiful he looked that made her say it. Maybe it was the love that she still carried for him (even after all these years) that made her tell him. 

“I’m afraid to be alone.” It was quiet and it held all the emotion she had been hiding all day. Spencer’s heart, though ever angry, broke a little for her. 

The boy looked over, his mouth opening to ease her in whatever way he could. Before a word left his mouth, the light turned green and the spell was broken between the two. He pushed through, foot pressing on the gas, “You, uh, you can stay with me, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Well, i-it’s just until after we catch this guy.” He paused, blinker on, car passing, turning left, “Then, you go back to whatever life you created.”

“—I didn’t—”

“And then, I’ll go back to pretending you didn’t break me.” Yet another bullet to the heart. She deserved that though, she knew it too. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Another pause of conversation, another blinker and another turn. Then they were home— they were back to Spencer’s. The walk to the small apartment wasn’t a long one. Especially with her body leading the way— muscle memory. What surprised her most was that he hadn’t changed much. Books still cluttered the tables and floors, globes and maps still sporadically placed around each room. The only thing that caught her eye was the lack of photos on the walls— what used to be a map of their relationship was replaced with a white wall. 

“Looks the same.” she nodded, unmoving from her awkward stance by the door. “Looks like you.”

He snorted— though, there was no actual humor bedded within. Y/N watched as he stripped his bag from his body, then slipped off his shoes and off with his jacket. They stood together, wishing it was different. Wishing they could go back. Wishing there was no anger. Wishing, wishing, wishing. They’d be wishing for the rest of time. 

Like before, like the last night, he was moving fast, breath hitching, “How long?”

“How long?” She echoed him, moving too. Still under the spell, she’d follow him anywhere. 

“How long have you—” The boy cut himself off, hands in his curls, pulling them apart—unmarrying the best ones. “How long have you had this problem and not done anything?”

Before she had a chance to tell him, he was whirling on the poor girl, eyes wild, “You should’ve came to us— came to me.” His voice broke at the end, and Y/N could’ve kicked herself for causing him all this pain.

The heartbreaker sighed, “Spencer—”

“Y/N, I’m not playing around. How long?”

A sigh, a look to the floor, then back at him, “I don’t know, really. Maybe six months?”

Another sigh, this time from Spencer. He was sitting on the couch now, defeated, head in hands. “Maybe?”

“I’ve kind of had other things on my mind, Spencer!” It was bitter, angry, but not at him. It was directed at the jackass that had been stalking her. She joined him on the old seat, leaning back and pulling her legs off the floor. 

A moment passed between the two— it wasn’t angry or awkward and didn’t hold any resentment, it was just comfortable and that surprised the two considering they hadn’t seen each other in over two years. It was just so easy to fall back into what they used to be. 

She looked over at her boy. The window’s curtains were pushed open, the street lights making their way in. Spencer had turned on a lamp in the corner, as well. It was mixing with the lights from outside and casting a beautiful glow on her boy. He was looking down at his hands that were folded in his lap. A pensive look had made its home on his face. 

“What’s goin’ on in that big brain of yours?” Y/N laughed, quiet and everything he had missed. The girl bumped shoulders with the boy next to her. He managed a smile, small, but still it was there. Y/N counted that as a victory. 

The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Did you know that sixty-eight percent of stalking victims reported that their stalker physically harmed them?”

Another beat passed. Spencer had turned to look at her now, eyes heavy. Y/N was looking at her knees now, trying to ignore the fear that wanted to bubble up. “And?”

“A-And?” His whole body turned now, one leg folded between the two. His arm closet to the couch had made home on the top of the sofa back, fingers tapping— nervous tick. He had placed other hand on Y/N’s knee, trying to be comforting. She accepted his attempt, thankful for him. “Y/N, I’m saying that could’ve been you. You should’ve come to me when this first started.”

Y/N finally let her eyes meet his. And god, she could’ve cried right then and there. He was so beautiful. She missed him so much. Breaking her spell, she shook her head, “Spencer. . . I didn’t want to ruin anything you might’ve had going on.”

“Ruin any— Y/N/N, you’re not ruining anything by asking for help.” The boy sighed, looking away. His hand tightened once on her leg and her stomach erupted in the same way it always did with him around. Quieter, so quiet she almost missed it, he said, “The only way you’d ruin anything would be by leaving.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” The girl caught his eye again, shaking her head. Tears blurred her eyes again. Her hair, now out of it’s bun, fell into her face. With a shaky hand, Spencer batted it back behind her ear. A blush rose on her cheeks, as Spencer’s hand moved to wipe the few tears that had managed to fall. Her voice was thick with tears and it broke him. “I really am, you know?”

A sigh, then a nod from her boy. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always, Spence.” The name struck a cord in his heart, but he let it slide. He had no more energy to fight with her, no more energy to stay angry with his girl. He had nothing left. He was giving up his angry phase— he was letting it flow from his body like sand through sieve. He was giving in to her and the small bits of love that he still held for the beauty in front of him. 

“Why’d you do it? Leave, I mean.”

Yet another bullet to her heart. “. . . I don’t know.”

He was moving again. His hands pulled away from her body as if she had burned him— because honestly, she might as well have. With that bullshit response, she might as well have slapped him— to him, there would’ve been no difference and the outcome would’ve been the same. He stood up, back to her. His hands came back up to his hair and she willed him not to pull apart the remaining curls. “That’s bullshit, Y/N! And you know it. . . I-I’m sorry. Just, just don’t lie to me anymore.” 

Y/N stood too, arms up in surrender. Arms open like he had a gun pointed at her— because to her, there was no difference between the weapon he wore on his hip everyday and the weapon that spilled from his lips. His back was still to her, so she reached out to touch his shoulder. Careful, not to startle the boy. She wanted to see him, she needed to see him. For a second, her breath was gone, her mind taking her back to that night. She could’ve laughed at how similar the situation was, only reversed. Only now, she was the one begging to be touched, to be listened to. Only now, she was the one who was broken. 

Instead of jerking away like he did all those years ago, he turned, sadness present on his face. Y/N’s heart broke for him. Y/N’s heart broke for herself. Her heart broke for the both of them. “I was scared, okay? I was just so scared.”

He turned fully, hands mindlessly finding their way to her hair. They tangled themselves in, tilting her head up. His voice was lower than she had ever heard. It was just barely above a whisper and she fucking loved it. If they were in a different situation, she would’ve been weak in the knees. “Scared? What, Y/N/N?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. . . Scared I’d lose you, scared you’d get hurt and I wouldn’t be there in time. I was just scared, Spence.”

Maybe it was her words that caused his reaction. Maybe the truth he could see behind them. Or maybe it was the emotion that felt so genuine. Whatever it was, he felt himself loosen. He felt the remaining anger dissipate, he was suddenly forgiving her for everything. Because he finally understood. He, for once, wasn’t having to jump to conclusions. For once, he felt they were equals. And because of this, he was pulling her closer, never wanting to let her go. And she was holding him just as tight. 

“I’m sorry.” The words were spoken, truthful. Only this time, they weren’t coming from her. No, this time, they were coming from The Tall Genius. And she was pulling back. 

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

The boy laughed, true and genuine. For once, she could see it reach his eyes. She’s always loved that about him— the fact that he was always able to smile through it all. Through all his pain, he was still able to find the happiness. “I’m at fault too, you know. One person can’t cause all of the destruction.”

“No, you’re perfect.” She believed it too. 

“Trust me, I’m not perfect.” He paused, then added. “At all.”

Her hands made their way home— to the sides of his face. She noticed the way he leaned into her touch— he had missed her just as much. Maybe even more. “You’re perfect to me, Spence.”

He laughed again— music to her ears. She wished she could listen to it for the rest of her life. So, she said, “Don’t ever let me go, okay?”

He nodded, suddenly serious, “We’ll get this guy, and then I’ll never let you go again. Not until the day I die.”

And like she had wanted to since she had seen him earlier in the day, she pulled him to her. A kiss shared between them wouldn’t fix everything, but it sure was a start (and that’s all that mattered). “Not even then.”

A dazed look in his eyes. The same one he had after every shared kiss and every time she said she loved him. Though mind far off, he nodded and agreed, “Not even then.” 

Then he kissed his girl again— like his life depended on it.

Because, even after all these years, it probably did. 

[novelconcepts]

Not sure if it’s Drabble worthy. What if Peter and Rebecca don’t die and therefore Bly doesn’t need a new Au Pair. Do Jamie and Dani still meet somehow?

There is a woman in the pub. Not, strictly speaking, an oddity--there are people here every night upon Jamie’s return from the manor. People with drinks and conversation, taking up space she doesn’t have the energy to deal with. 

This woman, though. This woman is strange simply because she isn’t. Because there is a look about her, too normal, too put-together. Because her eyes are too bright, and her hair too shiny, and she is--most important of all--not of Bly.

Not Jamie’s problem, either, she thinks, pushing past the woman’s table with little more than a glance.

Blue eyes, she registers. Blue eyes, catching hers for a bare moment. 

Jamie keeps walking.

***

The woman is back again. Still looking a bit too clean, a bit too bright to be allowed in a smudgy place like this. She’s seated at that same table, nursing a drink with her eyes on a book, and she is...

Just a woman, thinks Jamie, whose day has been marked by Miles’ attitude and Flora’s perfectly splendid’s, and whose head is in all honesty ringing just a bit more than she can stand. 

She could use a drink tonight. Could use a bit more than a drink, really--could use a long rest, a long break from memories of Peter fucking Quint moving about the house like he owns the place. Tonight, she’ll settle for the drink. It’s cheaper than therapy, easier than talking to Hannah or Owen about the whole business. Certainly easier than cornering Rebecca, pressing her toward sense.

Problem is, there is a woman in the pub. 

At her table.

She drinks at the bar instead and finds her eyes searching out that woman’s face in the mirror. Finds herself coming back time and time again to the curve of the woman’s cheek, the angle of her nose, the way she bites the edge of her thumbnail as she turns the page. 

Her eyes never raise, never seek Jamie’s in return, though Jamie is certain--judging by the insistent tap of one boot under the table, the fidgety quality of her fingers around her glass--she knows she is being watched. 

***

The woman, she supposes, has nowhere else to be. What must that be like? What cart must have overturned, tipping her onto the pavement of Bly, to this pub, to this dark corner of the world? 

Jamie can remember all too well what it feels like to have nowhere to be. To just stumble into whatever place will hold a person up. This woman, with her tailored blouse and her hoop earrings, doesn’t much look like Jamie had, living that sort of life. But what does Jamie know?

Blue eyes. Shiny hair. Very little else.

Jamie has taken in a drink every night this week, less for the value of the alcohol, more out of curiosity. Could the woman really be here each time she walks through the door? Could this same woman always set up shop at her table, alone, peaceably making her way through a battered paperback?

So far, survey says yes. 

And the week has been long, it’s true: Rebecca, growing agitated as tensions between Peter and the rest of them wind ever-higher. Last night, Hannah had gripped her steak knife as though considering plunging it into Peter’s thigh. Tonight, it had taken every ounce of Jamie not to take a swing with the expensive wine bottle he had produced from thin air. 

Deserve better, chick, she’d thought as Rebecca had soothed Peter’s glower with a kiss. You have to see that. 

Rebecca, predictably, does not. 

Jamie, sitting here with yet another drink, watching the strange woman at her table in the mirror, isn’t sure who she is to talk. 

***

Someone is trying to talk to the woman tonight. Someone--a bulky man in his mid-thirties who Jamie has already marked as endless trouble--is trying to take a seat at the woman’s table.

Jamie watches with hackles raised, glass poised at her lips, waiting. The woman looks like the sort to make polite conversation, to smile warmly, to find herself in a bad situation before she realizes. Not that it’s any of Jamie’s concern. Not that Jamie ought to be making noise in the pub above which she sleeps. 

The man is leaning across the table, his huge hand reaching for the woman’s book. His grin is sloppy, his eyes ale-muddled, and when he moves toward the woman’s hand, she recoils. Glances toward the bar. 

Glances directly at Jamie. 

Hell, thinks Jamie tiredly, because this isn’t the way. This is never effective, never wise. Keep to yourself, keep your bloody head to your own bloody business, that’s the trick. 

The woman’s eyes are so goddamned blue. 

“Saved me a seat, I see,” Jamie hears herself say, cocking her hip against the man’s chair with a fuck out of it smile. He squints up at her, clearly trying to piece together some bleary vestige of memory. 

“You’re,” he slurs, “upstairs.”

“Seem to be down among the locals tonight,” Jamie says cheerfully, and gives him a single jerk of the head in warning. He frowns, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. 

“Borin’ conversation anyway.”

Jamie watches him go, raises her glass to her lips, smiles when he shoots a dark look over his shoulder. She does not look at the woman, not until she hears a soft voice say, “Thank you.”

American, realizes Jamie. 

Mistake, realizes Jamie.

“Hang a jacket over the seat next time,” she suggests on her way back to the bar. “Dissuades the stupider ones.”

***

The woman buys her a drink. 

She seems, Jamie notes with some alarm, to have registered Jamie’s schedule. How Jamie seems to walk in around eight every evening, her shoulders tense with a day’s battles still hanging tight. How Jamie has long given up trying for her usual table, sacrificing it in the name of pretty blonde Americans. 

There is a drink waiting for her--her usual, though in a place like this, it isn’t hard to guess. 

“That one,” the bartender--tonight, a fiftyish woman with a smirk--says, and points exactly where Jamie expects. She glances over, finds the American with her own glass raised. Eyebrows arched. Head gesturing for Jamie to come on over.

Mistake, she thinks again, even as she’s obeying.

“Wanted to thank you again,” the woman says, as Jamie hovers beside the second chair. There is, she notes, a denim jacket tossed over its back.

“Not a problem.”

“Sit?” the woman suggests, and Jamie finds she can’t locate a reason not to. She settles awkwardly, trying not to dislodge the jacket, all-too aware of the filthy floor beneath her boots. 

“Really don’t think,” she begins, but the woman is saying something. She blinks. “Sorry?”

“Dani,” the woman says again, touching a hand to her chest. “Dani Clayton.”

It’s a bad idea, Jamie thinks distantly, because the woman is so goddamned pretty, it hurts. She’s pretty, and she’s smiling, and there’s something about her eyes that makes Jamie’s pulse do tricks she hasn’t entertained in years. 

“Jamie,” she replies, and allows the woman to clink a half-finished glass against her own. 

***

Dani, as it turns out, actually works here. 

“Just started,” she says, almost sheepishly, when Jamie makes blustery noises of surprise. “On the early shift. Just to have something to keep me busy, until I figure something else out.”

She’s in England, she says, on a sort of personal retreat. A finding myself sort of adventure, she adds with a laugh that rings in Jamie’s ears like the best kind of music. 

“Better places to do it in,” Jamie points out, “than a hole in Bly.”

Dani shrugs. “I like it. The people are nice, mostly. And it’s quiet.”

“Home wasn’t quiet?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani doesn’t seem to like to talk about herself all that much, Jamie is noticing. She likes, instead, to talk about the town--the strangers, the clients, the newness of it all. She’ll talk about the beer, about the book resting at her elbow, about the weather. Most of all, she asks after Jamie.

“Not much to tell,” Jamie says--a lie, if you go back far enough, but honest enough for now. “Groundskeeper, over at the big house down the way.”

“What does that entail?” Dani, unlike most, actually sounds interested. She is the oddest bird, Jamie thinks, and is startled to find a sense of light affection behind the notion. 

“Gardening, mostly. Keep up the grounds, like I said--minor repairs about the house, too. Make sure everything keeps moving.”

“You like it?”

“Love it,” Jamie says honestly. Dani smiles. 

“That’s what I want. Something I really love. Thought for a while it would be teaching, but...”

“Kids,” Jamie says. “Take a lot out of a person. That why you’re here?”

Dani thinks on it, seems to step right up to the edge of a reply before changing her mind. “Couldn’t be at home anymore,” she says instead. It’s a non-answer, Jamie recognizes. A too much truth answer. 

“Fair enough,” Jamie tells her, and doesn’t push.

***

“So--he lives there?” Dani is three drinks in to Jamie’s two, her hair falling across her forehead as she tries to piece it all together. Jamie shakes her head. 

“Nah, not most days. Hannah, she lives there--full-time, I mean. And Rebecca, she moved in couple of months back. Kids love her. Quint, though, he’s...” She can’t find a nice way to put it. Isn’t sure why she’s even bothering. “A cockroach. Hard to kill, harder yet to wish away.”

“Sound like you’ve tried,” Dani says with a faint smile. Jamie shrugs.

“Waste of everyone’s time. He’s Henry’s fuckin’ lapdog. Long as he’s pulling at the leash, we all just need to make do.”

Dani mulls this over with the interest of someone who has not a single face to put with any of these names. “Rebecca really likes him, huh?”

“Likes him. Stuck into him. Not much of a difference.” Jamie leans back, pouring the remainder of her drink into a single swallow. The idea of it, of Peter’s hands on Rebecca’s waist at dinner, still makes her stomach sour. “You ever just--you ever meet someone who is like a human pair of handcuffs?”

Something flickers in Dani’s eyes. She nods once. Jamie sighs.

“That’s Quint. Fucker never met a woman he didn’t try to win--and I do mean win. Like a prize. Like women are little more than trophies to be locked behind glass.”

She watches Dani rub absently against her lips with the back of one hand, unable to tear her eyes away until Dani says, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s like,” Jamie begins, trying to find the best way to explain, “like he thinks she’s property, right? Like he thinks any choice she makes without his say-so is a fucking--”

“Not that,” Dani says quietly. “I mean I don’t understand how people can do that. To each other. When they say they love--I mean. It’s the wrong way around, isn’t it? Trying to own someone out of love? You can’t do it. That’s...they’re not...”

“They’re opposites,” Jamie finishes. Blue eyes skip up, hold hers, don’t so much as waver. Dani’s lips turn up at the corners, her head giving a single nod. 

“Yeah. Exactly. How do people mix that up?”

“No idea,” Jamie says, and swallows against the clamor of her own heart.

***

Peter tried to pick a fight this afternoon, out among the roses. Would have succeeded, Jamie thinks with no small amount of shame, had Miles not been lurking just behind him, watching everything.

She is vibrating when she reaches the pub, every motion just a little more exaggerated than she likes. She slams down into her usual seat, hands clenched into fists against the table. 

“Bad day?” Dani asks, sliding a plate toward her. Half a sandwich, carefully set aside as if for Jamie all along. 

“Not great,” Jamie agrees. She softens, looking Dani over, reading the tension behind her smile. “Look like you can say the same.”

Dani glances over her shoulder, eyes finding the mirror behind the bar and darting jerkily away again. “Hard to explain,” she says. 

“Do you want to?” Jamie asks. Dani’s eyes land on her with all the abrasive surprise of an explosion. Jamie taps light knuckles against the tabletop. “Just sayin’. If you want to get it off your chest--”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s...really hard to explain,” she says, almost apologetic. “It--it makes me sound...kinda crazy.”

Jamie has never met someone who looks less crazy. Someone who holds herself with such steadiness, though her hands are twitchy and her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes. 

“If you want,” she says, knowing she will, in a moment, let the moment slide. “I don’t mind.”

There’s silence between them, a great comfortable swell of it that shouldn’t exist in a small pub, on a night like this, between two women who barely know one another. Jamie lets it ride, taking a bite of sandwich, watching Dani read her expression with tentative interest.

“I had a fiancé,” Dani says at last, and Jamie feels something in her stomach turn over. And then a second time, when Dani adds, “He died.”

“Dani. I’m so--”

“He died,” Dani says, staring grimly ahead as though trying with everything in her power not to glance toward the mirror again, “and I had just--I had just told him I couldn’t--”

She hesitates, pressing her face into her palms. When she lifts her head, her eyes are blazing. 

“I’d just broken--up with him. Broken the engagement, broken the whole--because he wasn’t what I--and then he died. And sometimes, I...I...”

Jamie waits. Dani sucks in a ragged breath.

“I see him. Sometimes. In mirrors, mostly. In--and it’s insane, I know, but I can’t stop.”

“S’why you came here?” Jamie guesses. Dani nods. 

“Crazy, right?”

Jamie shakes her head slowly. She’s not much for ghost stories, for fairytales, for dreams made flesh. Loss, though? Grief? Missing who a person was, who they could be? Those aren’t the marks of a crazy person. Those are just...

“Sounds like a rough time,” she says, and lets herself reach across the table. Dani’s hand is soft beneath her own, and she is suddenly too aware of her own callouses, of the skid against Dani’s skin when she turns her hand over and squeezes Jamie’s fingers in return. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, and looks once more toward the mirror. Jamie watches her: the tension in her brow, the way her eyes seem to narrow. “I think I...needed to tell someone. Finally.”

She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, even as she turns the subject to the day’s customers, to Jamie’s plans for tomorrow. She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, and doesn’t even seem to notice.

***

There is a fight, but it isn’t Jamie who starts it. Isn’t Jamie who finishes it, even. 

Jamie is only stupid enough to step in the middle. 

“Your eye,” Dani says in greeting, standing briskly up from the table. Jamie, who is aware she is no longer bleeding, aware that the glass thrown could have done significantly more damage on a less-fortunate occasion, waves her off. 

“Bit, ah. Messy at the house tonight.”

Bit messy is a gentle way of putting it. In truth, it had been a horrorshow: Hannah already furious with Peter for having barricaded Rebecca in the bedroom all afternoon, Peter furious with Owen for having enlisted Rebecca’s help with dinner, Rebecca wound tight with the rising pressure of a situation primed to go bad for days. When the glass had been thrown--by Peter or by Rebecca, Jamie still can’t say; she suspects it had really slipped from a gesticulating hand, regardless, given momentum by a moment of frustration more than genuine violence--it had been the bomb they’d all been waiting for.

Rebecca had stormed off to her room. Peter, out of the house. Hannah had collected the kids, both of whom were sobbing, and Jamie had pushed Owen’s helpful hand away and cleaned her own wound. 

“Theater,” she says now, aware of Dani’s eyes on her, of the abject concern in Dani’s face. “S’all it was.”

“Not good for the kids,” Dani says quietly. Jamie sighs.

“None of this is good for ‘em. Miles, he keeps...picking up shifty habits from Quint, and Flora’s enamored with the whole rotten mess. Thinks it’s romantic.” Jamie shakes her head, winces when her head rings back in answer. “Like there’s anything fuckin’ romantic about the way he talks to her.”

Dani is quiet a moment. She reaches across the table, presses her fingertips very gently to the place along Jamie’s brow where the glass had landed. 

“Lucky it didn’t break,” Jamie murmurs, almost unaware of leaning into Dani’s hand. “Shouldn’t have gotten in the...”

Dani is gazing at her with eyes too blue, an expression too meaningful. Jamie reaches up, closes her own fingers around the hand gingerly exploring her brow. 

“I’m okay,” she says. “Really.”

Dani seems not to believe her. Dani, whose palm slides across her own, thumb working a swipe along Jamie’s skin. 

“Do you,” she begins. Clears her throat. Tries again. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Dani nods.

***

She leads Dani upstairs, and even as she’s unlocking the door, she thinks, Mistake? This is, she knows, the kind of thing a person can’t take back. The kind of give that can’t be explained away. 

Dani has not stopped looking at her since leaving the pub. Dani has not let go of her hand. 

Dani, she is sure, feels it, too. 

She’s aware of all the bits of the flat that feel wrong when set alongside Dani Clayton: last week’s shirt tossed over the back of the sofa, last night’s cup on the counter, last month’s dust painting the bookshelf. All the little merits of a life lived alone, she thinks. If she’d known--if she’d planned--it would look different.

Not much different, maybe, but enough.

Dani is looking around with an expression Jamie can’t read. It isn’t unease, or polite interest, or even amusement; it is, Jamie thinks, genuine awe. It is, Jamie thinks, a hunger to belong. 

She’d fit in, she catches herself thinking, watching Dani walk slowly around the flat with the faintest smile at her lips. In that house, with the rest, maybe better than I do. She’d fit right in.

“This is yours?” Dani asks, not gesturing at any one thing in particular, and Jamie nods slowly. 

“Serves its purpose.”

“I’ve never had this,” Dani says. Her eyes linger on Jamie’s face, and she adds hastily, “A place of my own. It seems...quiet.”

“It is,” Jamie says, and wonders if there isn’t more to it. If I’ve never had this is reaching for more than four walls and a bed Dani wouldn’t have to share. 

***

They don’t really talk about it, as Jamie’s flat commandeers the pub’s place in line altogether. Sometimes, Jamie even finds Dani seated on her steps, book propped upon on her knees, waiting patiently to be discovered. It never feels like expectation, Jamie notes with feelings too big to look at for long. It only ever feels like Dani, warm smile and easy hand accepting Jamie’s for balance, has belonged here all along.

“D’you ever just,” Jamie begins, cutting herself off before the rest of the words can spill out. Dani, curled on the sofa with a blanket half-tucked around her, furrows her brow. 

“What?”

“Feel like someone was always there,” Jamie finishes after a moment’s deliberation. It’s too much, probably, but she walked in on Peter and Rebecca screaming at one another again, and Flora spent the whole day in a sulk, and Hannah’s got a weariness around her eyes Jamie doesn’t like. Maybe it’s just a day for too much. 

Dani doesn’t seem to think it’s too much. Dani is nodding.

“Like you don’t even have to introduce yourself, really, because you remember them from another life. Yes. Yes, I’ve...felt that.”

It’s romantic rubbish, Jamie wants to say, something out of one of Flora’s story-time adventures, but the words seem to settle along her skeleton like she needs them. Like they’re offering some kind of strength she didn’t realize she was lacking. 

Dani is gazing at her, her expression fixed and unblinking in a manner that should be off-putting, and Jamie finds herself pulled irresistibly in. Finds herself leaning across the sofa, her thigh pressing to Dani’s, twisting at the waist to face her head-on.

“I’ve never,” Dani says softly, though her head is inclining, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. 

“Don’t have to,” Jamie replies, though her blood is singing, her fingers itching to delve into thick blonde hair. 

“But we could...” Dani is an inch away, and Jamie wants nothing more than to close the gap. Wants to take something for herself, for once, something soft and warm and easier than it ought to be. 

She hesitates. Flexes her hands against her own knees, resisting the urge to grab for Dani’s shirt. 

“Dani, I don’t want to--”

Dani is leaning back, nodding feverishly. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

“No, listen.” She allows herself this, one hand reaching for Dani’s fingers, unfolding the instinctive fist she’s made. “I'm not...people don’t make sense to me. Understand?”

Dani shakes her head, puzzlement spreading over her impending humiliation. Jamie closes her eyes. 

“There’s a lot to it, and if...if you want to hear it all sometime, I’ll...but for now, just know that people are hard for me. Exhaustive. Complicated. They ask too much and they return too little.”

“Even me?” Dani asks, eyes shining, and Jamie smiles grimly. 

“Even you. Even me. Everyone, understand? But sometimes I still want...”

Dani waits. Dani, who never hurries Jamie anywhere. Who never tries to argue Jamie into a corner, or tells Jamie she needs to be kinder, or sneers for Jamie to get out of her way. Dani, who only sits on Jamie’s sofa, watching Jamie with an intensity no one else seems to possess. 

“If you do,” Jamie says, almost helplessly, letting one hand brace beneath Dani’s elbow. “I want--”

***

Some people--some women--kiss to escape. To flee from their lives, to hide inside Jamie’s hands and lips and fleeting desire. Some women kiss to build up armor: to convince themselves they really are brave enough, even for a night, to be someone else. Some women even kiss to shame themselves, because the memory of Jamie on their skin will rise up at unexpected moments and make them feel something, anything, even if it’s terrible. 

Dani doesn’t kiss like any of those women. 

Dani kisses like she wants. Simple and steady and nothing more. Like she wants to be kissing Jamie, wants to be learning Jamie, wants the want of it as much as the thing itself. There is no shame, in the way Dani kisses her. There is only breathless excitement, Dani moving across the sofa to press tight to Jamie’s frame along the cushions.

“I’ve never,” she says again, only this time, she’s curling the words into the underside of Jamie’s jaw. She’s letting them spill across Jamie’s skin from within the loose grip of Jamie’s arms, her hands wound tight in Jamie’s shirt, her voice jittery with anticipation. 

“If you want to stop,” Jamie begins, and Dani is shaking her head, kissing her neck, murmuring against her in such a way, Jamie can’t help but shiver.

“It’s what I--it’s right. The right way.” She lifts her eyes, and Jamie can’t help but grin at the joy reflected back. “I’ve never done it the right way.”

Jamie wants to know what that means, what the wrong way was, but it doesn’t seem a question for now. Now is just Dani, the one golden light untouched by a bleak day, the one bright spot after a tattered house Jamie doesn’t really belong in. Dani, who sighs against her lips, smiling, like she’s never been so happy to kiss someone. 

She’s waiting for Dani to reel back, to gasp, to mention the fiancé again--but Dani only presses in closer and lets her mouth linger against the thunder of Jamie’s pulse beating along in her throat. Dani only finds her lips with such a sound of relief, Jamie can do nothing but grip at her back in response. 

Have we done this before? she thinks with feverish uncertainty. Have we been here before? Dani is new, each press and slide of fingers along her skin calling forth unexpected sounds, but Dani is also right. Like meeting someone and knowing they were meant to be in your story the whole time. 

“You’re sure?” she asks, though Dani is gazing down at her with such obvious desire, it makes her stomach clench. 

Dani, in answer, kisses her as no woman has ever kissed her, and Jamie lets herself fall. 

***

Dani is still in her bed come morning. 

Dani is still wrapped around her, naked skin and rapturous smile, and Jamie thinks, How can I be so happy, when the rest of it is falling apart?

“All right?” she asks, half-expecting the awareness of the previous night--of their slow stumble across the flat, of Dani’s shirt over her head and Dani’s hands cradling Jamie’s skin--to crash in around them both like a bad dream. Dani only wriggles against her under the blankets, face pressed to Jamie’s shoulder. 

“Yes. Are you?”

No one has ever asked that, Jamie realizes dimly. Not even the first girl she’d ever loved, the one who had taken Jamie by the shoulders and kissed her hard enough to hurt. Jamie, who had only been preoccupied with the sense memory of a moment like that, with the teeth buried in her bottom lip and the hand cupped between her legs, hadn’t much cared at the time. 

Now, though, with Dani looking at her this way, she can’t imagine being with someone who doesn’t ask. Who doesn’t trail the tips of their fingers along her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and smile like they knew all along they were needed here. 

“I’m glad,” she hears herself say, morning rasp tracing the words, “you stayed.”

Dani is still beaming when Jamie kisses her, the implication of I am, too buried in the gentle press of her hand against Jamie’s cheek.

“Are you going to be late?” she asks a little while later, when there’s fresh sweat on her breast and Dani is gulping air against her neck. Dani shakes her head, dusting light kisses across Jamie’s skin. She swallows, laughs, groans when Dani finds a particularly pleasant spot in the hollow of her throat and sets to exploring it properly. “Keep doing that, and I will be.”

And would that be so bad? To leave the house for a day. To pretend like it isn’t all imploding around her, a little family divided by one man’s arrogance. Like Jamie doesn’t feel, more and more each day, as though she is the odd one out, the seventh wheel amid three solid pairs.

Dani, still teasing the clench of her stomach with curious fingers, says, “Guess you should go, then,” and Jamie thinks no one has ever said as much to her with less pleasure. No one has ever sounded quite so inclined to keep Jamie close. 

“I’ll be back,” she promises, and Dani--spilled across her sheets like she was placed by some grand wish--grins all the wider.

***

Rebecca spends the day in silent fury, tears running down her cheeks. Hannah spends it trying to keep her lips pursed around I told you so-shaped phrasing. Owen spends it in the kitchen, head down, and Jamie spends it teaching the kids how to properly weed out a garden, just for the distraction of it all.

Peter, they tell her, is gone. 

Peter, they tell her, left last night. 

“Gone where?” Dani asks when she pushes into the flat that night to find her still here, wrapped in one of Jamie’s favorite shirts and a pair of shorts. She has spent the day, she says, feeling intrusive, feeling as though she ought to be somewhere. Jamie, unable to explain the ease with which she does it, only leans in to kiss her slowly. 

“Here,” she says. “Meant to be here.”

As for Peter--she doesn’t much care where he’s skittered off to. Good fucking riddance, in her opinion. 

“Rebecca probably doesn’t agree,” Dani says, folded onto one of the sparse kitchen chairs with bare feet and a worried expression Peter doesn’t deserve. Across from her, Jamie sighs. 

“Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

Dani tips her head, waiting, and it strikes Jamie that this is an already that doesn’t make much sense. Like the comfortable silences, Dani’s capacity to already understand when she needs to talk something out, when she needs to come to a matter on her own terms without being rushed along, is a thrill. 

“Been thinking,” she goes on slowly, giving voice to thoughts she’s been batting around for months, “maybe I’ve outstayed my welcome, as it were. At the house. With the others.”

“You said you loved it,” Dani points out. Jamie sighs.

“Love the work. Love the people, some of ‘em. But there’s something about it--something about being bound to the place that feels...”

Suffocating, she doesn’t say. Like trying to walk against the wind. Like a clock ticking down.

“Been thinking for a while,” she says instead, “about moving on. Traveling some. Can find good work for my hands anywhere, can’t I?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani seems to recognize this is Jamie’s future to parse out, Jamie’s thoughts to sift through. Dani having spent a night in her bed is not qualified to deter or convince her. 

“It can be lonely,” she says, when Jamie goes quiet. “Traveling without a destination.”

“You’ve been doing it,” Jamie points out, smiling a little, and Dani looks almost embarrassed. 

“Seemed the only thing to do, at the time. If I had to do it again...”

“You’d stay home?”

Dani laughs. “No. No, absolutely not.” Her hand slides across the table, tangling with Jamie’s fingers. “But...I don’t know that I’d do it alone again. If I didn’t have to.”

Jamie says nothing, the words revolving around and around between them. It’s too early to say it, she thinks. Even if she feels as though she’s known Dani far longer than these few weeks, these spare bundles of days spent talking, laughing, kissing, it hasn’t been long enough to say a thing like this. 

Dani is watching with serious eyes, with a strangely calm expression, and Jamie wonders if she can see it in her eyes, the thing she is deliberately not saying out loud.

***

She expects to find Peter back again the next day, but his absence is etched into every inch of wallpaper like a smoke stain. Rebecca seems to be moving in slow motion, going about the business of teaching the kids with very little investment. Hannah and Owen exchange concerned looks over the lunch table, and Jamie--who had enjoyed a languorous morning with Dani in her entirely too-small shower--finds herself thinking again of this house, how good it is at building pairs of people. How, without her pair, Rebecca seems lost. How, without Jamie around each morning, Hannah and Owen seem to be revolving ever nearer to one another. 

And maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Maybe it’s like science, like the simplicity of an atom. Maybe without Peter holding her to the structure, Rebecca will ultimately bounce off again, vanish into a space built for, instead of around, her. Maybe Owen and Hannah will finally speak of quiet lovely truths they’ve been dancing around for years. Maybe it will all balance out. 

“Where are you off to next?” she asks Dani one night, the two of them curled close in bed. Dani, who had been drowsing against her shoulder, raises her head. 

“Kicking me out?” There’s a smile on her lips which, when paired with the genuine edge of worry in her voice, makes Jamie’s heart hurt. 

“No, I--I mean, I know it’s...early. And you can say no. Please, by all means, say no if you--”

“Ask,” Dani interrupts gently. Jamie sighs. 

“I’m going to call up Wingrave. Let him know he’ll be needing a new groundskeeper for the autumn season. I can’t...”

Keep listening to the walls breathe around me, she doesn’t say. Keep watching Rebecca mope, and the kids checking every window for Peter fucking Quint’s reflection. Can’t keep still in this place that only ever wants a person to stay the same. 

“I can’t,” she repeats solidly. “I was wondering if you’d...if you wanted...”

It’s been a week since opening her bed to Dani Clayton, and a week is nothing. A week is barely a breath, in the grand scheme of things, but there are feelings Jamie can’t bury once dug up. Certainties she can’t turn from, once looked in the eye. There is something about the way Dani exhales across her skin in her sleep, about the way Dani kisses her with open abandon when Jamie touches her, about the look in Dani’s eyes when she thinks Jamie doesn’t see. A week in her bed. A month in her life. 

Sometimes, she thinks recklessly, you know it’s worth trying for.

“If you wanted the company,” she says finally. “Not even forever, if you didn’t want--”

“Forever’s a long time,” Dani replies, though she’s smiling. Heat winds its way up Jamie’s neck, settling between her shoulder blades, at the small of her back where Dani’s hand seems always to grip tight around her shirt. 

“It is. Yeah.”

“Start smaller?” Dani suggests quietly, even as she’s pressing close, one leg sliding between Jamie’s beneath the sheets. “Only, I knew someone once, who demanded forever. It...didn’t work out.”

“Smaller,” Jamie agrees, relieved. Dani smiles against her lips, each kiss a little longer, a little more wanting than the last. “Little at a time, maybe.”

“Company would be nice,” Dani answers, and then she’s kissing Jamie for real, pressing Jamie into the sheets, and Jamie doesn’t care that the summer has been a mess of other people’s feelings, that the house is a cataclysm of old ghosts and unpleasant exhumations, that people are rarely worth the effort sunk into them. Jamie doesn’t care about anything just now except the distinct sound of Dani’s laugh in her mouth, the distinct pressure of Dani’s fingers against her heart. 

A woman in her pub. An event built of a dozen tiny accidents, a dozen roads taken without expectation of consequence. Maybe in another life, Dani would have chosen the next village down the way. Maybe in another life, Jamie would have been too wary to meet her eyes. Maybe in another life, Rebecca would never have come to teach those kids, Peter would never have made a misery of that house, Owen and Hannah would have built a love in Paris to put them all to shame. Other lives. Other roads. 

In this one, Jamie dreams of adventure, of a soft hand tucked into her own, of blue eyes and a brave little grin, and thinks, Half the fun, isn’t it? Never knowing where you might land. 

[beeexx]

The missing Tarlos scenes from 2x06

Word count: 4.8    Read on ao3

.......

“You know you need to tell him this, right?”

“No, no, I really don’t.” TK protests loudly, by banging the frozen bag of chickens into the counter, hoping they will shake loose with the excess force he is using. Carlos lifts an eyebrow from where he is standing in boxers and an old tank top, too much skin on display for it to be good for TK’s health, cutting onions into small, stupidly neat pieces on the chopping board. 

“TK….” Carlos begins, in that voice of his and TK turns around, eyes flashing.

“Carlos.” 

Carlos huffs.

“Babe, this is clearly bothering you, and taking it out on our poor dinner isn’t ideal.” He points out.

“Oh, sure Carlos, I’ll just tell my dad that him having another kid is a terrible idea because I’m a prime example of how they messed up with the first one.”

“TK…” 

“Oh and while I’m at it I might as well bring up how I am feeling about it and make it all about myself like I always do, that ought to go down really well.” He snaps and Carlos sighs. 

“You don’t make everything about yourself.” TK lifts an eyebrow and Carlos snorts. “Okay, sometimes you do, but often not without a legit reason and this is definitely a situation I feel you’re entitled to feel whatever it is that you’re really feeling and express that.” 

“Okay, well if we’re on the subject of telling parents what we really think then why don’t you take a page out of your own book and tell your parents that you have a boyfriend, oh, or better yet, the way you’ve been feeling for years about them refusing to acknowledge that you’re gay.” As soon as the words leave his mouth TK regrets them and he winces at the wounded look Carlos sends his way at his harsh words.

Fuck. 

“That’s not the same thing.” Carlos mutters, he sounds bitter about it and were it not for the deeply thoughtful look also making its way across his features TK would take the words back immediately.

“I could have gone about that differently, sorry…. But, but isn’t that exactly the same thing as this is though.” 

“We were talking about you.” Carlos points out in an attempt to deflect and TK just chooses to let it go because he doesn’t have the energy to have an argument about two different things at the moment. His head is enough of a mess as it is. 

“My point still stands, talking to your parents about all the ways they have hurt you is fucking hard, okay?”

“Yes, okay I will agree with you on that.”

“And if you really want to make this all about me this time then fine. Try telling my dad, Owen Strand, Captain of the 126, adored by his crew, envied by even more, hero, cancer survivor, the list could go on for a long time Carlos, yes try telling that person that oh yeah by the way dad you neglected me as a child and now I have both abandonment issues, self esteem issues and a constant fear that no one is ever going to love me because I am not worthy of it, that will go down real well.” 

He hits the bag three more times against the counter and lets out a triumphant sound as the frozen chickens finally rattle loose inside and he turns to hold it up to Carlos, a sly little smile at the corner of his lip, because his tactic did work even though Carlos had doubted it would. Carlos isn’t smiling though, he’s frowning, concern written all over his face, eyebrows pinched together and TK drops the bag in confusion.

“What?”

Carlos puts the knife down and takes the bag from TK, throwing it lazily, without looking in the direction of the kitchen sink before he steps up close, wrapping his arms around TK and pulling him close. TK lets out a huff of air, taken aback by the fierceness of the action. 

“I hate it when you do this to yourself…” Carlos starts and TK sighs, wraps his arms around him back and nods against Carlos’ neck, can’t help but breathe him in, feeling the calming effect of it already working through his system. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no don’t apologise.” Carlos leans back and TK looks up to meet his stormy eyes. He opens his mouth but he isn’t sure what to say. 

“I love you, okay? So much and I wish I could hit that into your thick skull sometimes but I can’t, so I’m just going to have to spend every day in this relationship proving that you are indeed worthy of love and no past damage or mistakes will change that, okay?” TK can only nod, his throat suddenly thick with emotions he doesn’t know how to express.

“With that said, you’re not very good at keeping things bottled up, especially not for a long time and especially not something this big, so you should probably really think about what you actually feel about this whole situation before you choose to do that.”

“Judd said I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, something about me wanting to push the baby down a well or something because I couldn’t handle not being the only child anymore.”

“He said what now?” TK chuckles at Carlos’ incredulous look and he shrugs.

“It was some biblical reference I don’t know. Prodigal son?” 

“Oh, like Cain and Abel, like a lesser known older brother and the jealousy that stems from it because it’s natural to resent the baby because you’re scared it’s going to take your place.” Realisation dawns on Carlos’ face and his eyes light up like they always do when he gets to talk about things he knows, which at times is a surprisingly big amount of random shit.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly that.” TK says sarcastically, gives Carlos a curious look.

“What? I read.” He shrugs and smirks proudly. TK hums. ”Well Judd is good at a lot of things, maybe giving advice isn’t his forte.”

“And yours is?” TK lifts a challenging eyebrow. 

“I am an excellent advice giver, I’ll have you know. The issue isn’t me, the issue is everyone else and no one listening to what I’m saying.”

“Oh, so you have a lot of experience then, giving advice?” TK bites down his smile as Carlos glares without heat.

“I chased Michelle around for years when she was getting in trouble searching for her sister. I definitely have a lot of experience.” TK chuckles and leans up to kiss his nose. It wrinkles adorably and TK’s heart tugs in his chest. He loves Carlos so much.

“I love you too, so much. And I’m sorry for bringing up your parents again, that wasn’t nice of me.” TK apologizes and Carlos nods and watches back with quiet brown intense eyes.

“It’s okay, you were right though.” He grudgingly admits. 

“Maybe, but there is no pressure, as I’ve said you can take all the time in the world that you need to figure it out and I’ll support you either way.” He promises and Carlos gives him a soft beautiful smile.

“Thanks.” Carlos whispers, grateful and TK nods, and gently starts scraping his knuckles against Carlos’ scalp, pulling at his curls in a way that makes his face soften immediately, eyes falling shut in contentment and his arms tighten around TK, breathing heavily. His reaction tells TK that Carlos feels really comforted by the way he is touching him and that he needed it more than he let on.

TK has always responded well to touch, Carlos picked up on that a lot quicker than most, but it’s also not uncommon for Carlos to like it as well. He just doesn’t always express it, so TK’s taken to doing it when he senses it’s something Carlos needs, while not always being aware of it himself. It’s these small gestures TK’s learnt, that you do for the other person and that they do for you that love really is. 

Carlos’ eyes are closed and he’s letting out soft sounds of pleasure, it’s distracting as hell, and it’s making it even more difficult being this close to him and not kissing him, so TK does because he feels he can’t not do it, and angles Carlos’ head down and captures his lips in a searing hot kiss. As always when they kiss like this, starting out soft, but then growing with intention and heat, the slowburn of arousal starts to make its way through his veins, electric energy flooding his system. Only Carlos has this effect on him. 

When Carlos reaches to grab at his hair and then bites at his lip it makes TK whine and chase after him when he moves back. 

“Dinner, remember?” Carlos reminds him, but with his curls standing up unruly and his pupils dark with want, it’s very hard for TK to remember the reason why he can’t skip dinner all together and eat Carlos out instead. Carlos huffs and his hands tighten around his sides like he can read TK’s mind.

“After dinner.”

“Is that a promise?” TK asks slyly. 

“Yes.” Carlos reassures and the slow self satisfied grin tugging at his lips is fucking obscene and TK cheekily grabs his ass in retaliation. Carlos knows the effect he has on him. 

“You know cooking in boxers can be a fire hazard.” He points out.

“Good thing I know an excellent firefighter then.” He says and kisses TK hard on the lips before he steps away, walking back to his mostly finished chopped up onions, giving TK a very nice view of his ass in the black tight boxers he’s wearing. God, his boyfriend is hot as fuck.

The rest of the evening is so nice in fact that for a moment he doesn’t think about his parents or the baby, or anything other than how much he loves Carlos and how lucky he is to really have him in his life.

…….

TK unlocks the door to Carlos’ place, throws the bag towards what he hopes is the direction of the shoes, and puts his keys down in the bowl by the door, where Carlo’s are already lying. He steps inside and almost jumps out of skin when he sees his boyfriend sitting on the stairs, frowning and very clearly waiting for him. Most of the lights are off and it casts his features into stunning relief, even when angry, Carlos is too good looking for his own good.

“So, you heard?” TK gulps and Carlos nods.

“Yes, yes I did hear, from the group chat, but not just that, every goddamn news station in the state is covering how two firefighters jumped through a minefield to save two boys that were hurt.”

“Well, only one of them was hurt.” TK shuts his mouth when Carlos levels him with a deeply unimpressed look and he takes a slow step forward and tries again.

“In my defense, I am certified and I was qualified to do it.” TK stops, draws in a sharp breath, backtracks. “Are you mad?” 

Carlos lets out a deep breath, and his features soften slightly before he shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his face and when he looks up his eyes are wide and sad.

“No, no, of course I’m not mad. Just extremely worried.”

“Oh?” TK asks, feels confused, scrambling to catch up with the change, having been expecting that Carlos would be upset with him. Carlos huffs and opens his arms and it’s all TK needs for him to take a few steps forward before he sits down between Carlos’ legs, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him close. Carlos plants a kiss in his hair, and tightens his grip around TK, almost unconsciously starts stroking his hands down his back and TK lets him, can’t push away the guilt that’s come on so strong, mixing badly with the elevation he’s also feeling after the day he’s had. But when his boyfriend reacts like this it can’t help but leave an acid taste in his mouth too.

“I’m not sure whether I want to never let you leave my arms ever again or brag to everyone that I am for sure dating a hero.” Carlos says and were it not for the slight tremor of his voice that he tries to conceal, TK would laugh. 

“I wouldn’t mind never leaving your arms.” He admits because it sounds appealing, especially now, when adrenaline is starting to make way to exhaustion instead. 

Carlos huffs. 

“You’d get bored after a day or two.” He points out and TK shakes his head.

“You underestimate the excellent sex we do have, I’m sure I could be convinced for three days or so.” Carlos laughs, but then one of his hands wrap around TK’s wrist, feeling out his pulse, comforted by the steady thumping of it. TK lets him, allowing himself after the hectic day he’s had to tuck his face into the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck to breathe him in. They both have different ways of calming themselves down when the other one is near and on certain days they need it a little more than on others. 

“Your pulse is beating insanely quick.” Carlos points out after a while and TK hums against Carlos’ neck, gives himself a moment before he detaches himself slightly so he can look at him. 

“Adrenaline.” He shows Carlos his hand that’s still trembling slightly and Carlos’ eyebrow pinch in concern.

“I’m sorry -” TK begins because he really does hate it when Carlos is sad but Carlos shakes his head and interrupts. 

“No, no, this is on me. I know you have a dangerous job that sometimes requires that you take risks, I just wish they didn't have to be this big, a minefield, that’s just insane.” TK nods, he understands.

“But also really cool.” He can’t help but let slip out, eyes alive in excitement and smirking. Carlos snorts and pokes his nose, a little hard maybe, but only a little.

“Yes and designed to give me a goddamn heart attack, you know I’m not even 30, by this rate I’ll be going grey before I hit 35.” He points out, gives TK a look that speaks volumes about how offended Carlos seems to be over that. He laughs and reaches for Carlos’ hair, tugging gently on it.

“I think you’d suit grey really well to be fair.” Carlos wrinkles his nose in distaste and it’s so adorable that he can’t help but laugh again and Carlos distaste slowly melts into something much softer and he sticks his tongue out instead like a mature 26 year old that he is. “And if we’re pointing fingers, remember that hostage situation a while back where an office was shot and I thought it was you because you wouldn’t answer your phone?” Carlos winces and he looks momentarily guilty about that because TK had been so fucking worried he could barely even do his job that day and when Carlos hadn’t answered by the time they were both off shift TK had lost it a little bit. 

“Not my finest moment.” Carlos admits.

“No, so don’t go pointing fingers.” But he’s mostly joking even though that day had been scary as fuck, he so very much understands Carlos’ worry today, he really does. Carlos hums.

“How was it then?” He asks and TK bites at his lip, trying to figure out how to word everything. He turns towards Carlos and sits up on his knees, bringing him eyelevel with him and wraps his arms around his neck. Immediately Carlos’ hands come to rest on his waist, his fingers slipping underneath TK’s jumper to trace skin. 

“It was incredible, well the minefield aside which was scary for sure, but after that I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on this incredibly long lasting high ever since.” Carlos lifts an eyebrow at the metaphor and TK shrugs sheepishly. 

“Yeah, but it’s an apt metaphor for the feeling. I guess I haven’t felt good like that in a while.”

“No?” Carlos asks and there is no trace of judgement or anything in his voice, just kind and curious eyes looking at him. TK nods.

“The only other times I’ve felt this kind of high is you know actually getting high and when I’m with you, I guess the job’s been missing that spark for a while.” Carlos smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on his nose.

“I’m not totally sure about comparing this relationship to a high.” He points out and TK snorts.

“I’m not, I’m comparing the feeling. Being with you is like pure happiness you know? I feel, just, like I’ve never felt before and even when it’s tough it’s worth it because I love you so much and I know deep down that you love me too and I never don’t want to spend my time with you, so yeah, the feeling is addictive for sure. I really just love you.” He goes quiet and Carlos' eyes have softened and he’s met by a look of pure love and a breathtakingly beautiful smile breaks across Carlos’ face before he pulls TK close and kisses him softly and slowly, making TK’s toes curl inside of his shoes. 

“Fuck.” Carlos whispers against his lips. “I love you too, so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos says with adoring eyes and voice full of love before he runs his hand through TK’s hair and gently pulls him close, kissing him hard on his lips again. It’s TK who pulls back though making Carlos lift an eyebrow in surprise because it’s unexpected for TK to be the one to do this, so before TK can chicken out he blurts out the words.

“But I might have done something stupid…”

“Oh?” Carlos asks, amusement dancing in his eyes like he’s totally expecting it. 

“Yeah, I might have handed in my resume to Vega for the position to become a paramedic.” He rushes the words out, hates the silence between them and can’t help but feel ridiculously nervous all of a sudden waiting for Carlos' reaction. Carlos opens and closes his mouth a few times then shakes his head.

“Okay, wait, I think you need to back up a few steps here so I can follow.” He says, confusion evident in his eyes. But he’s giving TK an encouraging look at TK takes in a deep breath.

“The minefield was not fun and the thought of what could have happened to me and my dad while out there was really scary. I’m not trying to take massive risks anymore, not when I have you to come home to.” Carlos smiles, lovingly, and gives him an encouraging look spurring TK on. “But I knew someone had to get to the kid and with the help of my dad and Vega that I could do something about it, so I volunteered. And the elevation afterwards, that all came from saving the kid. It just… it felt really good to save someone, to be the one to actually do it.” TK confesses loudly for the first time since his shift ended and he in the spur of the moment added his name to the pile in Vega’s office, and saying it makes him feel a little calmer than he has ever since walking off the field. 

“Oh, okay.” Carlos says, not fully understanding yet what TK is trying to say, and yet being so patient with him, waiting for TK to figure it out. 

“I don’t know, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough in the field, like I could do more... and while I also know that’s not the case because every day we all go out in the field doing our best together. But I think I’ve been carrying this with me for a while now, it’s just that this year has been a lot, and even when there is a pandemic going on people still forget to turn their stove off, and they get into car accidents or have their cats escape up in trees unable to come down. The world hasn’t stopped, it’s been moving and I’ve been moving with it without having the time to reflect a lot on myself and the job. But today, I don’t know, I felt like something just clicked while out there and when I could really help him...I guess, I really liked doing it.” TK blushes because he’s been ranting and he’s averted his eyes but they move back to Carlos by their own accord and Carlos’ eyes have cleared from all earlier confusion, instead understanding has taken over and he nods his head thoughtfully.

“And that’s why you handed in your resume? Because you want to continue doing it?” Carlos fills in and TK nods biting his lip.

“D-do you… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do babe, but you know what?”

“What?” TK asks, hanging onto every word he’s saying. 

“I think you’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” He asks, hopeful, and Carlos smiles.

“Of course, you’d be amazing at it, if it’s what you want.”

“It is yes, it’s what I want.” TK says with certainty. It’s just clicked, like all that has been shaking loose and upended recently inside of him finally settle a little more.

“Then yes, it’s an amazing idea. You’re going to be so good.” Carlos grins and TK melts because while he doesn’t depend on Carlos’ approval for this it’s so nice to see him be actually happy for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos promises and TK releases the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and his own face breaks into a relieved smile. 

“I think I could be good at it too.” He confesses a little shyly and Carlos beams and pulls TK slightly forward, his forehead resting on his and everything just settles for TK because nothing beats this, nothing beats Carlos. 

“I’m proud of you.” Carlos says and TK can’t bite down the smile. But it falls off his face after a moment and he moves back, looks a little unsure again.

“I might have done something else that wasn’t very smart.” Carlos huffs, lifts an eyebrow, so ever patient with him.

“What did you do now?”

“I didn’t tell my dad…” He trails off and Carlos grimaces but then a look of determination takes over and he shrugs before he gently grasps TK’s face between his hands, stroking a thumb lovingly along his cheek.

“Well, you know what I think?” TK shakes his head. “I think it’s not any of his business really.”  

That surprises TK to be honest and he lifts an eyebrow.

“W-what? I mean really?”

“Yeah, I mean maybe you should have told him before you just went and did it, but it’s your life and not his. And as long as you’re not doing it for someone else then it’s not really his choice to make.”

“I’m doing it for me, it’s what I want.” Carlos’ lip lifts in a proud smile and he nods.

“Good.”

“But, what if he’s not happy?”

“I don’t think he will be unhappy, maybe a little surprised and maybe give him a moment. But if he knows you like I do, then he will realise it’s a good thing.”

“Okay, I hope so.” TK musters up a wane smile, still can’t push away the spikes of anxiety about the conversation he’s going to have to have with his dad. But it can wait, for a little while at least. 

“You know Vega is going to bust your ass right?” Carlos jokes, eyes full of mirth, smirking and TK snorts.

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“I remember when Michelle started training under her, the stories she would tell me, Vega is badass and she taught Michelle who is also a badass, I’m expecting she’s going to do the same to you.”

“I’m already a badass.” TK reminds him and Carlos chuckles. 

“True, I think she will do you some good though. Challenge you and allow you to really thrive under her, she has that effect on people.” TK nods.

“It’s a tough job…”

“Yeah, but as you said, you’re already a badass, you’re going to do great.”

“It will be nice to be the paramedic, rather than calling one.” TK says and it grows a little more serious between them. 

“I mean -” TK clears his throat at Carlos’ silence. “I have experience of being on the other end and I know what it’s like being helped. I guess a part of me is looking forward to doing the helping.”

“I see, well you care so much about people and if you get a chance to show that, to show them this.” Carlos' hands move to cover TK’s heart and it flutters in his chest, warmth spreading to every cell of his body and he smiles shyly. “Then, well, you’re going to be very good at it.” TK bites his lip and nods.

“It feels… I don’t know, just right.”

“Good, that’s amazing.” TK doesn’t know what to say but he’s grateful, more than how he knows to express at the moment but in the way Carlo’s face softens, maybe he can read between the lines.

“Have you talked to Owen about the baby yet?” TK groans, can’t help but glare, the moment between them broken suddenly, like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown at him, and he moves his head away, hiding in the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck and nibbles at his skin making Carlos chuckle, twitching in his arms.

“No, not yet…” He says though, voice muffled by Carlos’ skin. 

“Well, do you want to talk about it?” TK sighs but takes his head away and meets Carlos’ eyes. 

“I feel… I mean I am happy for them of course but...” He bites at his lip, hard and Carlos reaches forward with his thumb to gently stroke it over the swollen redness making TK stop the action. He takes in a deep breath instead.

“But they always do this, and I don’t even think they are realising it, but they get so single-minded and focused on themselves that they forget everything else. The fighting isn’t fun, I’ve been in the middle of it and I know how lonely and unwanted you can feel when it happens. What they’re doing, it feels like they are just falling into the same patterns as before without even realising that they are, and it’s not going to last if they do it that way.” 

Carlos looks thoughtful and TK feels annoyed and frustrated because he can’t help but think it makes his parents feel so irresponsible and it’s hard to come to terms with that because his parents in their own right are extremely competent people, it’s just when together, they aren’t always. 

“I support you, I always will and your feelings here are valid and to be worried is honestly a sign of growth.” Carlos begins.

“Oh, you're calling me mature, that’s unusual.” TK jokes, changing the subject.

“I mean you’re definitely a hot mess, a terrible terrible driver for sure.” Carlos easily fires back.

“God, did Judd text you?”

“And filmed some of it. This is why I’m never letting you drive my baby.”

“Hold on, I thought I was your baby, and here I find out you have someone else on the side?” Carlos’ arms tighten around him, biting his lip, the smile threatening to take over. 

“What can I say, I really like that car and I paid a lot of money for it.”

“It’s a terrible car for making out in.” TK reminds him and Carlos smirks, reminded of the few times they’ve gotten frisky in it. 

“True, still not letting you drive it.” He teases and TK glares. 

“Rude.”

“Maybe, but I care too much about the possibility of my greying hairs to get here sooner than I’d like to, to get into a car where you are driving us.”

“Well I might be a paramedic soon, so at least you'd be with someone where your odds are fractionally better if you were to get in an accident.”

“Still not letting you drive it Strand.”

“Worth a shot.” TK laughs and Carlos smiles.

“So, do you want dinner or?”

TK shakes his head.

“No, I’m good, but I’m getting too old to sit on my knees like this.” He grumbles and shifts to get the blood running again. Carlos chuckles and makes it all the easier by just scooping him up in his arms. TK yelps and Carlos grins, delighted by the sound. TK wraps his legs around Carlos’ waist, tightens his arms around his neck.

“Please don’t drop me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby.” Carlos reassures grinningly. “So, bed?”

“Bed.” TK agrees.

He lets Carlos carry him up the stairs and into the bedroom, feeling so safe in his arms, that whatever conversation that’s waiting for him tomorrow with his dad, doesn’t matter as much anymore.

[onemistresstorulethemall]

Mine

Hello, litte sinners. Did ya miss me? Hope so, cause I'm back again. This is Leviathan's piece from a series I'm starting called "Home, sweet home" and it's gonna be about each of the brothers reacting to MC's return to Devildom. Obviously, with nsfw elements cause let's be honest, it's not mine if it doesn't have at least one sex scene.

The povs alternate here kinda weirdly, but I hope it doesn't get too confusing.

This piece is pretty tame, there's only a bit of nsfw at the end, but it's still 18+

Word count: 2328

F!MC

Enjoy! ✨

A lifetime of boredom, that's what Leviathan was sentenced to after you left Devildom. The days became a blur. He was on autopilot, fulfilling his responsibilities just so he doesn't get in trouble with Lucifer and counting the days until it was his turn to call you.

Although he absolutely adored your voice, it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Just telling you about what he watched or played recently never satisfied him as he longer to share the experinces with you. So, he usually asked about you.

True to his nature, he was boiling with rage, but attempted to keep it concealed as to not ruin the already short time you two had. He couldn't stand the fact that others had your attention. They could see you, touch you, watch you smile and...he wasn't able to. It was excruciating.

"Y/n...", he gathered the courage to say.

"Yes, Levi? What's wrong?"

"You know...", he took a deep breath, "I won't blame you if you find someone better in the human world."

It was easier to say things like this if he didn't have to look into your eyes.

"Levi, you know I'm going to come back to you. I could never find someone better. You're the only one for me."

Your words were meant to soothe him, but somehow ignited the spark that broke him down.

"W-what if you can't!? What if you will never come back? You'd have to settle then and accept it and you'd find someone else... But I'd have to live an eternity of sorrow and regret! I can't lose you, y/n!", he managed to express through sobs.

"I'll find a way to come back to you, just wait for me. I'll always come back to you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Unfortunately he had to wipe his tears and hang up, his time was up. However, this conversation would linger in his mind for a long while, maybe forever.

Fast forward a few weeks and there he was, sitting at the student council desk listening to a meeting that he was dragged into. There was no way he could focus, not when tomorrow was his day to call you. Levi wasn't able to pay attention to a word of Diavolo's but, instead, planned in his head all the things he wanted to catch you up on and everything that he wanted to ask. He developed this skill that made it seem like he was taking notes, but instead he was doodling your avatar from your favorite game.

He was so out of it that it took two of his brothers shouting your name to make him snap back to reality and realize that it was you, it really was you standing in the middle of the room holding onto Solomon's arm. In any other scenario he would have been pissed, but this time, the sight made him the happiest demon alive. Almost instinctually, he rubbed his eyes to make sure this wasn't some intricate daydream his mind played out of loneliness. Could it really be true?

His brothers were talking to you, even Diavolo was asking questions, but he was still in shock. Levi just couldn't move. His heart was beating so fast and his hands were shaking. To him it was absolutely stupid. He waited and craved to see you, to have you, so badly and now you were here and he was glued to the goddamn chair.

Although you were hugging Asmo, your eyes still lingered on Levi as you were watching him over Asmo's shoulder. He looked so anxious, almost like he was about to cry. You didn't take it to heart that he didn't immediately come hug you, the poor soul must've been in shock.

When everyone was done with their hugs, you got the keys for the House of Lamentation and you basically got sent home so they can finish the meeting.

Before leaving you snuck behind your favorite demon and embraced him lovingly.

"I'll see you home. Okay, baby?", you whispered before exiting the room.

Solomon walked you home and you politely asked if he wanted to stay for a cup of tea. Surely, after he took you back to them, the brothers wouldn't mind if he stayed for tea. However, he refused the invitation, saying that he had business to attend to, whatever that may mean.

You weren't too bothered by it, since you actually wanted to be left alone. It's been a long time since you've been home, you kind of wanted to walk around and take it all in.

You checked to see if there was any food to work with so you could surprise the brothers when they came back, but the fridge was mostly empty. They were probably getting takeaway. Seeing you didn't really have anything to do after unpacking, you wandered to Levi's room which was surprisingly opened. He was probably in a hurry in the morning and forgot to lock it... Whatever the reason, you were grateful.

The room was a bit of a mess, but you didn't really mind. It vaguely smelled like him and you missed his smell so goddamn much. One of his comfort hoodies laid on the back of his chair and you couldn't help but bury your face in it an inhale his scent.

You probably shouldn't have, but you slipped it in on over you clothes and it all spiraled from that moment on.

On his way home, Leviathan was being extremely self conscious. Why were you the one that had to come to him? He loved you, so why couldn't he move? Why was he such a pussy? He shook his head. No matter what, he was going to make up for it. He wanted to show you how much he missed you, how much he loved you. He carved to make you remember that you're his. All the way home he attempted to hype himself up and it was relatively successful, although his hands were still shaking.

When he got home he rushed to his room. The demon wanted to freshen up before he went to meet you. Damn, he actually forgot to lock his door. Thank the devil nobody was home...

His jaw dropped the moment he swung the door open. It was the sight he least expected to see. This wasn't how he planned it in his head... Ugh, this was so unfair. It's like he never got to have his way.

He mentally slapped himself for letting his sin take over. You were there, in his room, with his goddamn hoodie on, seemingly smelling one of the sleeves while playing with yourself. He couldn't ever ask for more. Fuck his mental plan, this was better.

"Oh, hi... I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself", you mumbled.

The liliac-headed demon locked the door to make sure nobody could disturb the two of you.

"Don't be sorry, this is perfect, you're perfect.", he could feel his cheeks heating up.

"I didn't even mean to, but I could feel your scent and I...lost it..."

Soon your hands were around his neck and his on your thighs while your lips intertwined in a dance of longing and relief.

Did you crave him wholeheartedly? Yes. But if he wanted to stop and just hold you, you wouldn't mind. What you craved the most was feeling him close, as close as possible. You needed to feel his skin and his hands on yours, to feel his breath and his heartbeat, the warmth of his body and everything in between. You craved his whole being.

You would've kept going, deepening the kiss even further, but you became startled by a strange feeling around your torso. Turns out, it was just Levi's tail wrapped around you. The golden-eyes demon seemed to have missed you so much that feeling you up triggered his demon form. Truth be told, he wasn't the best at containing his excitement.

When your gaze met his, those pretty eyes were almost in tears. He couldn't have been sad, right? You were here, it was something else, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

"What's wrong, baby boy? I'm here and I'm not leaving your side again. I told you I'll always come back, so don't worry.", you cupped his cheeks to make sure his eyes wouldn't wander off to the floor.

"I just... I thought you wouldn't come back. I was scared. I don't want to lose you. You're mine, y/n. You're mine. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, admiral!"

You both chuckled and thankfully broke off the tense atmosphere.

"Sooo...what was that about me being yours? I think I'll need a demonstration.", you stated playfully.

His eyes lit up again like a jar of honey on a windowsill as the rays of the sun shines through. Granted, Devildom didn't have a sun, but Levi's eyes were enough to light up your world.

"Gladly.", was a he said before his hands wandered off under the hoodie to feel your skin.

You were already burning up, it was overwhelming to be able to touch him again. You fantasied about this moment hundreds of times, you couldn't believe it was finally coming true.

His movements were soft and gentle, as if he wanted to savour it, to try to remember exactly how your skin felt against his hands, to engrave in his memory exactly how your breath became heavier when he caressed certain spots, to save you up in case you disappear.

With one hand on your thigh and the other on the back of your neck, he lead your head to the side, gaining access to your neck. Soft kisses turned into hungry bites and licks as if he could devour you whole right that instant. Usually he was more gentle, even a bit shy, although you've done this plenty of times, but this time around he did a number on your neck, marking you up. Granted, you did ask for a demonstration of how you belong to him and he delivered.

The hand on your thigh slowly moved between your legs, towards your wet folds, teasing you with soft brushes of the tips of his fingers against them. You squirmed under him which only made him smile against your neck. He was always the boldest when you couldn't see his face.

"Please, Levi... I need this as much as you do."

"Alright, but just because you asked nicely."

His thumb started rubbing circles on your sensitive nub, while his index finger slowly entered you. Fuck, it felt like ages since you've felt this good. You brought a hand up to your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans but your wrist was promptly grabbed by his tail.

"None of that, my love. You're mine, right? Let them know."

His words paired with your movement being limited and the pure bliss of his touch brought you really close to the edge. You moaned louder and dug the nails of your free hand into his shoulder.

"Are you close, my love?"

All you could do was nod pathetically. To which he replied by stopping his motions and pulling his finger out of you.

You were quick to protest by whining. However, you calmed down when you saw him undoing the zipper of his pants.

"You're not the only one in need, you know?"

Of course, it must've been unbearable for him as well. So you waited patiently for him to get out of his clothes. Thankfully, it didn't take long.

He didn't enter you right away, no, he took his sweet time, rubbing his member against your clit, gathering your juices onto his tip.

"You sure you wanna do this, y/n?", he asked almost mockingly.

"I fucking need your cock Levi, please give it to me already! I can't take it anym-"

You were cut off by the feeling of being full again. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head almost instinctually and you let him take over you.

Both of your wrists were pinned above your head by his tail, while his hands rested on your waist. He was pretty much squeezing you, but you didn't mind. It wasn't often that he got rough, so you went along with it. The unexpected feeling of his nails into your skin made you moan in pleasure. It was like his goal was to leave as many marks on you as possible.

"You're mine, y/n...", he whispered into your ear.

"I'm yours, Levi and I'm never leaving. I promise."

One hand left your waist and, instead, focused on your sensitive nub that was just begging to be touched.

"L-Levi... Please don't stop..."

"Are you gonna cum soon?"

"Y-yeah... Fuck, if you keep going... I will."

"Good. Let's do it together."

He kept rubbing circles on your clit while his tail slithered into your mouth. You were so full of him, it felt like heaven.

All of the overwhelming sensations brought you over the edge and soon, with a few feel thrusts, Levi's passion spilled too, filling you up even more.

"I love you.", you confessed after his tail left your mouth.

"I love you too, y/n."

A knock on the door snapped you back to reality.

"When you two lovebirds are done, come eat. I don't think we can hold Beel back much longer!", Satan stated before you could hear his footsteps fade into the hallway.

"Fuck. I don't have time to clean up...", you came to the realization.

"Then don't. Pull up your panties, dress up and let's go.", Leviathan said as he was pulling up his pants.

"B-but I..."

"You're mine, right? Let it serve as a reminder.", his back was turned to you but you could see the tips of his ears getting red.

"Alright, baby boy. You can clean me up after dinner.", you flashed a playful smile.

[moonlit-imagines]

Better Judgment

Natasha Romanoff x protégé!reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Hello! Just resending the Natasha Romanoff one-shot request! Thanks for bearing with me 😁 Basically I’m thinking like Nat and the reader (maybe Nat’s like their mentor? Idk) end up having to fight each other at the airport battle and Nat tries to stop them from escaping with Bucky & Steve because Nat is afraid they’ll get hurt/hurt someone else or get into more trouble than R already is. So Nat stops them, R is arrested w the others and blames Nat even though she’s advocating for their release.”

Your heart was beating a million miles per minute as you marched across the pavement of the airport Steve had taken you all to. Walking into this, you knew it wouldn’t turn out well, but it was the right thing to do. Natasha reminded you often that some missions required your best judgment, not everything would me mapped out before you.

Opposite to your team was Tony’s. Some had familiar faces, others did not. But the one who stuck out the most was the Black Widow, your mentor for years and years. You couldn’t begin to explain why she thought Tony was doing the right thing. She of all people should be against him.

“They’re not slowing down!” The young, spandex-clad Spider-Boy exclaimed as everyone picked up their pace.

“I’d stay away from the one in all black if I were you, kid.” Natasha told him, referring to you. “You might not have much fun in that fight.” She heard the Spider-Boy squeak the her implications and avoid you at all costs, that means that you were open for a little chat.

“Hi there, Nat.” You greeted as she stood before you. “This is new, huh?” It was. You were never pitted against each other like this. It was always her and her protégé against the world.

“Sorry, y/n, but I can’t let you go through with this.” Natasha shook her head briefly and equipped her batons, was she really going to do this? There was no point to fight her, but maybe that itself was the point. You two knew exactly what the other’s next move would be. She was just trying to occupy you while the rest of your shattered team maimed each other.

“You’re one to talk, vdova.” You began to slowly circle each other. “You aren’t one to bend to the government’s will. What’s changed?”

“I want to keep us together.” She told you as she looked you in the eyes. You scoffed at her defense.

“Oh, you’ve done a wonderful job.” Your sarcasm had also been taught by her. “Look around you, Natasha. You didn’t think this all the way through.”

“Natasha, are you just going to stand there or are you going to do something!” Tony yelled over his comms and at that moment, the Black Panther pouced at you, a near miss. As you ducked out of the way, you dropped two smoke bombs to falter their offensive. They stall you, you stall them.

You bounced around the fight as you were trained to do, a spy, a saboteur. But Natasha always caught up to you.

“Almost there, pick up the pace.” Cap told you and Bucky while you beelined it to the jet, but not without a little bit of an adrenaline rush when towers started falling down. Thanks, Vis. Just when you thought you may be in the clear, Natasha made a surprise entrance, one last effort to stop you.

“We have to do this, Nat.” Steve told her as she aimed her Widow’s Bite towards the group.

“I know you do. So go.” She motioned to the jet, letting you three walk. You should have known what would come next. Bucky and Steve were just a few steps ahead of you, enough for Natasha to reach her arm out in front of you. “Not you.”

“I’m going with my better judgment.” You pushed her arm out of the way and followed your teammates away.

“And I’m following mine.” Black Widow mumbled as she fired a single round of her Bite at you, shocking you sufficiently as you fell to the ground. She gave Steve a nod for him to take off and lifted you back to your feet to help you away from the hangar.

Now that all your remaining teammates were down for the count, it was time to be rounded up and shipped off to the Raft.

“This one can stay with me.” Natasha told the agents that were cuffing your team.

“I can’t let you do that, Miss Romanoff.” They told her as they pulled you away and cuffed you, too. You looked back at Nat one last time, a hateful glare that would haunt her for the rest of her days. She felt like she was half-guilty for this, the Raft was no joke. But this was what she thought was best. If she let you go with Steve and Bucky, there was no telling what would have happened to you. The Winter Soldier had already shot her once, and everyone just saw how easy it was to turn assassin mode on. She was just relying on her better judgment.

—————

Nat arrived with Tony to the prison located in the Atlantic Ocean. It was so bleak inside and out. And it was like the lot of you were put on display, just sitting around in little glass cages. You were pissed, and what an understatement that is.

“Sam?” You gave up on your temporary vow of silence and hoped he heard you. You could just barely see him at this angle.

“Hm?” He replied, catching a few more prisoner’s attention.

“You think the team will ever move past this?” You asked him, but you already knew the answer. You had known ever since you were handed the Accords.

“Uh...” He trailed off for a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say. “To be honest, y/n, I don’t think so. Not for a long time.” At least Sam was honest.

“Yeah, I think so, too.” You frowned and stared at the floor for a few moments, trying not to cry at your unfortunate loss. It wasn’t the battle you were upset about losing, it was your friends and family. The doors to the room slid open and in came two Avengers, Tony and Natasha. Time to suck in your sorrow and face full-on defeat the best way you knew how: the Art of Indifference.

“Y/N...” Natasha slowly stepped up to your window, but you wouldn’t look her way. “I didn’t think they’d take you here.”

“Yeah, well, they did.” You shrugged, picking at your nails quietly.

“I didn’t want you to get into any more trouble, okay? I thought they’d let me deal with you myself.” She defended, placing one hand onto the glass.

“Yeah, well, they didn’t.” You shrugged again, this was going absolutely nowhere for her, but she isn’t one to give up, she knew what you were doing. Inside, you were furious.

“You could have hurt someone, y/n. Or someone could have hurt you.” Natasha just wanted you to say something with some weight to it, anything. Meanwhile, Tony was talking amongst the others on Team Cap. I wonder who was more successful in their chats. “I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if I let you go, I—”

“Why is it all about you now?!” You snapped, cutting her off and grabbing everyone else’s attention. You got up from your bed and paced up the the opposite side of the window, looking her dead in the eye. “You were the one who taught me to do what I thought was right in the moment, not to fall in line like everyone else! You got all of us thrown into this ‘high-security prison’ when they’re supposed to be putting criminals! How many goddamn lives have we saved, Nat? What would the world be without us?”

“Y/N, I taught you to choose your battles. We had the option to stay Avengers, but you threw that one away.” Natasha spoke lowly, but everyone was now focused on your conversation. You both had some decent points.

“You taught me to use my better judgment, that’s all it’s ever been about! And I used it, Natasha.” You turned around and walked back to your bed, taking a seat and crossing your arms. “I’m not sure why you even bother, nothing you say is going to fix this.” It was about time you just shut down.

“Y/N, you won’t be in here long. We’ll work something out.” She explained, but you were done answering her. “I’m going to try and get them to release you. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Just go away, Natasha.”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @ofthedewthesunlight //

[hoodoo12]

Elegy (4/6)

These two’ll be the death of me, @clairjohnson . . . Home again, home again, jiggity jig, even if that home is a tomb. Despite drunkenness, something unexpected occurs.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beejiesbitch @janitor-boy @angelicspaceprince @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice `

If she hadn’t been so focused on keeping him upright his words would have knocked her down. Maria had heard this man flirt a hundred times over, but nothing ever so flattering and eloquent. The most beautiful. Her stomach twisted at the compliment. Both unbelievably flattered and heartbroken all at once. Had he always thought this? Or had he really just gone overboard with the drinks tonight? 

She was about to respond, to express how completely touched she was by his words, when he started to talk again. Beej’s announcement of their arrival, and subsequent stumble, snapped her out of her thoughts. When had they gotten here? She hadn’t even realized they’d gone through a door. 

Didn’t matter. The Netherworld was a strange place, Betelgeuse was strange, it was easier just to accept things as they were. What was harder to accept, however, was his home. It was practically barren, save for a bed, table, and wooden chair. The only light in the room came from a few scattered candles that revealed debris strewn across his old wooden floor.

It looked like a crypt. It might be a crypt. 

“This is where you stay?” she asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice. Her place was hardly a palace, but it was clean. Bright. She couldn’t imagine ever spending a night here. Let alone however many hundreds of years he’d been dead. The mere concept made her chest tighten in pity. 

“Let’s get you over to the bed . . .”

"Gives me incentive to get top side," he muttered half under his breath at her blurted question. "Who cares anyway? I close my eyes and it's gone. I don't see it. No one else does either." 

She hadn't taken her arm from around his waist. With her continued assistance, he shuffled over towards his bed. The distance wasn't far, but as if to help bolster the fact his place was more fleabag hotel than the Ritz-Carlton, his foot caught a stack of Handbooks for the Recently Deceased--how did those get there? It couldn't be that he'd stolen them from recently deceased in order to con them--

--and he stumbled. The four walls around them did a looping dance. Automatically his grip over her shoulders tightened even as his other hand went for the rusty iron foot rail on his bed. He managed to remain upright, but had jerked her along with him. 

As he recaught his balance, the room settled back into place. 

She'd been close while walking with him, but there'd still been a detachment. He'd managed to scatter that with his ham-fisted, foolish misstep; Maria had been pulled right to him. 

With a jerky, unnatural movement, he lifted his arm off her. 

"Sorry," he apologized.

Top side. She and others, including Juno, had wondered for decades how he’d manage to find ways to the world of the living. There were rules. Passes you needed to apply for - but he, in normal Betelgeuse fashion, skirted by it all. 

She was about to snap back at his flippant comment when he tripped over what appeared to be a pile of handbooks. Maria reminded herself to inquire on those later. Thankfully Beej caught himself on the bed, saving them both from falling face first on the wood floor. In his effort to stay balanced the arm around her shoulder moved forward, effectively pulling her into his chest. One arm still wrapped around his waist, the other now flat on his chest, she peered up at him with embarrassment. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he was sturdy, and she felt unusually small pressed against him. 

When he detached himself with a slurred apology Maria took in a shaky breath she didn’t need then helped him sit down on the bed. God, he looked so disheveled - more so than usual. His eyes were heavy, shoulders slumped, and his tie was loosened and askew around his neck. 

Without waiting for permission Maria slipped the loose tie up and over his head and hung it gently on the foot rail. Turning back she hesitated, just for a second, before helping him slip his jacket off. She ran her hands over his shoulders and under the jacket, sliding it down his arms. The beauty queen reached around him, leaning in close, and retrieved the jacket and reunited it with his tie. 

“From what I can see of your bed I doubt you take these off when you sleep.” She crouched down and angled his large black boots for him to see. “However, I can’t bring myself to see you place these nasty things on the mattress.”

Some quick finger work on the laces and a few short tugs had both boots off. She placed them neatly at the foot of his bed. Maria brushed some questionable dirt off her hands and returned to the older man, giving him a satisfied once over. Gently, she pressed on his shoulder for him to lay down. 

“Get some rest, Alborotador. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around again soon.”

He felt loose, like his joints had been separated. Maria's gentle guidance around the end of his bed to the side and helping him sit was appreciated, but that was nothing compared to her carefully removing his tie. At some point it'd become loosened, or even in his inebriated state he'd have slapped her hands away. Nobody touched his neck, that was a rule. But she was quick and efficient and the fabric never touched his skin. That would've been enough, but then, but then-- 

She assisted him out of his jacket. Any other time he'd have made some off-color comment or pushed the flirting so hard it would have bordered on desperate. But muddled by the booze and still feeling the deep ache of rejection from those people in goddamned Connecticut, just to have her be attentive, just to have her hands peel him out of his outerwear-- 

A small sigh slipped past his lips. If she heard it, she ignored it.  

Then she didn't leave well enough alone; she actually crouched in front of him in her cocktail dress and heels--everything about her was in stark contrast to the rat's nest he lived in, and he included himself in that melancholy assessment; he should have never brought her here--and worked the laces of his boots loose and pulled them off his feet.

The care and concern pained him. The simple act of touch took him apart. 

When she took his shoulder he almost moaned. Like a man dying of thirst in a desert, he wanted nothing more than to drink in that simple friendly touch. 

It took all his will power to not grab her hand. Not for anything inappropriate, but just to keep it there, so he could soak it in. Instead, he sat dumb and dull as she straightened her skirt and bid him farewell. 

"Why does everyone keep leaving me?" he whispered. There had been a time very recently he'd bellowed that, but here, all he could expend the effort on was something closer to a whimper.

Maria had started to make her way out of the room when he spoke, the sound of his broken voice pulling at her more than the words themselves. Not that the words didn't catch her attention, and in many ways, hurt her. He was drunk, she reminded herself, and sad. She could stay with him a little longer - just until he was unconscious, she already crossed a line by being here, and basically sprinted past said line when she helped him undress. 

"I'm not leaving you," Maria corrected while she walked back over to the bed. "I was just going home. I have no illusions that you won't be darkening my waiting room doorstep again soon." 

Gently, she sat down on the bed beside him, her leg brushing up against his own. 

"Now lay down. Go on." She pushed at him again, moving out of the way for him to lift his legs up. The beauty queen stayed seated beside him, her torso twisted slightly to look down at him while she spoke. 

"If anyone left, it was you, Beej." The words were soft and sad, and she reached out absently to adjust a crease in his white(ish) button up. "Got yourself in so much trouble that Juno had to fire you - and then you were gone. Disappeared like smoke for years, only to show back up in the waiting room looking pissed." 

Maria had been so relieved, and so unbelievably angry to see him after all that time. It was that absence, that complete cut from communication, that had brought her back to calling him Mr. Betelgeuse - a title she already found herself skipping again in favor of his nickname.

Maria appeared at his side again, and blearily he looked up at her. Her nudge wasn't rough but he was so unsteady it was almost enough to topple him. He managed to not just fall back like a drunk--haha--but only just barely. 

Her words came to him as if through cotton wool. Disorganized thoughts moved lazily inside his head; it was so much easier to be angry than this drunken, dazed state he was in. The fact that the beauty queen had even given him the time of day was almost too much to take and much too much to even try and puzzle out. 

In the reaches of his memory he did recall how upset she'd been to see him again, and her cool reception to him ever since the final incident that sent him packing--that he'd designed for at least the chance for freedom. Tonight was the first time in all the times he'd reappear she'd ever done anything more than nod politely and exchange chilly words. 

As she sat primly, lightly beside him, the bed frame buckled. It didn't startle him, he was more than used to it, but he could imagine the surprise on her face as the mattress sagged her closer to him. Her delicate attention to his shirt made him catch her hand. 

"Come here," he croaked out, before clearing his throat, giving her a half-hearted pull. "I gotta tell you something."

The unexpected dipping of the mattress when he laid back surprised her, and she ended up with her back pressed against his side. Maria might have just fallen on top of him, if he hadn’t grabbed the hand that had been adjusting his shirt. 

Deep brown eyes assessed him curiously at the request. He was quite capable of saying whatever it was he needed to say from where she sat now - but the pull of sympathy was still strong. Without a word Maria leaned down to him, her free hand bracing her body on the mattress next to his. Being this close, even closer than when she was helping him walk home, she could pick up the smell of moss and wet dirt that clung to his clothes and skin. There was also the faintest smell of roses - so subtle that she could have second guessed if it was there at all.

She did as requested, and leaned over him. A stray lock of hair escaped from its careful pinning, and tickled his cheek. Maybe if things between them had been different, maybe if he hadn't fucked everything over in that spectacular way that was apparently his specialty, he'd have permission to brush it back. To lift it and settle it behind her ear. A minor but intimate gesture. 

But he didn't. He let her hair stay where it was, because it was also nice to feel it on his skin. 

Now that he had her there, he was at a loss for words. Lots of things flitted through his head: "You deserve better than me." "I missed you." "Wanna go see Saturn? I know a safe place--" 

In the end, he frowned a little as he focused on her features. She was so close everything was blurred; he didn't think it was because of the alcohol. Why in the ever-loving hell did she put up with him? 

"Thank you," he whispered.

There was a long silence while his eyes searched her face. Maria could tell he was considering something - and the fact that it was taking him this much time started to worry her. Why? She wasn’t sure. 

At this distance she was able to get a good look at his face. It was round and scruffy, and strangely complimented by his Roman nose. Even in his current, sullen state his lips still had an upturned curl to them. She’d always liked his lips.

 Her attention was taken away from his face when he spoke, and she smiled at him in response. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Blame it on the alcohol, on their proximity, on the raw vulnerability he’d shown her - but without having time to process her actions, her face closed the distance with his. The kiss was soft, and her lips barely pressed against his own. 

It took only a few seconds for what she had done to register, and when it sunk in, she pulled back. Not all the way, but enough to give him a dazed, almost apologetic look. She hadn’t planned to do that, would have sworn up and down that she would never be kissing Betelgeuse right up until the moment she did. Maria started to sit up a little more and opened her mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say.

The brush of her lips against his was a shock that wasn't dulled by alcohol. 

His hand automatically went up to touch her, to slip to her jaw to keep her close, but the split second that it took for him to try she pulled back again. But the motion was in place; although he missed keeping her where she was, his fingers touched the junction of neck and shoulder. 

There was nothing more important in his existence than tasting her lipstick again. 

Eyes wide, his tongue swiping his bottom lip in a move he didn't give conscious thought to, Beetlejuice breathed out, "Mi hermosa emperatriz Maria . . ." 

With a little additional pressure from his hand he encouraged her back towards him as he surged up to her.

tbc . . .