#sorry slightly unrelated tags I just need the right people to answer my questions

[gettingwormed]

Is there a gravity falls themed inktober prompt list anywhere out there? Normal inktober isn’t really exciting for me this year 🤦‍♂️

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

just let me adore you || h. styles

warnings: swearing, kissing, briefly proofread

word count: 2.3k

summary: a holiday in italy involves an unusual amount of shampoo and lusting...

The villa was somewhat quiet. The sound of solitary piano notes echoed through the halls. Harry’s hair was dishevelled from his heavy night’s sleep prior to the warm morning he found himself emersed in. While his fingers were busy working away at the grand piano, his eyes were preoccupied with following your form around the backyard of the villa. 

You were sat by the pool, your book long forgotten. Your sunglasses were shielding your eyes from the unrelenting Italian sun. Your hair was pinned up, your skin exposed to the heat of the morning. 

Harry’s attention was suddenly pulled away by the sound of your father emerging from the kitchen. “Morning, Haz,” he grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Any plans for today?”

He shrugged, “Might just, you know, work on some music.”

“A man committed to his career, that’s what I like to see,” your father said. 

Harry nodded awkwardly, offering the older man a quick smile. Once your father disappeared into the lounge, Harry found his eyes wandering back to you. But you’d vanished. Had there not been wet footprints staining the concrete poolside, there would be no trace you’d been there at all. 

Focusing on the lone notes the piano had no trouble emitting became an increasingly difficult task. All he could seem to focus on was you and the obnoxiously loud laughter of your mother and his own in the kitchen. He huffed loudly, pulling his jacket around himself tightly. He clambered up from the piano stool, stalking through to the kitchen to kindly ask if the two women could lower to volume slightly. However, he was soon silenced by the sight of you sat on the countertop of the island, your legs swinging beneath you, a peeled tangerine in your delicate hands. You were smiling slightly as the women couldn’t help but laugh at something Anne had said. 

A bundle of nerves unravelled itself inside of Harry’s stomach when you looked up and locked eyes with him. Your mother and Anne quickly quietened down at Harry’s sudden presence in the doorway. “Morning, darling,” Anne smiled. 

“Morning, Mum,” he replied, breaking his gaze away from your own. “Do you, uh, do you mind if you can keep it down a bit? I’m trying to work.”

“Work?” your mum asked. “Harry, dear, we’re in Italy! Why don’t you wait to work when you get home.”

“I know, but I feel most inspired when I’m away from my house,” he tried to explain. 

“Just take a break, Harry. Relax… you know, unwind,” Anne said softly. 

He sighed, “Okay. Fine. I’m going to shower.”

And with that, he spun on his heel and left the kitchen. You’d been silent throughout the entire exchange, glancing between Harry and your half-eaten tangerine. As you watched him leave, you averted your attention back to your book that was being held open by a mug you’d quickly put down so as not to lose your place.  

Harry found himself running his hands through his dark hair, which was now coated in mango-scented shampoo. He’d just grabbed it off the shelf in the shower, assuming it came as a complimentary luxury with the villa. As the hot water trickled down his body, he allowed his muscles to relax. He knew his mum was right: he needed to separate himself from his music for a few days. But he was only working away tirelessly at the grand piano because it kept his mind off you. If it wasn’t music, it was you. If it wasn’t you, it was music. 

These yearly holidays used to be enjoyable for Harry. Right up until he was fourteen and he realised he liked you. Then they became almost torturous. As soon as he began to see you in this different light, your presence and whereabouts became apparent to his senses. Before, you always seemed to swim in the pool with Gemma or play in her room. He’d occupy himself with your brother by going down to the beach or playing tag in the extensive gardens of the Italian villa. But you suddenly seemed to be everywhere. He’d go down to the beach and there you’d be with your parents or Gemma. He’d be running through the gardens trying to find your brother after an afternoon of hide and seek, and yet he’d discover you reading or gossiping with his sister. All of this, but the summer you didn’t come with your family because you were going away to Scotland with your then-boyfriend instead was utterly dreadful for him.

When he was finished in the shower, he wasted the rest of the day by the pool in hopes you’d venture out with your books and tangerines. But alas, you did not. It was only when the sun was dipping below the horizon did he next lay eyes on you. He was sat at the dining table, his plate before him. You grinned at him, sitting down opposite him. You kept quiet as your parents chatted away mindlessly with Anne, only sharing a brief and quiet conversation with your brother, who you were sat beside. 

Gemma hadn’t come this year, leaving Harry and Anne alone with your family. Anne didn’t seem to have a problem with that at all. After all, she and your mother were such good friends and always had been. You had always been content in your own company. And your brother seemed to spend all his time with your father, something about inheriting the family business. So, Harry had found a companion in the villa’s grand piano, which had now been stripped away from him courtesy of his mother. 

It wasn’t as if you were deliberately being cold to Harry. You actually quite admired him and you knew you always had. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t aware of his eyes following you everywhere you went. But you liked the attention. You wanted to know just what you could do to him. So, when your foot accidentally grazed his leg beneath the table, you didn’t even look at him. After all, it was a mere accident. 

When, at last, your father was finished with his meal, you helped Anne clear away the dishes and your mother as she washed up. While your father and brother ventured through to the lounge to watch a football game, Harry went straight to his room. 

An hour passed and he was too busy on his phone to notice you enter his room. When you cleared your throat, he finally looked up. His eyes were wide like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He hurriedly shut off his phone, blackness overtaking the screen that had once presented your Instagram profile to him. “Oh, hi, Y/N,” he said as you sat yourself down at the foot of his bed. 

“Oh? Didn’t realise you were expecting someone else,” you smirked. 

“No, no, no. I, uh, I wasn’t. I was just surprised to see you,” he said quickly. 

“Right,” you grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He watched your face screw up suddenly. You leaned forward towards him, before laughing. “What?” he asked. “What’s funny?”

“Is that my shampoo?” you questioned. 

“Shit. I just thought it was a, you know, freebie. I didn’t realise it was yours. Shit. I wouldn’t have used it if I knew it was yours. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

As he rambled, he remembered that the two of you shared the same bathroom. It was between your respective bedrooms, doors leading to both. Of course it was your shampoo. You chuckled at his ramblings, “It’s okay Harry. It’s just shampoo. You can use it whenever.”

“Oh,” he let out a sigh of relief. “Well, for what it’s worth, I thought it smelt wonderful.”

You smiled, “Thanks. I have a pomegranate one in my suitcase that I think you’d love.”

“Really? Why did you bring two shampoos?” he asked. 

You shrugged, “So I have options depending on my mood. Sometimes I’m feeling like a pomegranate, sometimes I’m feeling like a mango.”

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes wandering up your bare legs that were only sporting a pair of silky shorts. Obviously, this didn’t go unnoticed by you. “The only thing is,” you started, “you’re going to smell like me now.”

He shifted slightly. You smiled to yourself. 

“What if people, you know, get the wrong idea?” you asked innocently. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “I guess you’ll just have to use your pomegranate shampoo tomorrow instead, won’t you?”

You leaned back, somewhat satisfied with his answer. His cheeks were flushed and you knew your job for the evening was done. “Fair play, Styles. See you in the morning,” you made a point of touching his shoulder as you left via the shared bathroom. 

The following morning, Harry awoke, finding himself peacefully content for a moment before he recalled the prior night’s events. He was yet to decide if you were actually making a move on him or not. Or perhaps you were genuinely concerned that your families would smell your signature mango scent on Harry and get the wrong impression of the entire thing. 

He dragged himself out of the soft sheets, getting dressed. He listened silently to the running shower. He could hear you humming along to Then He Kissed Me by The Crystals. And after the shower he stopped, he gave it five minutes before going in to brush his teeth. He couldn’t help but look over to see your bottle of pomegranate shampoo making its place beside your mango one. The red bottle was the one soaked in droplets of water, while the yellow bottle remained dry. You’d done as he’d said. In a way, Harry almost wished you’d used the mango shampoo. He almost liked the thought of people thinking he and you had been so close that he’d absorbed your tropical scent. 

As he wandered into the kitchen, preparing himself some toast, he noticed the unusual silence of the villa. It was unnerving. He felt like the protagonists of those books and movies where they wake up and everyone’s gone or been evacuated. It felt apocalyptic. But, as his mind churned out immediate actions to take in this case of an unprecedented apocalypse, you walked into the kitchen just as his toast popped out of the toaster. “Morning,” you smiled, sitting down at one of the island’s stools. 

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, spreading butter onto the crisp toast. 

You shrugged, “It was alright. You?”

“I slept wonderfully.”

“Good,” you said. 

“Where is everyone?” he asked, sitting down opposite you. 

“They left for the beach,” you explained. “I didn’t want to go and they didn’t want to wait around for you to get out of bed. Anne told me to tell you that if you want to go down, they’re the ones with the pink deckchairs.”

He nodded slowly, “I think I’ll pass. Not a fan of sand.”

“Right? Why do people enjoy playing in minuscule rocks, which end up in your clothes for the next two weeks? Sounds like hell to me,” you said. 

He smiled at your aggravated tone, “Wow, and I thought I hated sand.” 

“You haven’t seen anything yet, pal,” you joked, smiling. 

Before a blanket of silence could fall on top of the two of you, Harry quickly said, “I saw you used the pomegranate shampoo.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him, “Yeah… I mean, you told me to, right?”

“Right,” he nodded quickly. “Of course. Well, at least we both smell nice now.”

You frowned, “If you say so. Anyway, I’m going for a swim. See you later.”

Harry watched you leave. His eyes roamed your figure with your legs exposed in a pair of shorts. You looked back at him over your shoulder, grinning to yourself at his longing look. He watched through the large kitchen windows as you rid yourself of your shorts and t-shirt, revealing your swimsuit beneath. He tried desperately to peel his gaze away from you as you settled yourself comfortably on one of the sun loungers by the pool. You placed your sunglasses over your eyes, opening your book. 

As soon as he’d finished his toast, he wandered outside. At the sound of his footsteps, you looked up. “Hi, Harry,” you smiled. 

“Hello,” he said softly, sitting down opposite you. You slid your sunglasses up over your head, settling them on your hair. You sat up, never allowing your eyes to leave his. “How can I help you?” you grinned. 

He was fiddling with his fingers, his gaze alternating between them and you. Finally, you reached out and placed your hand over his shaky ones. You stood, pulling him up with you. You were so close. You could hear each other breathing. You could practically hear his heart thumping against his ribs. You reached up to whisper in his ear, “I know you adore me.”

You smirked, allowing him to revel in your confidence. Call it cockiness. Same thing, really. You slowly pulled away from his ear, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. And yet it was him who finally connected your lips to his own. He didn’t make any effort to pull away either. You smiled into the kiss, burying your fingers in his hair. And when he finally did pull away, he stared down at you, cheeks red, “Depends if you adore me too.”

You grinned, “I do.”

And, with that, he dove back in. You grinned as he wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up. He lay you down gently on the sun lounger, leaning over you. As you pulled his shirt over his head, he leaned back slightly. “I thought you didn’t want people to get the wrong idea,” he whispered. 

You shrugged, “I guess we’ll just have to see what pomegranate and mango smell like together.”

[walkerismychoice]

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 38 (The End!)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X Olivia, Hana X OC Lydia

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The show comes to and end, and Riley contemplates her future

Author’s Note: I can’t believe I’ve finally brought this series to an end. There was quite a long time I thought I may never finish. I want to thank all the readers and friends who’ve read and encouraged me along the way. I want to especially thank @debramcg1106 as of late for helping me work through the ending and pushing me to finish it out. This is the technical end of the story, but I do have an epilogue planned as well.

Tag List: @khakie4 @dreadpirateemma @ritachacha @blackcoffee85 @choices-fanatic @boneandfur @butindeed @simplyaiden-blog @bobasheebaby @traeumerinsworld @theroyalweisme @umccall71 @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @enmchoices @withice @viktoriapetit @mfackenthal @drakesfiance @drakelover78 @speedyoperarascalparty @silviasutton1989 @krisnicjack @devineinterventions2 @choiceswreckedme @notoriouscs @blackcatkita @hamalu @akrenich @drakewalkerfantasy @jamielea81 @andy-loves-corgis @jlouise88 @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @i-miss-trr @dragonball-luver @gkittylove99 @lovingchoices14

Word Count: 2230

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

Due to everything that transpired, filming of the finale was delayed two weeks. Riley was grateful for the time and hardly left Drake’s side during his recovery. He was sent back to the palace after a couple days, and Riley had to convince him that whiskey was not a suitable replacement for the antibiotics and pain medication the doctor prescribed. Reluctantly he obliged. He worked with physical therapy, and by the end of those two weeks, you’d have hardly known he’d been injured at all.

Olivia was salty her ball had been ruined, but the production staff made up for it, giving her and Liam an overnight filmed at Olivia’s northern Lythikos retreat. She was still worried the country would favor Riley with Liam, but Kat assured Olivia between her heroic actions, personal growth, and some favorable editing, it would be hard for most people not to be on her side.

As for Madeleine, it was still unclear if she would be charged criminally or would be incompetent to stand trial due to her mental health, but either way, she wouldn’t be a danger to anyone for quite some time. It was questionable if Jo’s involvement in the whole thing broke any laws. She wasn’t Cordonian, so she couldn’t be charged with treason for skirting security and endangering the life of the crown prince, but authorities were looking to see if there was anything they could make stick. At the very least she was blacklisted and would never work in television again.

So finally, on a calm, clear, day, there was only one obstacle left. Riley met with Liam, adorned in a stunning, body-hugging, Swarovski crystal filled dress, to put on the performance of a lifetime and act as if he’d shattered her heart. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. There were a couple of takes where neither of them could keep a straight face followed few that were unbelievably dramatic, but ultimately Riley was able to tap into her vulnerability and the tragedy she had faced to bring genuine emotion and tears to light. It didn’t matter that it was unrelated to what was happening in the scene, it was real. Kat said it was perfect, and Liam was free to propose to Olivia.

-----

Now that all is said and done, who will Liam choose to be his future Queen? Will it be the fierce Duchess Olivia, or the plucky newcomer Riley? Stay tuned for the finale of Queen of My Heart.”

Maxwell draped his arm around Riley’s shoulder. “What do you think, sis? How did I do on my television debut.”

Maxwell, Bertrand, Savannah, Hannah, Lydia, Liam, Olivia, Riley, and Drake were all huddled in the palace screening room to watch the finale as it aired.

Just about anyone would have been an improvement over Chad,” Riley teased, ”but the squid suit was definitely a nice touch. Your delivery was great, but did you have to call me plucky?”

“You know I had to play it cool,” Maxwell explained. “Plucky is good, but not over the top. Don’t want anyone thinking I’m playing favorites because you’re my sister.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “The suggested ‘noble newcomer’ would have been sufficient.”

“It was a stylistic choice.” Maxwell made a gesture with his hand indicating a mock hair flip.

"Ugh, enough about Maxwell," Olivia groaned. "I'm ready to get to the good part. Can we just fast-forward through any mushy Liam and Riley stuff? Nobody needs to see that."

"I second that." Drake raised his hand in rare agreement with Olivia.

Liam just shook his head. "I know nobody watches live network television anymore, so you must have forgotten how this works. There's no fast-forwarding. Not even through commercials."

"That's fine with me." Lydia chimed in. "More time for making out."

"Lydia!" Hannah's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink.

Lydia pecked her on the lips. "Sorry babe. You're just too damn cute when you blush."

Hannah remained quiet but her smile gave her away. Lydia, with her outgoing, bold, and slightly unpredictable personality, was the perfect complement to Hannah being so shy, proper, and focused. They brought out the best in each other, and the difference in Hannah between when Riley met her until now was night and day.

The friends watched the show and Riley only cringed at herself in a few places, which was much less than she thought she would. Things did get a bit awkward during the montage of kissing scenes between Riley and Liam, and Maxwell and Bertrand made a show of covering their eyes for the steamier parts. They all laughed inappropriately when Liam dumped Riley since they knew it wasn't real. And then finally when Liam proposed to Olivia, everyone cheered.

Riley thought of her friends and family at home. She pictured aunt Susan, Sarah, and Daniel all rooting for her and how disappointed they must have been that she "lost." She couldn't wait to tell them, however, she hadn't lost at all.

"Wow, Livvy." Drake quipped, bringing Riley out of her deep thoughts. "How much did you have to pay them to give you such a flattering edit?"

Olivia threw a pillow at his head which he deftly dodged. "Fuck off, Walker. You were so desperate to get on the show, you leapt in front of a bullet."

"Now, now children." Liam said in a mock scolding tone. "Let's all play nice."

"Yes, father," Drake and Olivia replied in unison, causing laughter to erupt around the room.

Riley still didn't have all the answers about what her future would hold, but she had found her people. Where she was in that moment was where she needed to be.

Savannah yawned. "It's getting late. We should probably go and relieve the sitter." Riley hasn't wanted to pry into Savannah and Bertrand's relationship, but they were working together to parent Bartie and things seemed to be falling into place for them.

"Yes, yes." Bertrand agreed. "Time is money!"

"Oh my god, Bertrand." Savannah rolled her eyes. "Life isn't all about money."

"She’s right." Maxwell propped his arm on Savannah's shoulder. "Besides, now that the show is over, we'll be getting some money, and Kat said if viewers responded well to me, they would probably offer to extend my contract in the franchise. By the looks of these tweets, I'm going to be rolling in dough. 'That Maxwell guy is so hot...ridiculously funny...just what the show needed.' Should I read more?

"Please no." Bertrand groaned. "We can talk finances later. Goodnight, all."

As the rest of the crowd dwindled, Liam asked Drake and Riley to stay behind. He kissed Olivia and promised to join her when the conversation was through.

"So what's up?" Drake got right to the point once only the three of them remained.

Liam cleared his throat. "Well as you know, I highly value your loyalty to the crown."

"Heh." Drake let out a terse laugh. "I don't really give a fuck about the crown, but I do care about you."

"In any case, you take your job very seriously and I could see you as head of the guard one day, once Bastien retires." Liam paused before continuing. "However, I do have another proposition for you."

Drake raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Go on."

"How would you like to be the head of Valtoria?" Liam asked expectantly.

Drake' eyes narrowed in contemplation. "I thought Valtoria was unoccupied. Is there a new Duke or Duchess there now that needs a security detail?"

"No, no." Liam laughed. "Well, there could be. That's what I'm trying to ask you. I would like to give Valtoria to you."

"No fucking way. You have to be kidding me. Did you sign up for some royal version of a prank show now?" Drake scanned the room as if searching for hidden cameras.

"I'm serious, Drake. I think you would make a fantastic duke."

Drake scoffed. "I'm a commoner who despises most nobles and everything the monarchy stands for."

"That's exactly why you'd be perfect for the role." Liam explained. "Cordonia needs a fresh perspective - someone who can resonate with the people the monarchy serves. Just think, you could have a real voice in creating change. I don't want to rule like my father has and his father before. I want the people to have the representation they deserve, and you are a key to that."

Drake sighed deeply. "I don't know Li. Even if I could do this - if I wanted to - what makes me worthy? What's everyone going to say when they find out you gave an average dude the title of Duke just because he's your best friend?"

"I'll tell them that Drake Walker is anything but average. He's smart, capable, and fiercely loyal. He's saved my life more times than I count and has more integrity than anyone I know. Public policy can be learned, but these qualities cannot be taught. He may not be noble by blood, but he is my family, and he belongs."

'Wow, Liam." Drake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say."

"You're quiet over there." Liam directed at Riley. "What do you think?"

"Me?!" Riley had been as shocked by this as Drake, and she didn't know what to think. This was about Drake, not her. Did her opinion really matter? "I, uh.... think this is really Drake's decision."

Drake took Riley's hands in his. "But it's yours too. I mean, if we are going to be together..."

"Oh, well..." How was Riley supposed to help Drake decide such a life altering thing when she didn't even have her own life sorted out?

Drake didn't leave her fumbling for too long. "Liam, I really don't know if either of use is equipped to answer this question right now. It's a very generous offer, and the fact that I'm not totally shutting you down for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as me being a Duke should tell you I'm genuinely willing to entertain the idea."

Liam chuckled. "I completely understand. This life is new to both of you in different ways, and to navigate a new relationship on top of all that is a lot to ask. I'm in no hurry to fill the vacancy. Consider it an open-ended invitation. I trust that you'll be ready to make your decision long before the public pressures me into making a new appointment."

"Thanks, Liam." Drake gave him hug and patted him on the back. "Now get back to your fiancé before she blames me for keeping you too long."

-----

Back in her palace guestroom, Riley nestled into Drake, her head resting on his chest. "It's been quite a night, huh?

"You could say that again." Drake pulled her tighter against him.

"I kind of feel like we're moving so fast, we're skipping steps - like we're being asked to decide the rest of our lives before we even know what we want to do tomorrow." Riley knew nobody was outright asking for an immediate decision, but she felt the weight of everyone's expectations. Whether she stayed in Cordonia or went back home, she'd probably be disappointing someone.

"Who says we have to?" Drake asked. "You heard Liam. He doesn't need an answer right away. I Know you haven't decided what you want, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm going to do yet. Why don't we take some time together to just...be. Do normal couple things and see where the relationship takes us."

"Normal couple things... I mean I don't know how I can go back to my normal peasant life after attending weekly balls dressed in couture gowns," Riley teased, "but I think I could make that sacrifice for you, my commoner boyfriend."

"Hey, watch who you are calling commoner." Drake pinned Riley down and tickled her sides until she begged him to stop, and he collapsed beside her again. "I just may outrank you soon if I so choose."

Riley laced her fingers through Drake's. "It's crazy to think how our lives have changed in a few short months. I don't think I could have made it through all of this without you, and not just because you kept literally saving my life."

"You may not have taken a bullet for me, but you've saved me too. For once in my life, I see multiple paths with meaning and purpose. I've seen so much of myself reflected in you, but it id the version of me I want to be, not the one I was. You've shown me trials and hardships don't have to make you bitter, and that you don't have to fit the cookie cutter mold to find your place here... Oh, God, listen to me. What have you done to me Bennett?" Drake shuddered in mock disgust.

Riley softly pressed her lips to his and pulled back with a smirk. "I don't think I can take all the credit, or the blame as you might put it. But enough talk about the future. You said we should focus on the now, and right now all I need is you."

"Well then, your wish is my command." Drake pulled Riley tight to him and then they lost themselves in each other, completely unencumbered by any decisions about their future. Those could wait for another day.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

May passes into June and they quietly acknowledge that it has been one year since the day Mulder walked into the autopsy bay. They spend their weekends watching movies, making love, and hanging out with the Gunmen, Missy often in attendance as she and Byers become somewhat of an item. Every other Sunday they have lunch with her mother, Mulder meeting Bill by way of an awkward phone call and a promise that they will come out to visit San Diego sometime soon. The moratorium on weekday overnights fades away and the days they spend in each other’s beds begin to outnumber those that they don’t.

One day in early August, Mulder laments how lonely Priscilla gets when he’s gone for the night, crying and following him from room to room when he comes home and plaguing him with guilt. Scully suggests that he bring her over with him, setting up a litter box and food bowl in an unused corner of the living room. Without the daily need to care for a cat, he spends more and more time at her apartment, his suits taking over half her closet and his T-shirts occupying one of her drawers. He still has his fish to feed and so they can tell themselves that they don’t technically live together, though it’s been weeks since anyone slept at his apartment. The excitement of new love gives way to the familiar comfort of domesticity, questions about their lives prior to meeting morphing into what they’re having for dinner and whether someone can pick up toilet paper on the way home from work. They each visit the doctor for a full workup and, everything coming back clear, stop using condoms, relying on the progestin shot Scully goes in for every three months to prevent pregnancy.

Far from boring, they find worthy sparring partners in one another, debating everything from whether the moon landing was a hoax to the merits of String Theory, arguing their points of view passionately before they agree to disagree and then let their clothes fall to the floor. They discover the things they love best about one another; Mulder’s unrelenting curiosity and Scully’s bottomless compassion, as well as those they like the least; his forgetfulness when he’s focused on something and her tendency to shut him out when she’s upset. Whether completing a crossword puzzle together or watching Jeopardy, they embrace the ways that they are different and how they balance one another out; his creativity to her order, her planning to his impulsivity, his acceptance to her skepticism. Yin and yang, tall and small, bold and tempered; there is a completeness in their union that makes them each feel whole.

Even in their intensity and their commitment, Mulder has never again uttered the words ‘I love you’ and Scully has never said them at all. Far from a red flag or a hesitance to be vulnerable, they simply don’t feel the need to express it aloud. She knows he loves her when he drives forty minutes out of his way to pick up her favorite donuts or reads the latest issue of JAMA just so he can discuss the articles with her. He knows she loves him when she indulges him in theoretical discussions on the mating rituals of Sasquatch, not bothering to point out that the creature doesn’t exist, or wastes entire Saturdays watching movies that were bad enough to earn Razzies because he finds poorly made films entertaining.

Scully has never met Mulder’s parents, accepting his explanation that his mother is cold and his father distant, which is why she feels caught off guard when he calls her at work on a Tuesday to tell her that his mother had a stroke, and he is on his way to the hospital. He doesn’t ask her for anything, but she leaves work anyway, approaching the reception desk of the emergency department with a level of calm only a doctor is capable of.

“I’m looking for Teena Mulder, she should have been admitted within the last few hours,” she says to the young woman behind the desk.

“Yes, she’s here,” the woman answers, “but visiting hours don’t start until 4:00 and someone is already with her now. Are you family?” The woman looks at her expectantly.

“Um, no, I’m not,” she replies, not bothering to explain that Tenna Mulder is her boyfriend’s mother, who she’s never met.

“You can take a seat then,” the woman says with a well-practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She finds an empty seat and pulls in a deep breath, taking out her cell phone in hopes she can reach Mulder, though cell reception in hospitals is notoriously bad.

“Excuse me, are you Dana?” someone says from a few seats away, and she turns to see an older man, perhaps in his sixties, with receding dark brown hair and tired bags under his eyes.

“Yes,” she replies, eyeing him skeptically as he rises from his seat and takes the one just beside her.

“I’m Bill Mulder, Fox’s father,” he says, offering his hand.

She takes it, scanning him for similarities to Mulder and finding none, other than his complexion and hair color.

“Oh, hello, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Mulder,” she stumbles, a bit confused. As Mulder tells it, his parents are divorced and not on friendly terms.

“Please, you can call me Bill,” he says with a small smile, and she nods. “Fox is with her now, though I don’t think she’s awake,” he offers.

They sit in awkward silence, Scully realizing she has absolutely no information with which to start a conversation. Mulder has told her nothing about his parents, aside from the details relevant to his sister’s abduction. She doesn’t know what Bill Mulder does, or did, for a living, or where he lives. Just when she’s considering going home, Mulder emerges from a set of double doors.

He was clearly looking for his father, but when he sees Scully his eyebrows knit and his chin puckers in relief. She stands and he scoops her up, squeezing her so tight it hurts.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispers hoarsely into her ear.

They part, hands clasped, and he addresses his father.

“Mom just woke up, you can go see her soon, but since Scully is here I’d like to take her back first.”

Scully gives him an incredulous look.

“Mulder, I’m sure your mom doesn’t want to meet me for the first time from a hospital bed,” she pleads.

“I know, but I want you to look at her chart. I just want to make sure that what the doctors are saying is accurate,” he says with desperate eyes, and she nods.

He leads her back through the double doors and into a room where a tall white-haired woman is reclining in the bed, an oxygen cannula tucked under her nose. While she saw little resemblance between Mulder and his father, the likeness to his mother is almost jarring; her stately nose and hooded eyes curating in Scully an immediate fondness for her. She blinks slowly at them, confusion furrowing her brow.

“Mom, this is Dana,” he says, and her expression shifts into one that is slightly pained.

She attempts to speak, one side of her mouth rooting for words that she can’t quite find.

“Hi Mrs. Mulder, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” Scully offers, “I’m a medical doctor, Fox asked me to take a look at your chart, if that’s okay?”

Teena nods and closes her eyes, and Scully goes to retrieve her chart from near the door. After she’s looked it over, they say goodbye and return to the lobby to find Mulder’s father.

“Go ahead, Dad, I’ll see you in there,” Mulder says, and then walks Scully to her car.

“So, what do you think?” he asks as they stand next to her open car door, worry crumpling his features.

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, Mulder. Her stroke was significant, you can see that by the degree to which it’s impacting her speech and gross motor function. It shouldn't get any worse, but she’ll need to go through rehab, and likely need some in-home care for a bit until we know the long term impact. It’s very possible that she’ll be able to continue living independently, but not right away.”

Mulder heaves a big sigh and nods. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit, but I think I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” she replies, bringing her palm to his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you, again, for coming down here. You didn’t have to.”

“Mulder, of course I did,” she says with concern. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

He kisses her one, two, three times, pulling her close for a beat, clinging to her for dear life.

“I love you,” he chokes out, and she hugs him tighter.

“I love you too,” she replies, her chin tucked tight into the crook of his neck.

When he releases his grip on her, she brings her hands to his jaw, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out,” she assures him, and he nods tersely.

———

She’s in bed reading, Priscilla curled up on her stomach, when she hears the thunk of the deadbolt.

“Mulder?” she calls out, and he pokes his head through the door.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be in in a minute,” he says, then disappears again.

He returns ten minutes later, shower-fresh and warm. She sets her book aside to envelop him in her arms, his head finding a home on her chest as his arms snake around her ribcage.

“How is she?” she asks as she strokes her fingers through his hair and down his neck soothingly.

“The same,” he says with a defeated tone, “they might release her to rehab tomorrow.”

“And how are you?” she asks, giving his neck a little squeeze.

He groans. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About your mom?”

“No,” he says, propping up on his elbow to look at her, “about life, I guess.”

She lifts her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to toil away in the BSU for the rest of my life, Scully. If I die tomorrow, what will I have to show for it?”

She frowns at him sympathetically.

“You make a difference in the BSU, Mulder. You help catch murderers, prevent further loss of life. It may not seem like it because you’re so far removed from the people it impacts, but you do.”

He flops back onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“You’re probably right, but it still feels pretty pointless.”

“What would you rather be doing?” she asks gently, rolling on to her side to face him.

“Honestly?” he steals a glance at her before continuing, “investigating The X Files. Making progress in understanding what happened to my sister. Working to expose those who are responsible for the coverup of secret government operations.”

“Maybe you should talk to AD Skinner, try again. Maybe The X files could be reopened,” she says softly, brushing her palm over his arm.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nothing has changed, Scully. They won’t let me operate without a partner and no one wants to work with me.”

“I’d work with you, but that’s against bureau policy,” she says with a small smile, and he looks at her with an affectionate gaze.

“I’m sure you’d have a field day debunking all my work,” he says coyly.

“I would never,” she retorts sarcastically.

He rolls back towards her, pulling her close with her head tucked under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“Well you do have me, so there’s no point in thinking about it,” she replies.

He sighs deeply, reaching past her to turn off the bedside lamp, and they sleep.

[kitkatd7]

Christmas Coffee

12 Days of Christmas; Day 1

Pairing: Barista!Ransom x Reader (Soft College AU) (Based in New York for the Rockefeller center and Christmas feeling) 

Summary: You usually stop for Starbucks before class but the semester is over. That won’t stop you from stopping by to see the cute barista though ;)

Warnings: None? Just fluff, caffeine  and snow.

Request: Ransom loses money access, works for Starbucks, falls for cute barista. (Requested by @malloryharris )

Word Count: 1108

A/N: Hey y’all! Here’s my first Christmas/winter story! Also @malloryharris I’m sorry I changed it a bit from your request, but I really couldn’t get it to flow within the exact guidelines. I hope it’s okay!! Love you. (Also covid doesn’t exist in these stories and It’s 1 week before Christmas here :))

Masterlist of Masterlists

Other Characters Masterlist

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist

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

You receive your favorite holiday coffee from the starbucks barista with a smile and small “thank you,” before glancing at your cup with a sigh. Every time. You would think that since you've been here 2 days a week for the past 3 and a ½ months they would at least learn to spell your name correctly, but no. Not even once have they spelled it right. You're usually too busy rushing off to class to even glance at it, but the semester has finally drawn to an end. With no class to scurry to, you step to the side, pulling out your phone before subtly glancing behind the counter, hoping to catch a glimpse of the reason you even come here; the quiet, brooding barista you’ve been silently crushing on since the beginning of the semester. 

Finding no sign of him you turn to go, gasping when you spill a third of your drink down the front of a barista in a dark green cashmere sweater. 

“I am so sorry!” 

“Watch where-” The biting remark dies on his lips as his eyes land on you. Straightening, he takes a half step back. “It’s alright. It wasn’t very hot at least.”

“I wasn’t looking and I was upset about my order and- I should have been more careful,” you blabber, blushing in embarrassment as a small smirk appears on his lips. 

“I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me then, won’t you, sweetheart?” 

You blush harder, tripping over your words, “ho-how?”

“Ask me out.” His tone is between teasing and daring, but he’s not expecting you to do ask. 

“But I don’t even know your name,” you reason.

“Ransom. Ransom Drysdale. And you are…?” He asks, glancing at the spelling on your cup in confusion. 

Chuckling slightly, you give your name, feeling a little more comfortable. You extend your hand politely and his large hand envelopes yours. “They always spell my name wrong,” you explain with a roll of your eyes.

“Well how is it supposed to be spelled?”

Spelling it properly, you laugh gently as he gives what is almost a smile.

Anyway- I’m not asking you out, I’m telling you what’s gonna happen,” you smile flirtatiously as his eyes widen in shock.  “Friday night, 8 o’clock and don’t be late. Meet me at the restaurant across the street.” With that you waltz towards the exit, feeling more than a little surprised at your own forwardness- and Ransom was feeling the same. 

He wasn’t used to other people’s cockiness and attitude- but at least he got his Christmas wish; he was finally going out with you after glancing at you across the counter for 4 months.

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

Thursday morning rolls around quickly, with snow coming down in large, slow drifting flakes; blanketing New York in what truly is a winter wonderland. Slipping into your black jeans and a light pink v-neck, you grab your leather jacket and black beanie before walking out the door and the short distance to Starbucks. 

Ordering your usual, you scroll through Instagram while you wait. 

“Hey.”

Startled, you look up to see Ransom holding your order.

“Hey,” you repeat, smiling at him as he hands you your drink. 

“Thank you.” Checking the spelling out of habit, you're startled when it’s correct. “Did you…?” you ask, gesturing to it.

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” is his only response as he shrugs nonchalantly- but his eyes are bright and a small smile tilts his lips and that’s all the answer you need as you blush.

“I’ve gotta go anyways. But don’t be late tomorrow, and dress warm!” 

“Why do I need to dress warm for dinner?” He implores, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Who said we were going to dinner?” You smirk, watching his brows furrow further. Shooting him a wink, you walk towards the door.

You look back over your shoulder when he asks, “Where are we going then??”

“You’ll have to show up to find out!” You say cheerily, a small laugh leaving your lips as he almost smiles. 

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

Waiting under the restaurant sign, you smile when you see a tall, unmistakable figure walking towards you in a brown trenchcoat. 

“Wow- you look... beautiful,” he says honestly, gaze drifting over your favorite outfit before meeting your eyes again.

“Thank you… You look handsome.” You return his warm smile. 

“So… Wanna tell me where we’re going?” He asks, falling into step beside you.

Giggling softly you glance at him, looking away when you find him already looking at you. “No… I don’t think I’ll tell you. It’s your Christmas surprise,” you say with a wink as he sighs.

“I’m not gonna convince you to tell me, am I?”

“Nope! But cheer up! I promise it’s good. Totally unrelated question... but what shoe size do you wear?” 

“10 or 10 ½… Why?”

“No reason.” You smile up at him.

You walk a few blocks with a stream of chatter between you; getting to know each other.

Pulling a dark green handkerchief from your back pocket. “Stop here and put this on,” you say as he looks at you suspiciously.

“Oh c’mon! It’s clean and everything,” you joke as he relents, tying it behind his head with a huff.

 Taking his hand you start leading him slowly down the street, missing the blush that dusts his cheeks. 

“2 tickets and rentals please,” you say, walking up to the window, murmuring a polite “thank you” before pulling Ransom after you. “Okay sit here,” you say, guiding him to a bench. “I’ll be right back.” 

A moment later you reappear. “You can take that off now.” 

As he slips the blindfold off, you hold up 2 pairs of ice skates, a victorious, cheeky smile plastered on your face. “Surprise!!!” 

His brows furrow, and your smile falters, thinking you must have done something wrong. “I’m sorry- I didn’t- This was a bad idea. We can go, if you want,” you offer, your smile melting away.

“What? No, that’s not it. This is great!” He says reassuringly, giving you another half smile. “I just, uh, don’t know how to ice skate,” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Smiling, you put on your skates. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” At your words, the first real smile you’ve seen appears on his lips., reflecting your own.

3 and a ½ hours later when they kick you out at closing time, you’re both breathless and bright eyed. 

You stroll home slowly, laughing and smiling all the way, your smile growing when his larger hand slips into yours and large snowflakes fall in unhurried swirls around you. 

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

Thank you so much for reading!! Any and all feedback is welcome!

Forever Tags: (OPEN)

@lovesmesomehiddles @saiyanprincessswanie @kind-sober-fullydressed @romainniesweetheart​ @angelinathebook @malloryharris @itsunclebucky @teenagereadersciencenerd @chaotic-fae-queen @bugsbucky @cap-n-stuff @imma-new-soul @wonderlandfandomkingdom @fablesrose @coffeebooksandfandom

12 Days of Christmas: (OPEN)

@myraiswack

[lucywritesreid]

With Heaven Above You - Part 2

Summary: In this chapter, Reid and Y/N are coming closer to uncovering who the unsub is.

Warnings: Just a bit of swearing!

Word Count: 2.6k (I was going to split this into two but ended up changing my mind!)

Notes: Thank you for the feedback on part one! I’m tagging @rexorangecouny  @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks  @liaabsurd @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @101donuts

The next 24 hours or so flew by. You and Spencer had spent hours crafting the profile and accumulating evidence passed on by the rest of their teams whilst they investigated the murders. Hotch had accepted your revised profile and a comment about it being ‘especially good work’ had lifted both your spirits more than you cared to admit. By the evening, there had been no reports of any new missing persons, so you took the time to deliver the profile to various police departments and blue collar workers in the local area. The more people knew what to look out for, you hoped the more vigilant and safe people would be.

There was something powerful about delivering the profile together. On a couple of occasions a few male officers had directed questions specifically to Dr Reid. Spencer had sharply referred them to you and he stood watching you proudly as you answered. Despite his greater intelligence and experience within the FBI, he never took you for granted. He wanted people to see just how smart you were. Had the circumstances been happier, you probably would’ve wanted to go out and celebrate your partnership, or at the very least have a romantic evening indoors. But this case was unrelenting.

There had been a minor breakthrough. Garcia had been given permission from the phone companies each of the victims used to have unlimited access to their phones. Their phones had been brought into the office and she’d found out that each victim received a photograph of themselves from an unknown number in the hours before their disappearance. She was trying to find the source of the number, but it gave you all some hope that should you be taken – the unsub would try and track you down and photograph you first.

By the time you returned to Quantico, it was late, but you needed to work on the press release with Rossi and JJ. Spencer excused himself to go look through some files, and you spent the next few hours working through questions and specific trigger words you were going to use in order to taunt the unsub. “I think you’ve got this kiddo,” Rossi brought you in for a warm hug, “you’re gonna go out there and really wind up the bastard.”

It got to a point when you felt like you couldn’t stand up any longer. Tears stung your eyes as the battle to fight off a yawn was lost. Glancing down at your watch you saw that it was almost midnight. “I’m gonna go find the Dr, I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You kissed both your colleagues on the cheek and grabbed your coat from your desk, anxious to get home and try and get some sleep before tomorrow.

It was no surprise how you found Spencer. He was sprawled out across a small office’s burgundy carpet, an array of open files and photographs positioned sporadically around him. You stood for a few seconds and watched him, always fascinated by his approach. He was feverishly reading through files, using his index finger to focus his eyes on the pages as he read through them all at lightning speed. Most people would believe that this workspace was chaotic and messy. But you could see Spencer’s organisation even from your viewpoint. He’d arranged the victims chronologically in his circle and had layered over police and ME reports in between each case file. He truly was brilliant. Had it have been a few hours earlier; you wouldn’t have interrupted. But you knew he needed to go home, probably more than you did. “C’mon Spence. Even someone as handsome as you needs their beauty sleep,” you commented, leaning against the door.

He didn’t look up but he knew you were there. “Five minutes, y/n?”

“M’kay squish,” a nickname you reserved for when there was nobody else around, “I’ll go warm the car up.”

Spencer was five minutes on the dot. He hurried into the passenger seat and clicked on his seatbelt, throwing his messenger bag on the backseat. You looked in the rear-view mirror and saw that the bag was overflowing and stuffed with files, no doubt all the ones he was staring at in the office. It took all your willpower not to mention it. You desperately wanted to tell him to forget it for tonight and have a relax, but that would be futile. Spencer was passionate about his job and that was one of the many reasons why you were in love with him. The radio played classical music all the way home, Spencer’s favourite radio station and certainly not yours. He made a couple of comments about various composers playing and facts about their lives. It made you relax to hear him talk about something that wasn’t the case.

When you arrived home, you were seeing spots from exhaustion. Too tired to cook anything, Spencer warmed up some leftover Chinese food whilst you jumped in the shower. You popped on an old episode of Doctor Who and sat in silence as you both ate. When the episode finished, you glanced across the sofa and saw Spencer with his head propped up by his hand and his empty bowl falling off his lap. As quietly as you could, you turned off the TV, reached out and took the bowl from his lap and set it down on the coffee table, hoping not to disturb him. But he was an awfully light sleeper and the slightest movement caused him to jolt awake. “Oh god sorry y/n I guess I fell asleep.” You scolded him for apologising, took his hand and walked into the bedroom. You were asleep the second your head hit the pillow.

The next morning was spent preparing for your press conference. You dressed quickly but made the effort to put on something slightly more revealing and spent the time straightening your usually messy up-in-a-bun hair. Spencer hovered in the doorway as you finished putting on your make up, hands in your pocket as he watched you. You sighed. “I think it’s the best way to try and bait this guy if I at least look worth kidnapping,” You watched him shudder behind you. “I know, y/n. And you look beautiful. I just don’t like the thought of him thinking that.”

On your way out, you made sure to grab the purple pendant necklace that Spencer had bought you on your birthday two years ago. You fumbled with it between your fingers as you sat in the car as your own little signal that you were going to be thinking about him all day.

The press conference went off without a hitch. Thanks to JJ, there was wide media coverage, with cameras and crew from all various TV and radio news outlets, as well as a few reporters who had vouched to have the story printed on their websites within the hour. If this guy had any sort of access to media, which your profile stated he did, he would most certainly be watching. “And just to reiterate, we’re looking for a man who is awkward with zero social skills. This man is impotent, unattractive and holds a menial job. He takes no pride in his appearance and we believe he is a complete loner. No family, no friends. You’ve probably overlooked this guy a thousand times. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing significant about him at all.” You stared right down into the camera as you delivered your last line. You knew that was the sucker punch. This guy was a total narcissist and completely fame hungry. You hoped that by saying he was a loner with no life he would be outraged enough to try and track you down. “We are also not answering to any nicknames. This man is too irrelevant to be given one. If you have any questions or believe you have seen this man, you can call our 24 hour tip line. You can ask for me personally. My name is Agent Y/N Y/L/N with the BAU. Thank you.”

As soon as you stepped down the phone lines started ringing. Local police and members of your team were all taking it in turns to answer the calls, writing down numbers, disregarding any hoaxes. Morgan cheered you up after ten minutes by claiming that someone was asking if you were free for dinner, but other than that there were no significant leads in the first few hours.

Spencer had asked Hotch if he could continue looking over the files and he had disappeared back into his quiet room. You considered going checking on him a few times, but then it was your turn to man the phones alongside Emily. An hour or so in, you turned to her and asked, “have you had anything worthwhile, Em? Do you think we’re gonna get this guy?”

“I think you did an excellent job before, y/n. I’m sure he’s seething. I was surprised though when he didn’t ring directly after the first few minutes.” You nodded back to her. That was the outcome that you had been hoping for, but it hadn’t materialised. “Say,” she then added, “what’s Reid so fixated on? Do you think he’s got any leads?”

“Honestly Em? I don’t have a clue.”

The day felt rather anti-climactic. You’d set yourself up, hoping for some sort of breakthrough, but as the evening wore on and the numbers of staff on site dwindled, you realised there wasn’t going to be any new developments tonight. Following the same routine from the day before, you found Spencer, and coaxed him out of his little investigation room so that he would come home. The rest of the evening was extremely ordinary. You went to bed together and fell asleep even quicker than the night before. If that was humanly possible.

When you awoke, it was early. A stream of light from the slightly open curtains had interrupted your sleep. “We really should’ve shut the curtains properly,” you yawned and stretched a hand out to where you expected your boyfriends warm chest to be. But his side of the bed was empty. You opened your eyes and turned to his side. It was perfectly made up and his pyjamas were folded nearly on top of the pillow. That was odd. You both were notoriously messy and known for not being particularly proactive in a morning. Perhaps he hadn’t slept. You wondered just how early he’d got out of bed.

When you finally managed to come around you checked your phone to see if he’d sent you anything. Aside from a few late night memes from Garcia, there was nothing. Still, Spencer had gone to work on his own plenty times before. He liked to let you sleep in when his insomnia was bothering him. He’d probably just used his metro card and wanted to make a start on the case. That gave you hope that maybe his incessant thinking had given him a eureka moment.

You rolled out of bed slowly and stretched to stand. It would’ve been nice to go back to sleep for a few hours, but you figured if Spencer was already at work it was likely the others were too. You threw on a plain black shirt and capri trousers and added one of Spencer’s fluffy cardigans to finish it off. You liked the way you could fit your thumbs through the holes in the sleeves, almost like he was holding your hand. As you walked into the kitchen you shot him a quick text ‘see you at work babe.’ You turned on the coffee machine and figured you’d use one of Spencer’s mugs rather than dirtying a new one. He always had a coffee before he left, no matter how much of a rush he was in. And he always left a mug on the counter. It was usually the one with penguins on you’d got him at the Christmas market.

But there was no mug there. That stumped you for a second or two. He always had his coffee before he left, no exceptions. Then again, this case was doing crazy things to all of you. Surely it wasn’t unusual for one day? You poured two coffees into metal flasks to take with you and made your way to the front door. You reached up to grab your key from the right hook but it was empty. Huh. That was weird too. You quickly scanned your eyes and saw your key was on the left. But your key was always on the right and Spencer’s on the left. Had he picked yours up by mistake and swapped them over before leaving? That didn’t really make sense.

You had to shrug this off. It was getting silly, this overthinking. Save your energy for the case you said to yourself. Just as you were about to unlock the door, you looked down at your ‘enter the upside down’ door mat. Normally it sat perfectly on a right angle to the edge of the door. But it was almost completely twisted to the left. How had that happened? Why was Spencer in such a rush that he forgot his coffee, almost took the wrong key and messed up the doormat?

The ride to work seemed long. You were anxious to see Spencer and have the butterflies in your stomach go away. Guilt set in as you realised you were the last one to arrive, even though it was only just after 8am. You went straight for JJ who was stood by your desk. “Morning JJ,” you mustered a smile.

She returned the smile but looked around you, “Did Spence not come in with you this morning?” You shook your head. Shit. Did that mean he wasn’t here yet? By the time you had got ready and drove here the metro would’ve brought him in by now. “Um no, I thought he was already here…” The panic started settling in again and you frantically looked around the bullpen. “Where is he?”

You excused yourself from JJ but she followed, obviously sensing how tense you were. You tried the meeting room, Garcia’s den, the little cubby room he’d been working with, even Hotch’s office. When you asked Derek if he’d go into the bathroom to look for him, he said, “Listen baby girl, if you want to get your kicks off with Reid in working hours, I’d suggest somewhere more romantic than the men’s bathroom…”

JJ gave him a look, “We can’t find Spencer actually, Derek. But I’m sure he’s just on his way, y/n. I wouldn’t worry about it. Have you heard from him yet?” She reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched away. This wasn’t right. His oddly made up bed. The coffee cup. The keys. The doormat. It was all pointing to something, but you just didn’t know what.

Without hesitation you ran into Garcia’s room and startled her. “Penelope,” you said trying to choke back tears, “I-I need you to trace Spencer’s phone for me.”

She didn’t question you just from the look on her face. Instead she nodded and set to work. You tried to focus on your breathing, but it was becoming shallower by the second. A sharp pain crept up into your chest and you balled your hand into a tight fist. He’s okay. He’s probably just gone somewhere to think. Or he’s late. That happens.

Your train of thought was quickly interrupted by Garcia. She spun round on her chair and the same worried look you had was staring back at you. “Y/n, h-his phone’s either switched off or died. I-I can’t locate him. I don’t know where he is.”

End of part 2

[idle-writer]

THINK BEFORE (4)

Pairing: Connor RK800 x Reader

Chapters: MASTERLIST

Your eyes are trained on the android sitting near you. He hunches slightly on his seat, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped fingers, as he listens tentatively to Hank explaining stuff. You are pretty sure you should be listening as well, but instead your gaze remains fixed on Connor. Briefly wondering who even gave Cyberlife the right to make their androids look like fucking meals? You watched as Connor leaned back on his seat, his perfect eyebrows furrowing slightly as he voiced a concern, probably, you're not sure you're not listening. You should really start paying attention.

 "...if the detective is okay with it?" Connor's brown eyes searches yours for answer, his head tilting slightly. He holds the breath he knows he doesn't need, waiting for you to respond. When you didn't give an answer, his brow furrows even more and you could have sworn his lips curved in a disappointed frown. 

 Hank gives out an exasperated sigh and shakes his head at you, disappointed. 

 Great. You disappointed both Connor and Hank in the span of five minutes. How do you tell them you didn't know what happened? 

Hey, sorry not listening. Too busy ogling the insanely handsome android sitting just a few inches away from me.

 As soon as that thought left you, Hank plants his face on his hand, trying to fight the headache that is starting to build up. You turn to Connor only to find him staring at you, a little wide-eyed. He then clears his throat, and looks at the space behind you, refusing to meet your eyes. "Lieutenant Anderson suggested that we should be boyfriend and girlfriend-"

 "He suggested what?!" You almost yells, feeling heat come up to your neck.

 "-as part of our cover." Connor finishes, his voice small but he quickly recovers. "I think it's a brilliant plan that way we can be in close proximity with each other without other people batting an eye but if you prefer to work with Detective Reed instead... It will have the same outcome, I think. Although I recall you not wanting to be in the same elevator as him before so I assume you wouldn't want to." He continues to ramble. "But then again, Detroit PD has a number of capable officers who will not hate the idea of having to work with you in this mission. I understand that you will have reservations with working with me. I'm an android afterall not a-"

 "Connor, stop." You chides softly and immediately he stops, his LED which you just noticed was red has also stopped spinning red as it slowly blinks yellow. You reach out to pat his hand which is now gripping his knees rather tightly, the fabric of his trousers wrinkling. You wait for him to meet your eyes before giving him a big smile, "I can't imagine doing it with any other but you, Connor."

 His grip on his knees loosens as he slowly turned his hand, palm touching yours. You do not miss the slight crinkle on his eyes when he smiled, his LED a serene blue.

 The scraping sound of the chair reminded you that you and Connor are not alone. Hank is already by the conference door, heading out to his desk,"I'm going to be sick watching you two flirt."

-----

And that is how you ended up on this position. In a crowded club. With Connor's arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close as his eyes scans the surrounding. 

True enough you are in very close proximity with each other the whole night.

 You are surprised when Connor picked you up at home with Hank, of course. You were expecting to meet them at a park near the club. You sent him and Hank a questioning look once you got inside the car. Hank snickered and pointed at Connor, "Kid insisted that social protocol dictates that boyfriends should pickup their girlfriends."

Before entering the club, Connor offers you his arm.

"Let me guess, social protocol?" You joked as you hook your arm to his. He gave no reply and just smiled at you. 

 He is extremely focused, watching, observing every person that enters and leaves the club. You are also trying to do the same, constantly reminding yourself that you're on duty. 

 Suddenly, Connor releases your waist, and you wanted to smack yourself for the longing you felt when his arm left you. You realize where's he's headed, and you quickly snatch his wrist, "Where do you think you're going?"

 "At the middle of that." He discreetly points at the dance floor, "Better vantage point on the floor above."

 "Do you dance?"

 He shakes his head "no".

 "Please don't tell me you plan on standing on the middle of the dance floor... I'll come with you." 

 He nods and pulls you toward the floor. At some point, he placed his hand at your lower back, guiding you through the dizzying maze of people lost in the haze of alcohol and music. For once, you are thankful for the blaring music coming out of the speakers. Hoping that the bass is loud enough to hide the thundering beat of your heart when Connor stood extremely close, almost chest to chest if not for your hand that is currently flat against the place where his heart thirium pump is. 

 "I have eyes on the subject," he whispered, voice coming out a bit breathy as he regulates his voice so as to not strain your hearing. A shiver went through you when you feel his lips brush your ear lightly as he continued. "Guarded. At most three people. Heavily armed. I already called for back-up." 

 He picked up on your distress awhile ago and he just assumed it was because of the mission which is odd, knowing that you wouldn't be just distressed over a simple surveillance mission. Connor peers down at you and whispers your name. You swear you're on the verge of moaning upon hearing your name come out of his lips but this is neither the right time nor place to imagine what other things that mouth of his can do. 

 He plans to ask you what's wrong but stopped when he sees you look up at him. He has seen this before.

 Pupils dilated. Heartrate above normal. Heavy breathing. 

 Static rings to your ear followed by an affirmation that back-up has arrived. He notices how you force yourself to breathe a big volume of air, clearing your mind, stats normal. 

 You grin, "Let's go catch some bad guys, Connor."

----

Tagging (thank you for wanting to be tagged! :) ) @butterfly-bonez

A/N: Long overdue update, I know and I'm sorry. Just got real busy, but now had more time because of the quarantine situations here in my country. I hope you are all keeping safe and healthy! :) and thank you for reading as always.

P.S. Totally unrelated. But I've been binge watching all Marvel movies again and I remember how much I loved MCU and its characters. Makes me wanna write.

[edie-k]

The Art of Segue

Title: The Art of Segue

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Rating: PG (language and mild suggestive dialogue)

This is a sequel to a story I recently re-posted called “The Art of Christmas Tree Selection”. Originally written prior to the publishing of Half Blood Prince, this is slightly AU but not so much that it significantly bucks canon. It can be read separately but I really like the first one so, you know, read it.

Disclaimer: HP and it’s characters aren’t mine.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“What has you so happy?” asked Warren Granger as he entered the kitchen of their home.

“Oh, it’s Christmas time! What’s not to be happy about?” asked Judy, drying her hands on a kitchen towel and turning from the sink where she was finishing washing the dishes. “Everything is so beautifully decorated, everyone is in such good moods, our daughter is home for the holidays…”

“With her boyfriend,” Warren said, as he pulled a chair away from the table and sank into it.

“Whom we both love,” Judy reminded him, as she opened a cupboard door.  

There was a lot of truth in all of her statements. Warren was ecstatic to have his little girl at home. Since Hermione finished school three years ago and the violence that troubled the magical world had been over almost as long, they were able to see her more often. Still it was never enough. Having your child home for the holidays was the best present a parent could receive. And Warren enjoyed having Ron there as well. After four years of dating Hermione, Ron seemed comfortable among their family.

Warren wondered if he was too comfortable.

“It seems different this year, doesn’t it?” Warren asked.

Judy smiled and turned to her husband. “Do you need me to explain why it’s different?”

Warren sighed. “Definitely not.”

Judy laughed. “It’s the exact opposite of Ron’s first Christmas.”

Warren chuckled at this as well. When Hermione brought her boyfriend home over Christmas holiday during her seventh year, Ron avoided the two of them as much as possible and clung to Hermione as a buffer. Warren managed to drag the boy away for proper questioning by forcing him to come along to retrieve a Christmas tree. Ron looked as though he might have jumped out of the moving vehicle. However, when pressed, Ron gathered up the courage to tell him in plain terms what Hermione meant to him and Warren admired his bravery in an uncomfortable situation. Warren felt a bit guilty for cornering the poor kid (although it lessened when he remembered how pale Ron became when he mentioned keeping his hands off his daughter) because he could remember very vividly being questioned by Judy’s father. Ron would understand someday when he did the same thing to his own daughter’s boyfriend.

He and Hermione’s daughter.

Because Ron wanted to marry Hermione.

Oh yes, Ron made it clear three Christmases ago that he wanted to marry her someday. And for the past three years, Warren happily lived in the world of “someday”. But this year was different.

“You can’t avoid him forever!” Judy said with a smile.

“I’m not avoiding him!” Warren insisted.

Oh Lord, was he avoiding him. Or at least being alone with him. Ron and Hermione had arrived two days earlier. During the day, both Judy and he saw patients at the office and the only time they saw Ron and Hermione were in the evenings. Today marked what was supposed to be the beginning of he and Judy’s ten-day holiday, but Warren had offered to fix a patient’s broken crown even when a perfectly capable on-call doctor was available. After this, he went shopping for Judy’s Christmas present, which occupied most of the afternoon. He arrived home shortly before dinner to a knowing but disgruntled look from his wife and a scolding from his daughter.

“Where have you been?” Hermione screeched the instant he entered the living room.

Warren stepped back, startled at her outburst. Ron glanced up from the magazine he had been flipping through and gave Warren a sympathetic look. Warren realized that Hermione had been fuming about this all day.

“I was out Christmas shopping,” Warren said quickly.

“All day? You were only shopping for one person!”

“I-I treated a patient this morning,” Warren said. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was reminded that even though she was an adult, he was the parent and Hermione was his daughter. However, it was hard to validate this when Hermione was in the right.

“Don’t you have a perfectly good on-call doctor for that?” Hermione asked.

“Love, maybe you should just-” Ron started to say but Hermione gave him a withering look and he mumbled, “Never mind.”

“Yes,” Warren said. “But this particular patient is very squeamish about dental work and he preferred to have me as the attending dentist.”

“Well, I hope it was worth wasting a day that you could have spent with your only daughter,” Hermione huffed, sinking into her seat on the couch next to Ron and returned to her book. Ron looked up at Warren and threw him another sympathetic smile.  

And he still had not found a proper gift for his wife.

“Are you continuing not avoiding him tomorrow?” asked Judy.

“Well I-I haven’t quite finished my holiday shopping,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Can I suggest taking your daughter along? She may be helpful and I think she would enjoy the time with you,” Judy suggested.

“An excellent idea. I think I could use a female perspective,” Warren answered. “But wait. That means you’ll be here alone with Ron tomorrow.”

“I’m not the one that’s scared of him,” Judy answered, a large grin forming on her lips.

“Ha, ha,” he said dryly. He stood from the table slowly and stretched. “I suppose I will find Hermione and run the plan by her.”

“Now wait one second,” Judy said, putting a hand up to stop him. “Hermione isn’t the only one who wasn’t happy with your all day disappearing act. But I do have a way for you to make it up to me.”

“Do tell,” he smiled, noticing his wife had gathered various bowls and other baking tools on the kitchen counter.

“You can run to the store and pick up these ingredients so I can start my Christmas baking,” she answered, handing him a slip of paper.

“I think I can handle that,” he replied with a smile.

“Can I come with you, sir?” The sound of the unexpected voice caused Warren to jump in surprise. He turned to meet the eyes of his daughter’s boyfriend. Warren could feel Judy’s smirk penetrating the back of his head.

“I’m just running to the store,” Warren said weakly.

“I know,” Ron replied. “But I’ve been cooped up in the house with two women all day. No offense, Dr. Granger.”

“None taken Ron,” she said, now smiling broadly. It was horrifying how much pleasure the love of Warren’s life could take in his pain. “And I’ve told you- Dr. Granger is unnecessary. You’re an adult, you may call me Judy.”

“Sorry,” he replied, ears reddening slightly. “So, is it alright if I tag along?”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Judy replied. “Warren got so distracted while shopping this afternoon, it will do him good to have someone to keep him on task.”

Warren nodded numbly.

“I’ll just run upstairs and get my coat,” Ron replied, turning and leaving the room.

Warren turned to his wife, mouth open.

“He is scary. Look how he crept up on you like that!” Judy exclaimed, the mocking evident in her voice.

“What should I do?” he asked.

“Get your keys and your jacket,” Judy said. “And maybe your checkbook. I heard that the wizarding world is a bit old-fashioned so they may require a dowry.”

“JUDY!” he cried. How could she even joke about this?

“Relax,” she chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

He sincerely doubted it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The first time he and Ron were alone together, there were a few moments of awkward silence before Warren began his interrogation. In the times they were together since than, conversation flowed naturally with comfortable pauses. But Warren knew that this time, if he left a lull in the conversation, Ron was liable to make his move. So in the five minutes Warren had prior to meeting Ron at the car, he brainstormed for every topic unrelated to Hermione that he could think of to fire off questions about.

“Is it difficult to be spending Christmas away from your family?” Warren asked first. Ron was related to so many people that it was a topic that could keep him talking for awhile.

Ron snorted. “It’s fine. I see plenty of them the rest of the year and we’ll be spending New Year’s there. Besides, I know exactly what I’m missing.”

“And what’s that?” Be descriptive. I want all the details.

“Bill and Fleur will be arguing over baby names. Mum will be nagging Charlie and Cory about when they’ll have a baby, Fred and Angelina about wedding stuff, George about settling down, and Percy and Penny about the baby’s cough. Dad will try out some Muggle device he has no clue about. Mum will continue to not-so-subtly hint to Harry and Ginny that the love of their lives may be right under their noses and make way too much food.”

“It sounds like you know the routine,” Warren laughed.

“Oh, there’s variation. Sometimes Bill and Fleur argue over who the godparents will be,” Ron said with a grin.

That exchange ate up about 45 seconds of the car trip. Warren grasped for another topic.

“Harry is joining your family for Christmas?” Ron nodded. “How is Harry? We haven’t seen him around recently.”

“He’s fine. He likes being an Auror and I think he’s enjoying no longer having the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

“Ah, yes. And how does it feel to actually be out in the field?” Warren asked. Warren glanced toward Ron. Ron was a specialized law enforcement officer now. He must carry some sort of weaponry right? Did he have it on him right now? Warren knew that Ron didn’t have a firearm because two years ago, they viewed a program on television and Ron had not known what a pistol was. Perhaps he carried some sort of knife? Or did wizards just hold the perpetrators at wandpoint?  Wandpoint did not sound very intimidating but then again, Warren was not familiar with what exactly a wand could do. Wandpoint also did not sound like a real word, at least not in his dictionary. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later.

“The increase in wages is definitely something that I enjoy,” Ron said with a laugh. “It’s nice to be out there making a difference.” Warren glanced at Ron and noticed that he looked a bit hesitant.

“Is something wrong?” Warren asked and then mentally slapped himself. Yes, he could be nervous about asking his girlfriend’s father for his permission to marry her, Warren chided himself. But don’t worry; you were right there to prompt him along.

“No, no. Not really. I’ve just had a difficult choice to make and I think I made it but- I find myself second guessing.”

This could not be regarding Hermione. Even if he did not want Ron to propose, he knew that Ron was certain about Hermione. So what was he uncertain about? “Maybe I can offer some guidance?” Warren suggested.

“The afternoon before I started my vacation, my sister-in-law called me in her office.”

“I thought she taught Interrogation to trainees,” Warren said.

“She does but Cory is also the assistant interrogator in the Auror department,” Ron said.

“I don’t understand why she would call you in,” Warren said, confused.

“She called me in to tell me she received a promotion. She’s the head of interrogation for the Aurors, in addition to her training duties.”

Warren nodded. He could see where this was going but was baffled as to what the problem was.

“She told me that her and Shacklebolt, who heads the Aurors, were offering me the assistant interrogator’s position. And that’s a huge job. There’s room for all sorts of advancement and the pay is excellent.” Ron paused for a second and reddened slightly. “Told me it’s rare that someone with as little experience as me would be offered the position but I was one of the best at interrogation. I mean, they have all sorts of other people that are already in the interrogation department that would die for that job.”

“Then I fail to see the problem Ron,” Warren replied.

“At first, I was worried about not making a difference. Field work, catching the bad guys- that’s why I have wanted to be an Auror since I was fourteen. It’s why I went through all those years of training.”

“But interrogation is an important part of the justice process,” Warren argued.

Ron chuckled. “Believe me, Cory made sure to point that out many times. The fact is that even three years after the war-” Warren still cringed every time he heard that word and thought of Hermione’s involvement in it. “Death Eaters and war criminals are still being caught. With all the rebuilding and with how corrupt the prosecution department was prior to the war… without thorough Auror interrogation, people are going free,” Ron said and his eyes darkened slightly. “I can’t stand the idea of any of those bastards- er, I mean-”

“No, it’s okay,” replied Warren, thinking of the man who left Hermione unconscious in a hospital bed for two painstaking days. Bastard seemed to be the only appropriate term.

 “I just don’t want any of them to go without punishment,” Ron said. “What’s the point of field work if they aren’t going to prison?”

“There isn’t one,” Warren answered. “That’s why they want the best people possible.”

“I feel sort of guilty being promoted above all these other people already in the department but Cory says we have personality traits that make us naturals for this work. She calls it persistence but I’m not sure that’s what our family members would call it.”

Warren laughed. He himself was feeling a bit guilty for avoiding Ron this week. He did like the boy. He liked that Ron was soliciting him for advice and seemed genuinely interested in his opinion. It was almost a conversation between a father and a…

Bloody hell.

“There’s another reason why I’ve decided to take the job,” Ron said and suddenly, Warren was thrown back in time.

It was two summers ago and Warren was sitting outside with Judy during a gathering at the Burrow. Ron, Hermione, and Harry were sitting at the opposite end of the picnic table as Warren and Judy. Hermione was quizzing both boys on terms for their Interrogation exam and Ron seemed to be doing well. Harry on the other hand-

“What’s the best way to get all the details from a reluctant witness Harry?” Hermione read from the pieces of parchment in front of her.

“Take their word for it?” suggested Harry. “Bloody hell, I don’t know! What does this have to do with being an Auror? Why do I need to learn about questioning witnesses? I’m never going to be an interrogator!”

“Not with that attitude!” scolded Hermione. Ron smirked at his friend from across the table. Hermione sighed. “Ron, do you know?”

“Make the witness feel comfortable, talking about matters unrelated to the case. Be sure to obtain responses from them. Smoothly transition into your actual questions and do not let up until you have your answers. The lull and ambush,” Ron explained.

Harry scoffed “That will never work.”

Without even realizing it, Warren had been lulled. And here came the transition.

“First of all, it’s safer. There’s still plenty of risks, although I do have to be on emergency field call two nights a month. Criminals have been stripped of wands and weapons prior to interrogation, so they can still be dangerous but much less so.”

“Uh huh,” replied Warren. He wanted to stop Ron so badly but he felt compelled to listen and respond. Harry was wrong; the lull and ambush worked brilliantly.

“And I already mentioned the raise. And the hours are excellent. Except for those two nights on-call and the emergencies that are few and far between, it’s daytime hours. Hermione hated me working nights. She’ll be so happy. It couldn’t have come at a better time.” Ron stopped and took a breath. “Because I have something to ask her and something to ask you as well.”

In her sixth year, Hermione wrote her mother a letter that he wasn’t supposed to read. She informed Judy that she and Ron were dating and exuberantly listed all his virtues. Of course, she had left “master of segue” off of the list.

They approached a stoplight and Warren let his eyes close. This was it. He had three options. He could throw the car in park, get out, and run like mad. He could shove Ron out of the passenger’s side and slam on the gas pedal.

He really didn’t like option one. He loved this car. He had waited years to have this car. The thought of abandoning it broke his heart. And option two seemed even less viable. Ron was a bit taller and due to his Auror training, much fitter than him. He doubted that he would be able to push him out. That just left option three.

Accepting his fate. Warren kept his eyes closed as Ron began to speak.

“D-Dr. Granger, I-I love your daughter,” Ron started. Warren’s eyes flew open. Was he actually nervous? After that brilliant ploy to lull him into complacency? He stared at Ron for a moment until he heard a car horn sound angrily behind him. Warren pressed on the gas and drove under the green light, still processing this shocking revelation.

“And she makes me- she makes me the happiest man in the world,” Ron continued. He was stuttering!

“Hermione, she’s-she’s perfect. She’s everything that a person could possibly be. There’s no one that is even close to being worthy of her, no one that can give her everything she deserves. But out of everyone, I think I would try the hardest.“

Ron looked so serious, so earnest. Warren had no clue as to how he should reply but before he could open his mouth, Ron charged on.

“Sir, I want to marry your daughter and- and I’m asking your permission to do that,” Ron said. He paused and wrung his hands. “To ask her to marry me,” he clarified unnecessarily.

Warren took a deep, calming breath and turned to take a good look at Ron. He was extremely white; his freckles standing out against his pale cheeks and his hands were shaking ever so slightly. Realization hit Warren like a ton of bricks.

He held the power. All week, Warren was- all right, Judy, scared- of Ron and there was absolutely no reason to be. Ron held no power in this situation. Ron was forced to seek out his permission! He was practically begging! All Warren had to do was say no, send this boy on his way, and keep his daughter a little girl forever.

But even as the delicious thought formed in his mind, he knew that it was wrong.

Here was a boy- no, a man- that promised him long ago that he would defend Hermione and do anything for her. He was a man whom his daughter loved and whose name never failed to bring a smile to her face. After today’s conversation, it was obvious that his job would allow him to be able to take care of her (not that his daughter could not take care of herself but it was reassuring nonetheless). Ron even admitted that he could never be worthy of Hermione but still swore to give her everything that he possibly could.

Could he really say no to that?

Sure he could. But Hermione was going to marry him whether she had his blessing or not. And since Ron had properly and respectfully come to him, Warren may as well resign himself to maturity as well.

“Well, Ron, if you’re going to marry my daughter, you’ll need to drop this ‘sir’ and ‘Dr. Granger’ nonsense,” Warren said, forcing himself to be more jovial than he really felt. “But uh, let’s hold off on, Dad. Warren will be fine.”

Color flooded back into Ron’s cheeks and his tense face relaxed began to relax. “Really?” he said, his tone a bit incredulous. “You mean, you’ll let me marry Hermione?”

Warren laughed, more genuinely this time. “Yes, I will.”

“Wow,” he said quietly. “Wow. Now I just have to get her to say yes.”

“I doubt that will be much of a problem,” Warren replied. Ron still looked somewhat uneasy about how Hermione would really answer.

“When’s the big day?” Warren asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t even know if she’ll agree to marry me yet.”

“No,” Warren chuckled. “When are you proposing?”

“Oh, um, I have it sort of set up for New Year’s Eve. Do you want to be there? I mean, you and Judy? My whole family is going to be there and I know my mum would love to have both of you there,” Ron said nervously. “We’re all- I mean, we’re all sort of going to be family I hope.”

Warren glanced back at Ron for a second. As Hermione got older, she became more and more involved in the wizarding world and one of his fears concerning Hermione marrying Ron was that it would draw her completely away from their world. Maybe those fears were unfounded. Ron often joined them for holidays and the Weasleys regularly invited him and Judy to join them for family gatherings.

“I’ll have to check with Judy but I doubt we have anything more important happening,” Warren answered, as he steered the car into a parking space. He and Ron exited the car and head into the store.

“Oh, and would you not tell Hermione?” Ron asked.

Warren laughed as he fished Judy’s list out of his jacket pocket. “I’m not going to ruin your proposal!”

“No, about the job. I haven’t told her about it yet. I was waiting- well, I was just waiting to tell her. I thought I would surprise her after I was able to actually accept the job,” Ron said. His ears started to turn red. “I just- I just thought it would be better to tell her once we were back home.” His face had begun to catch up with his ears. “So it wouldn’t interfere with our Christmas.”

Warren looked at him curiously. Why would he be holding off on telling her? “I would think that it would make a nice Christmas present for-”  

Ron was staring straight ahead, face aflame as Warren put the pieces together. Ron wanted to wait until he could properly celebrate with his daughter, which couldn’t happen under her parents’ roof. Warren glanced down at the items on Judy’s list.

He may need to add a bottle of scotch.

The Grangers’ parent names are shout-outs, Judy to sproutgirl and Warren to lavenderbrown. Love both of those stories.

Also, I want to thank allybee for permitting me to use Ron’s line about trying the hardest from her story “Love, or Something Like It” on Checkmated. It’s my second favorite romantic line (I swear, one day, Ron will say “I remember everything.”) and I’ve been dying to use it. Blatant plagiarism is only cool with permission.

[alexannah]

MLB: Villain Interview: Hawkyura Crack!

This was meant to just be a short crack scene … it got a bit out of hand … I’m now planning to turn it into a full multi-chapter fanfiction. But for now, it’s this.

~*~

Nadja: Thank you very much for agreeing to do this interview.

Hawk Moth: Mayura thought it would be a good idea. I’m still not convinced.

Mayura: You really want Ladybug and Cat Noir getting all the media attention?

Hawk Moth: Hmph. Fine, let’s get this over with.

Nadja: Let’s start off with what everyone wants to know. Why exactly do you want Ladybug and Cat Noir’s Miraculouses?

Hawk Moth: I’m not telling you that!

Nadja: Why not?

Hawk Moth: Firstly, it’s none of your business. Secondly, I’m never telling anyone that ever again. I don’t need the competition, thank you very much.

Nadja: How intriguing. You told someone before? Who? What happened?

Hawk Moth: What? I—Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.

Mayura: He told Robostus what the Miraculouses were for, and he decided he wanted them for himself. When Hawk Moth threatened to take away his powers—

Hawk Moth: Mayura! We don’t have to tell that story!

Nadja: Please go on.

Mayura: … Robostus set off Hawk Moth’s self-defence system and almost killed him.

Hawk Moth: Thanks a lot, Mayura. What did you do that for?

Mayura: To show how much you need me to vet your ideas.

Hawk Moth: It was one miscalculation!

Nadja: *hiding a smirk*

Mayura: Anyway, I have to agree with Hawk Moth, Nadja. We’re not answering that question.

Nadja: Fair enough. Next question, then …

Nadja: If you could be any one of the superheroes, which would it be?

Hawk Moth: I take offence at that question!

Hawk Moth: I would not want to be any of the heroes, because I will eventually defeat them.

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: … But if I have to answer …

Hawk Moth: Ladybug.

Hawk Moth: She’s clearly the brains of the operation.

Nadja: And you, Mayura?

Mayura: Hmm … I think I would prefer to be Ladybug. But I have to admit, I do rather like Cat Noir’s sense of humour.

Hawk Moth: *gives her an incredulous stare*

Mayura: Don’t look at me like that.

Nadja: For example?

Mayura: Well, the last time he texted me—

Hawk Moth: Texted??? WAIT. YOU’RE IN CONTACT WITH CAT NOIR???

Mayura: He sends me memes that make fun of you.

Mayura: I think his intention is to break up our partnership by undermining your authority.

Mayura: It doesn’t work, of course.

Hawk Moth: *smugly* Of course not.

Mayura: First of all, because I’m the ‘brains of the operation’, aren’t I?

Hawk Moth: *mutters* Yes, dear.

Nadja: *smirking openly now*

Mayura: Secondly, because I’m the one who had to untangle him from Rapunzel’s hair after a fairy tale themed villain catastrophe, make an amphibious bloodhound sentimonster when he accidentally dropped his Miraculous down the drain, and give him the Heimlich manoeuvre when he swallowed an akuma while practising his villain laugh.

Hawk Moth: *scarlet in the face*

Nadja: *trying very hard not to laugh*

Mayura: And I’m still here.

Nadja: Why are you still here?

Hawk Moth: *with pride* Her loyalty to me knows no bounds.

Mayura: Because without me he’d have lost ten times over by now.

Hawk Moth: Did you insist on doing this interview just to help Cat Noir undermine me?

Mayura: *quickly* Anyway, you can’t deny you respect Cat Noir’s sense of humour as well.

Hawk Moth: How dare you! I don’t respect anything about any of them!

Mayura: Don’t lie to me; I’ve heard you repeating his puns to yourself and laughing.

Nadja: *giggles*

Hawk Moth: I … wasn’t laughing at them! I was …

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: … mocking him for his stupid juvenile sense of humour!

Mayura: That would make your own sense of humour stupid and juvenile, wouldn’t it?

Hawk Moth: Shut up.

Hawk Moth: Next question?

Nadja: It’s obvious the two of you are very close.

Hawk Moth: What makes you say that?

Nadja: Well, for one thing, Mayura is practically sitting on your lap with your arms around her waist.

Mayura: He’s just protective.

Nadja: How long have you been together?

Mayura: We couldn’t possibly say. Secret identities and all.

Hawk Moth: But we’ve been working together long enough to make a formidable partnership.

Nadja: I meant personally, Hawk Moth.

Hawk Moth: Sorry? … Wait, you mean—We’re not a couple!

Nadja: You called Mayura ‘dear’ earlier.

Hawk Moth: That doesn’t mean anything! It’s just a term of endearment for a friend!

Mayura: He calls me ‘my dear Mayura’ sometimes, too.

Hawk Moth: Not helping, Mayura!

Nadja: Also you two bicker like an old married couple.

Hawk Moth and Mayura: …

Nadja: And I have to say, for two supervillains, you’re quite endearing.

Mayura: … Er … thank you?

Hawk Moth: Don’t thank her! She’s wrong!

Nadja: There’s no need to get defensive, Hawk Moth.

Hawk Moth: *jumps to his feet*

Hawk Moth: I AM NOT DEFENSIVE!

Nadja: Why are you denying so much that the two of you are in love?

Hawk Moth: *splutters incoherently*

Hawk Moth: Because we’re not!

Nadja: You so are.

Hawk Moth: I’M MARRIED, OKAY?

Nadja: Oh, congratulations! When did you and Mayura tie the knot?

Hawk Moth: NOT TO HER!

Nadja: Oh. I see. How very awkward. My commiserations to Mrs Hawk Moth if she’s watching.

Hawk Moth: *facepalms*

Mayura: *clears throat* Was there something else that gave you the impression we were a couple, Nadja?

Hawk Moth: Don’t encourage her!

Nadja: So glad you asked, Mayura! Run the slideshow, please.

Hawk Moth: *muttering* I liked her much better as Prime Queen.

*screen shows photo of Hawk Moth holding Mayura in his arms*

Hawk Moth: That’s completely out of context!

*screen shows photo of Hawk Moth holding Mayura in his arms again*

Hawk Moth: So is that!

*screen shows photo of Hawk Moth carrying Mayura bridal style as he races across the rooftops of Paris*

Hawk Moth: That doesn’t mean anything! We’re not in love!

Nadja: Are you quite sure about that, Hawk Moth?

*screen shows photo of Hawk Moth momentarily distracted gazing rapturously at Mayura as she fights Ladybug*

Hawk Moth: …

*screen shows Hawk Moth kissing a battle-worn Mayura tenderly on the forehead*

Hawk Moth: …

*screen starts playing footage*

On Screen Hawk Moth: At last, the Miraculouses are mine!

On Screen Hawk Moth: *literally has Ladybug and Cat Noir right where he wants them*

On Screen Mayura: *stumbles slightly*

On Screen Hawk Moth: *immediately abandons his chance to get the Miraculouses and runs to her side*

On Screen Mayura: What did you do that for? You were so close!

On Screen Hawk Moth: I thought you were falling over!

Studio Audience: Ahhhhh!

Hawk Moth: …

Mayura: *gently takes Hawk Moth’s hand*

Mayura: Why did you choose me, Hawk Moth? That wasn’t the only time.

Hawk Moth: *stares at her as if he has never seen her before*

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: *realisation finally dawns*

Hawk Moth: …

Hawk Moth: … Because you’re more important to me than winning.

Hawk Moth: More important than all the power in the world.

Hawk Moth: More important to me than …

Hawk Moth: … what I wanted to do with it.

Mayura: …

Everyone Else in the Studio: *apprehensive silence*

All the Millions of Viewers: *apprehensive silence*

Hawk Moth: *gently tugs on Mayura’s hand*

Mayura: *stands up*

Hawk Moth: *slowly draws her close to him*

Hawk Moth and Mayura: *kiss*

Nadja: *wiping her eyes* And there you have it, viewers. A love story of fairy tales.

Nadja: … Sort of.

Hawk Moth and Mayura: *keep kissing*

~*~

*OFF AIR*

Mayura: *approaches a smirking Cat Noir*

Mayura: Thanks for setting this up.

Cat Noir: You’re welcome, Meow-ra. Seeing Hawk Moth getting embarrassed live on television was enough reason on its own.

Cat Noir: By the way, does he really laugh at my puns?

Mayura: Yes.

Mayura: And his own are worse. But don’t tell him I told you that.

Cat Noir: *grins* My lips are sealed.

Cat Noir: Though …

Cat Noir: … I’m not sure I understand how making him realise he’s in love with you was the key to stopping him from akumatizing people …?

Mayura: He wanted to use the wish to resurrect his wife.

Cat Noir: OH.

Cat Noir: Now I get it. Except …

Cat Noir: Why were you helping him? If you love him …

Mayura: I wanted him to be happy.

Mayura: And until you directed me to that Hawkyura tag on the Ladyblog …

Mayura: I didn’t believe I could do that for him.

Cat Noir: Yeah, his expressions when he looks at you are pretty telling.

Cat Noir: And kinda priceless.

Mayura: The one where he’s kissing my forehead is now my phone wallpaper.

Cat Noir: Are you going to tell him that this was all your plan and that you conspired with me and Nadja to pull it off?

Mayura: …

Mayura: Maybe after the honeymoon.

~*~

*THE NEXT DAY*

Adrien: Nathalie, my phone’s run out of battery. Can I borrow yours?

Nathalie: Of course.

Adrien: …

Adrien: …

Adrien: …

Adrien: Nathalie, why do you have this picture from the Ladyblog as your wallpaper?

Nathalie: Er …

Nathalie: …

Adrien: Are you …

Nathalie: *tenses in anticipation*

Adrien: … a secret Hawkyura shipper?

Nathalie: *relieved sigh*

Nathalie: …

Nathalie: … Yes.

Adrien: Oh.

Nathalie: On a completely unrelated note, Adrien, your father and I have something to tell you …

~*~

Anyone fancy doing some fanart for this? Please do! My own drawing skills aren’t good enough and I don’t have the patience to wait until they are ...

When I post the full fic, I’ll tag it “hawkyura interview” as well so people can find it, since I haven’t decided on a title yet. (I have an idea but might use it for a chapter title instead.)

The bit about Hawk Moth choking on one of his akumas is based on a piece of fanart I saw but now can’t find. Can someone help?

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 14

I’m late again! Sorry guys!

This is about a year and a half into their relationship, they’re steadily getting more comfortable around each other and leaning better what the other is thinking!

Tags: @sunshinepascal @rentskenobi @princessxkenobi @maybege @obaby-wan @agent-450

Masterlist

She’s halfway through her practice, Roman knows her routine well enough to know that. He’ll admit the first time he’d stumbled upon her dancing (not fighting, dancing) in the studio he’d been surprised. Not shocked, it was only natural that someone of her grace, stamina, and natural rhythm found joy in the arts, but still surprised, he hadn’t thought she would enjoy it. Its become a habit for her now, she’s in the studio nearly every day and dancing every other day. At first he was careful to give her space (he’s pretty sure the fact that they’re dating wouldn’t have made him any less of a creep if he stared at her while she was working out), but now they’ve come to the agreement that if he announces himself he’s more than welcome to observe. His ‘announcements’ usually don’t consist of much more than a wave through the door or a tap on the glass, he rarely comes in, but she appreciates it all the same (the time he didn’t say anything she had nearly smacked her own self in the face with a staff when she noticed him and he almost walked into Butcher’s back the first time he saw her fight for the same reason). At any rate, she’s enjoying herself, likely having forgotten his presence by now due to loosing herself in the music.

Roman’s eyes flit to her hands as she finishes the exercises on the opposite side, one firmly grasping the bar while the other glides through the space to her side. She finishes with a small knee bend before stepping away from the bar. His eyes remain on her hands but they haven’t stopped moving, long slender fingers twirl and curve, hands and wrists becoming involved before long. The overall movement is not all that different from that which is needed to play a piano, Roman muses to himself. He purses his lips in thought before nodding to himself and opening the door into the studio. She’s turned in the meantime and throws a smile at him as she reaches for her water bottle, soft piano notes are indeed lilting through the room and Roman smiles back, letting her drink before finally asking. “Did you used to play?”

She frows as she lowers the bottle, licking her lips before she sees his upward gesture towards the speaker and her face clears in understanding. “I did a long time ago, but it’s been such a long time since I had one to play on. I had a keyboard when I was in college, but it just isn’t the same.”

She finishes with a mournful look to the floor before shaking her shoulders and looking back to Roman, “You sticking around? I was thinking of getting out my swords today.”

Her eyes sparkle at the thought and Roman smiles, the duel swords are one of her favorites but she knows he likes them too. She’s always a flurry of movement with them, grace and beauty crashing into deadliness and lethality with all the intensity of two colliding stars and forging the unrelenting fury that she presents in her drills. Regardless of her weapon choice her style always favors agility, a dance of attack and retreat, feigns of improvised defenses that are, in truth, engagingly veiled attacks. He could stand in awe for hours but alas, his ringing phone (that he could swear he had silenced) begins to cause the vision to fade all too soon. Upon retrieving it he sighs, “I have to take this darling” she nods, moving to the stereo to pause the music and aid his focus. His eyes follow her as he answers.

“This is Roman.” She watches him nod along for a few moments before he moves the phone to press against his chest. “Love, I’ll have to follow this through, dinner? Tonight? I can order in, text me what you want?”

She nods her assent to each question as it comes before laughing at his persistence, walking over to him to place her hands against his chest. “I’ll let you know my King” She finishes with a soft smile, glancing down at the phone before finding his eyes again. He takes a deep breath,

“You know what it does to me when you say that.” She just smiles, leaning in closer to press her lips to his, she starts gentle but his hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, tilting his own to get a better angle at running his tongue along her lower lip, her hands are moving and he’s thrilled that he’s won her over-- until they end up in his armpits and she starts tickling him. He jolts away with a bark of laughter that sounds something like ‘stop’ before her laughing drowns it out. She’s bent over and clutching at her own sides, gasping out a ‘don’t forget your phone call’ before straightening again. She catches sight of the pout he knows he’s doing and tilts her head back to chuckle again. He loves her laugh, always has, even if it is at his expense at this moment. All the same he fixes her with a raised eyebrow and a disapproving set of his mouth.

“Keep on like that and I’ll order Chinese instead of tacos.”

She gasps theatrically, placing a hand over her heart “You wouldn’t” she says, voice full of disbelief and horror.

He smiles devilishly “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Its all he gives her before strutting from the room, knowing she’ll still be watching. She is, and she smiles fondly at the way his entire posture re-arranges itself when he picks the phone back up, watching him until the wall blocks him from view before returning to the stereo and beginning her practice again.

*Later that evening*

She had requested Italian later in the day, and Roman had teased her a little more (‘just who do you think you are anyway? Tickling the King like that? Her response had been that she was his lover and well, how exactly was he supposed to tell her no after that anyway?) but in the end he had caved and they were both enjoying variations of pasta (he’d guessed her preference of Alfredo before she texted it and he’s quite proud of that). They’re seated at the dining table, she insisted he sit at the head of it despite the fact there’s only two of them, and he insisted she sit beside him. She’d pouted at not being the ‘right hand woman’ before he’d informed her he could ‘conquer the world with his right hand, as long as she held his left’. She didn’t mind as much after that. He waits until they’ve both finished and are picking at dessert before he decides to spring his latest idea.

“Maybe that’s what it needs” he says vaguely, staring into space as if he’d been daydreaming. Erica blinks at him, eyes flitting in the direction he’s looking (which is into the living room) before coming back to his face and pausing another beat waiting for the explanation. When she doesn’t get one she decides to take the bait. “What, what needs?”

Roman shakes himself before gesturing around in reference to the apartment “A piano, it seems empty in here.” He turns his gaze to her and finds about what he expects. Confusion, surprise, puzzlement, and then denial.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

He waves her off. “No, no, I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, I think it’ll add ambiance to my meetings. If people say things I don’t like I’ll just” He brings his hands down on the table as if he were keyboard smashing “Play music.” He pauses, she’s narrowing her eyes slightly, attempting to gauge how much of this is in jest and how much is in seriousness and he gives her a few seconds of agony before continuing in a more deliberate tone.

“Or, you could play music. I’ll lay across the back with roses in my mouth” He leans back in the chair throwing an arm over his head in an effort to elongate himself “It’ll all be very dramatic”. He fights a chuckle all through the sentence but by the end gives up and huffs out a laugh. She laughs along after a moment, smiling down at her nearly empty plate, even so, Roman can’t help but notice it isn’t entirely whole-hearted.

“I am serious” he adds after a moment, “I wouldn’t mind it at all, it would be nice to, break up the silence.” He pauses then, suddenly becoming aware of the implications she must be assuming he is inferring. To have not only the studio, but also a piano, two things she enjoys tied directly to him (and basically his house by default) probably sounds like a precursor to a moving in conversation. He rushes to clear the air.

“Unless you’d rather it was downstairs in the lounge, I could always arrange that, more meetings happen there anyway and ---”

She cuts in by placing a hand over his and weighing it down until it rests on the table again. “I, I think I’d rather get familiar with it in a quieter setting.” She says seeming to look into his soul instead of just his eyes, “As long as it wouldn’t bother you?” She asks the question timidly and he’s certain he’d like to deck whoever it is that told her she was a bother. Instead, he stacks his other hand on top of hers and smiles.

“I’d love to hear anything that you played.” He’s smiling softly as he says it but decides to crack one last joke before giving into the soft atmosphere fully. “Unless its at four in the morning. I know you like getting the early bird but I can’t live like that.” He turns his head away from her as he speaks, intent on feigning indifference but her huff of laughter causes him to turn back to her as soon as he’s finished. Her other hand is coming up to hold his chin, bringing his face closer to hers before he rests it in her open palm.

“You’re wonderful, Roman Clay Stanton. Absolutely wonderful.” She says it with admiration pouring from her tone, dimples forming as she smiles softly. “I wish every man in the world was like you.”

He’s flattered by the compliment really but, he can’t hide the way his chest clenches at her wish. Every man? He knows she doesn’t mean ill, and he’s never been the jealous type but somehow the thought of her loving anyone else the way she does him, it makes him feel sick. Her voice is interrupting his thoughts—

“No, I take it back, I don’t wish that at all” she says with stubborn conviction, tilting her head to catch his eyes from where they’d fallen to the table, “because if it were the case I’d have never found you. My beautiful, kind, caring lover.” She breathes out the last word, just above a whisper, turning her hand to drag the backs of her fingers across his cheek. He turns into it, bringing his own hand up to keep her there when she moves to drop her hand away.

“Why are you whispering?” He brings his eyes to hers as he questions in an equally hushed tone. He hopes she can see the love he’s pushing through his eyes toward her.

“Why are you whispering?” She returns, leaning in conspiratorially, tilting her head and glancing down at his lips before looking back up to his eyes.

His own recon of her face finds she’s biting her lower lip and he returns his eyes to her again before admonishing her “If you wanted me to kiss you Erica, all you had to do was ask.”

He sees the incredibly minute shiver run through her as he says her name and he wants to say it a thousand times more if that’s the reaction he gets.

“What day were you thinking for delivery?” She changes the subject with ease, and he smiles that she knows him well enough to know he’s done everything but give the word in preparation.

“They can do Thursday afternoon at the earliest, Friday morning if I’m busy.”

She nods, running her tongue along her lips, “That’s three days.”

Roman hums his assent.

“Well then Mr. Stanton, I think you’re owed three kisses.”

He doesn’t count necessarily, but he knows he gets more than three before he’s closing the car door to allow Butch to take her home.

*************************

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Mississippi Delta Magic

Here’s another filled request, and it’s about our traveling music man with a heart of gold, soul of fire, and fingers of a true virtuoso-- none other than Ryan Brenner. And what a life he has to write about! This was requested by the lovely @witchygagirl​ as follows: 

This one is actually unrelated to A Familiar Face or my other related one-shots, so it’s a stand-alone piece! Thank you for reading, as always, and enjoy!

Image prompt 11: Ryan Brenner x reader

Rating: PG for fluff and more fluff, with a side of fluff. 

Word count: 1879

Tag list: @obscurilicious​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @something-tofightfor​ @logan-deloss​ @lexxierave​ @madamrogers​ @yannii04​ @gollyderek​ @carlaangel86​ @bicevans​ @maydayfigment​ @thisisparadisemylove​ @malionnes​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @delos-destinations​ @luminex3​ @tenhargreeves​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​ @fific7

As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask or DM.

Special thanks to @something-tofightfor​ for beta reading!

“I went to the depot, looked up at the stars. Cried, some train don’t come, there’ll be some walkin’ done.”

When Ryan strummed his guitar, it was magic. The music floated through the air in D and A minor, an arpeggio of time that was broken down and descended. If you closed your eyes, you were sitting outside in Mississippi on a balmy summer night, dewy grass dampening your skirt as you watched fireflies blink out of time while you drank homemade moonshine. It was 1931 and Prohibition was in full swing, but your daddy didn’t care and neither did his backwoods friends. 

Ryan’s smooth-as-silk voice and long fingers dancing and picking guitar strings was your backdrop, and you’d always find your eyes fluttering shut during that one particular song, fully invested in your daydream. A small smile would tug at the corners of your lips, and Ryan knew why. You’d told him about your little fantasy late one night after too much Bayou Teche. You’d gotten it shipped to chill inside the refrigerator until Ryan arrived, and by the time he was gone, each of you had halved the beer until all you had left was empty,  brown glass bottles. 

The Geeshie Wiley tune was one of Ryan’s standards when he was off busking between hopping freight trains to his next destination. He played covers mostly, and most people seemed to recognize Last Kind Words, even with a male voice singing the lyrics.  You’d heard him play it dozens of times, whether out on the street surrounded by a small audience or the comfort of your front porch steps. No matter how many times, you were always transported back in time. 

It had been a humid, cloudy night in May, spring melting into summer as you sat next to Ryan on your old wooden porch swing, hung by rusted wooden chains. Your eyes were heavy; you were drowsy and instead of Ryan’s guitar in his lap, it was a small black book and a old, chewed up PaperMate pen— no frills, clear plastic showing an ink cartridge that was two-thirds used up, cap off and stuck on the pen’s end. 

Your eyes had drifted shut, your head resting on Ryan’s right shoulder. Almost asleep, you felt Ryan’s weight shift and the swing beneath you sway out of time. Eyelids popping open, you lifted your head as Ryan sat back upright, a scrap of sheet music pinned between his thumb and long, tattooed index finger. You saw that the paper was singed at the edges and just a partial page— less than half, the ink beginning to fade. Always learning about Ryan, you smiled softly as he tucked it back between two blank pages of his book. 

“I didn’t know you could read sheet music,” you spoke, Ryan’s head turning to look at you. 

“A little… sorry I woke you up, Y/N.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as he looked at you with those eyes a few shades darker than chestnut. Reaching up, he softly brushed wayward hair behind your ear. 

Drowsy eyes meeting his own, you shook your head. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep… what’s the song?”

Ryan closed his book, capped his pen, and the swing tilted as he set his notebook on the stained wooden planks of the porch. When he was upright again, he shifted in order to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you closer. You breathed in deeply, always trying to memorize his scent-- the organic smell of the outdoors, tinged with soap from his shower. He kissed the crown of your head before answering.

“ ‘S one that you know,” he spoke softly, in a low voice. The music of night-- the chirping of crickets, croaking of frogs, screeching of owls and rustles of leaves under the tiny feet of rodents all went unnoticed when he spoke. It was no matter that his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’d be bold enough to say it’s even a favorite… might be a favorite of mine if I was forced to pick.” 

You thought for a moment, a small furrow settling in your brow. “That’s pretty general, Brenner. You sing Happy Birthday, and it would be my favorite.” 

Ryan only responded with a chuckle; he was really playing this game. With a slight squeeze of your shoulder, he finally spoke, but only to set one ground rule: “Only yes or no questions, Y/N.”

The smile he’d put on your face grew into a grin; there was an infinite list of things you loved about Ryan Brenner, and his moments of playfulness were high up there. They accompanied your love for his introspective nature, the fearless lifestyle he lived with a streak of adventure, how his overgrown hair tended to fall over his forehead in the same spot, how his voice transported you to another time… another time.

“Last Kind Words,” you guessed, putting just enough distance between the two of you to look up at his face and gauge a reaction. Ryan’s lips quirked, and his brow raised slightly in appreciation. 

“I didn’t know you read sheet music,” he joked lightly, punctuating the recycling of your words with a wink. 

It was the littlest of things that still uncaged the butterflies in your stomach, the familiar fluttering of their painted wings flickering in your abdomen. All it took was an unconscious hum, or a quick meeting of your eyes with his… a wink to make you feel like you could fly.

“Do I win a performance?” Catching his eyes with yours, you knew he would see the ‘I love you’ there without words. Ryan was in tune with everything he was presented, attentive and never distracted. You paused, the look in your eyes changing from one of pride and internal laughter to a slight curiousness. 

“You know the song,” you thought aloud, obviously introspective, “What’s a little scrap of its sheet music for? Burned at the ends, at that.”

Ryan hummed, and for one beat of time, you saw a faraway nostalgia in his eyes. “Somthin’ I’ve been carryin’ with me since I left Virginia.” Ryan never referred to home as anything other than Virginia. “Used to be a full sheet, too.” 

You knew that there was a significance; a story. How much Ryan would reveal was the only mystery, and something you’d grown to appreciate. He expressed closeness and intimacy in his own, unique ways that you had learned to understand. And Ryan continued. 

“When I was… let’s say, younger than ten, my grampa found me hidin’ in the garage strummin’ on his guitar. I was already figurin’ I was  gettin’ the belt, but he just came an’ he sat down. ‘You don’t learn chords, boy, you don’t bother touchin’ it, ya hear?’ Later that night, he gave me this sheet, just part of the song, didn’t say nothin’.” He’d averted his eyes, found a thread in his jeans to pick at. “An’ when I was older, I started learnin’ chords.” 

The nightsong began to get louder, you thought, as Ryan finished his story. Male crickets were getting more desperate for mates; so were the frogs; nocturnal predators were getting anxious for their prey. 

“I’d hopped a train, got past the point of anyone findin’ me and it was the dead of winter. I was makin’ a fire, or tryin’, but the wind was howlin’, I was throwin’ things in the tin I was usin’ to keep that fire goin’ an’ I grabbed that along with a bunch’a stuff that didn’t matter. That’s the rest of the story.”

Finally, Ryan abandoned that loose thread from his denim jeans. Head still ducked, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. You offered him a shadow of a smile, searching his warm brown eyes. 

Then, you took his hand, and with both of yours, turned it around. You surveyed his palm calloused from hopping trains, fingertips rough from guitar strings. You traced the lines of his palm— first the head line, located in the center, then his life line, and finally his heart line. Glancing up at him, your eyes landed on his lips, the small and almost undetectable smile of wonder crooking the corners of his mouth upward. His smile was contagious. 

Turning his palm over to look at the back of his hand, you redirected your attention to his long fingers— tattooed horizontal lines just below his top knuckles, vertical ones inked between the bottom two. You brushed the pad of your thumb over  the length of his index finger before lifting his hand to your lips and gently peppering tiny kisses over each of his fingertips.

In response, he gently took his hand back to use his index finger in lifting your chin. Everything I’ll ever need, he thought to himself in absolute certainty. She’s everything. Ryan drank in the color of your eyes, the slight slope of your nose, the shape and curve of your mouth. His eyes lingered there for a moment, and he used his finger to lift your chin higher. 

Without hesitation, his mouth was on yours, passion and tenderness combined in the way your lips met. Ryan coaxed your mouth open with his tongue and a small, satisfied noise tumbled from your mouth into his, your heart rate skyrocketing. When he pulled back to catch his breath, he kissed the tip of your nose and then your temple, feeling the slight, rhythmic beating of your heart against his lips. 

“We should go inside,” he suggested with a slight nod to the door. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he gave your shoulders one last squeeze before sliding his arm from around your shoulders. “I have a craving, Y/N.” Your eyes widened in anticipation as Ryan paused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “For a root beer float.”

Laughter spilled from your mouth, Ryan following suit with chuckling of his own. “Ryan Brenner.” You attempted saying his name in a firm tone, but failed. “You’ll get that root beer float, but not without payment first. You owe me a song for being such a damn good guesser, if I remember correctly.” It was your turn to smirk back at him, raising your eyebrows in faux haughtiness. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied readily, nodding as he did so. “Guitar’s inside.” 

You stood from the swing and held out your hand. Ryan stood too, black notebook holding a memory in one hand,  and in sliding his fingers between yours, love held in the other. The two of you made the few steps to the door as you sang lines of the song he’d be trading for ice cream. 

“The Mississippi River, you know it’s deep and wide. I can stand right here, see my babe from the other side.” 

Your voice didn’t transport you to the riverbank in the way his did, but you knew Ryan would guide you in your journey through space and time just as soon as he held his guitar in his lap and slid on his fingerpick. As always, you were ready, imagining the flickering of fireflies reflecting off the river, anticipating the antiseptic taste of unlawful moonshine, and waiting for the magic to begin.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 66

I am happy to report that this chapter has been beta’d, by @satan-parisienne.  They didn’t tell me about any content I should tag, but if I missed something, please let me know.

Happy Thanksgiving Week to all my U.S. readers! Because of the holiday, I’ll have family in town, so there will not be an update next week on the 3rd.  Regular updates should resume on Dec. 10th, so keep your eyes peeled.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was how tired I was. “How does that work,” I groaned as rubbed my throbbing head. “I was asleep for hours.  Why am I exhausted?”

“You were lucid when you were supposed to be resting,” Grey answered as they came over to check my vitals and unhook the equipment from my little trip.

Tyche gave a grudging nod as she held a straw to my mouth.  I drank gratefully, and grimaced. Whatever I was drinking tasted like electrolyte drink and medication.  “Did you catch everything?”

Grey, my sister, and Antoine glanced at each other. Before they could say anything, a buzzing voice cut in. “There are gaps in the recording on your end, which were not unexpected.  The implants are not designed to broadcast outside of your auditory processing center, and I can only perceive vague intentions.”

On my opposite side, I heard the sound of chairs clattering across the floor and my berth sank as two rather heavy people used it to push themselves to their feet.  A string of curses in Japanese filled the air just before a thick, Irish accent boomed out. “She just let you drug her for ten hours so she could question a talking germ. While she is being constantly having her blood filtered to replace her hemoglobin so the same thing you want her to have a chat with doesn’t kill her.  She is sick, she is dehydrated, she is exhausted.  Your questions need to wait. She needs to sleep first.”

I held up a hand on that side without so much as glancing over, trusting that Conor would lean down so I could reach his face.  When I felt a beard press against my palm, I stroked his cheek with my thumb.  “Baby, they’re right.  It’s fresh right now.  People only tend to remember information for forty-eight hours without repetition.  So, it can’t wait, unfortunately.”  I finally turned my head and looked up.

Conor had not only pressed his cheek to my hand, he craned his head down so I could see his face easily. Tears filled his eyes, threatening to spill over. “Sophie.  I know I’ve been an ass, but this is the second time you have been close to dying in less than so many years.  And there is nothing I can do to protect you on this one…”

I tugged him down so I could hug him. “You’re sick, too.  We all are.  But answering questions isn’t going to threaten my life. I promise I will sleep after this.” I leaned as far as I could around him so I could see the scowling face of Maverick behind him. “You hear that?  Sleep. Lots of sleep. After I fill in the gaps, I’ll sleep.”

Maverick turned one baleful, dark eye toward me. He considered me solemnly before nodding “I’ll accept that deal.” He stepped forward, coming to stand next to Conor. “Sophia, we just want to make sure you take care of yourself.”

I nodded. “I know. But sometimes, it comes down to taking care of myself, or letting myself suffer just a bit so that I can take care of everyone else.” Smiling ruefully, I reached for Maverick’s hand. “But that is a huge part of me. It isn’t going to stop. You both need to know that. If you want to talk about it, we can do it after I fill in these gaps and get some sleep.” Once they nodded in confirmation, I turned back to the medical team plus Tyche. “Let’s do this. What do I need to fill in? Point me at your gaps.”

Noah waved with one vomu. “Most importantly, where did Else come from?”

My stomach sank. “Right to the tough stuff.” I swallowed thickly and resisted the urge to look at anyone except Noah. “They said that we, humans, accidentally made them. Here. On the Ark.”

Every voice in the room rose, all at once. I rolled my eyes and covered my ears, noticing that Tyche had done the same. Sure enough, a high-pitched whine filled the room. Judging by the sight of Grey and Antoine hitting their knees and the vibrations coming from the other side of my berth, Noah had employed their own special brand of crowd control. Once the whine stopped, I lowered my hands and Noah gestured that I should continue.

Clearing my throat, I obliged. “Else is… childlike, almost. They don’t mean to hurt anyone. They know us. They… like….us. Like, a lot. They were so, so sorry about what happened to Nixe.”

“You said we made them,” Grey exhaled, trying to get everything back on track.

“By accident. Yes.”

“Did they know how it happened?”

Now I knew why Else had gotten so short with me. “I only know how I was conceived because I was told by someone who was there, Grey. Why do we expect Else to know any differently?”

They nodded, somewhat curtly, to indicate their concession to that point. “If we can determine out how it was created, we can extrapolate how to combat it.”

“That makes sen – wait. What do you mean, ‘combat’ it?”

“Else is a bacterium, specifically one that has infected the humans on the ship and can kill us if left unchecked. By definition, it is a plague.”

Tyche’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she whirled around to face the head researcher. “You mean antibiotics.  As in, killing it.”

“Of course.” The tone was confused, as though this was the obvious solution.  Being that they were the closest we had to a head of medicine, I suppose the solution did seem obvious.  Except one critical piece of information…

Quickly, I flicked open my datapad. “Sophia Reid to Xiomara Kalloe. Xio, are you able to come down to my medbay?  I need you, right now.”

“Ten minutes out. Do you need me to send Miys ahead of me?”

“Noah is already here, and there is no immediate threat.” Not to me, anyway. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”  Dismissing the screen, I looked back up at my friend and fellow Councilor already in the room. “Grey, it’s not that simple. Else is sentient.  I’m pretty sure.  Which means Galactic Law may apply, hence why I asked Xiomara to come.”

They blinked slowly. “The trials.”

“Yep,” I nodded.  “She’s been digging into Galactic Law ever since then, to make sure we don’t get caught flat-footed again. If Else is sentient, we have to treat them as people under the law.”

“Couldn’t Noah have told you that?” Maverick chimed in, bewildered.

I shook my head. “Unfortunately not.  ‘A similar species, regardless of what point of evolution, cannot make the decision if another species may be sentient.’ It’s to prevent sympathy from overriding logic.”

“Else is a bacterium,” Grey argued.

“With a hive mind.” I gave a pointed look at Noah. “Which means, if they are sentient, they could evolve into something like the Hujylsogox, given time.”

Noah made a gesture of confirmation, sweeping one vomu across its body.  That seemed to settle the matter of Xiomara’s involvement, and we all patiently waited for her to arrive.

Finally, she breezed in the door as though her skin wasn’t ashen from illness. Defiantly of any perceived lack of health, she crossed her arms and braced her feet as she looked at us.  “So, what’s the emergency? I could be lounging around with all I can drink Gatorade right now.”

Before Grey or I could say anything, Antione held up a hand to stave us off.  “Sophia just woke up from her conversation with Else, and we need to know if you are versed in the Galactic Law regarding determination of sentience in a new species.”

Comically, Xiomara slumped slightly, hands dropping and mouth gaping.  Almost immediately recovering, she cleared her throat. “I mean, yeah. I’ve gotten that far.  It’s fascinating stuff, actually.  But why?”

“They can talk.”

“Only with words previously used by you, and they do not retain the information.”

“Because several generations have passed for them!  Humans don’t retain language for more than one generation if there is no way to use it or pass it on.  You know this!” This argument came from my sister.  Tyche was getting as upset as I was, apparently.

“And they re-learn it very quickly,” I tried pointing out.

“So do antique chat bots.”

“Except that Else demonstrates that they know what the words and concepts mean, and can retain internal logic of the conversation.”

“Which makes sense if it is causing you to hallucinate the entire conversation.”

I sent a pleading look at Xiomara, but she only tilted her head from side to side. “Speech isn’t necessarily a criterion, but even if it was, there is no clear determination that Else is capable of intelligent speech.  That seems to depend solely on native communication.”

Damn it. I snapped my fingers rapidly, trying to think of a new piece of information, berating myself for getting into this position. Myself. “Self. Else demonstrates a sense of self.  One independent of its concept of humans. It… they pled for their lives. They apologized for hurting us, and understood what that meant.  Not only that, they corrected me several times on where they came from. Arguing demonstrates the ability to use logic, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Xiomara pointed out. “Conor argues with me all the time.”

“Hey!”

I glared at her.  Now was not the time for jokes.

Apologetic, she held up her hands. “On the other side, though, sense of self as a separate identity from others, along with understanding of the concept of death, are criteria for sentience.”

“What are the rest?” I asked, hope flooding my voice.

“Do they have any subjective experiences?” she asked.

“I’m honestly not even sure what that means,” I admitted, close to tears.

“Opinions,” Antione supplied helpfully.  “Experiences through their frame of existence and perception that they have opinions about unrelated to survival.”

I bit my lip as I thought. “The showed regret?”

“They also know we can kill them,” Grey argued, not giving up without a fight.

“They showed empathy?”

“So does your cat.”

Xiomara shook her head at Grey’s petulance. “Jury is actually still out on cats, so that’s not as definitive as you would like it to be.  But empathy doesn’t count – even among humans, several psychological disorders prevent empathy, but that doesn’t mean those people aren’t sentient.”

“They asked me to stop reciting scientific papers?” I asked in a Hail Mary attempt.

“They had what they needed,” was the suggestion from our self-designated Devil’s Advocate.

“Yes and no,” I said softly, realizing something. “They found it annoying and boring…  They also scolded me for using profanity.” Little things I had initially ignored rushed to the forefront of my memory.  “They knew Conor only gave the catnip to Tyche because he thought she would like it.  They knew Tyche loves me… they knew what that meant. And they actually told me how sick I was, the first time.  I didn’t realize it, but they told me my face and hands were injured.”

“That’s what the nightmare was that made you scream?” Tyche demanded.

Nodding vigorously, I clarified. “When I first came to the medical bay, there was moderate cellular damage in my hands, remember?  We didn’t think anything of it, because it was so simple to fix.  But in the nightmare, my hands were a horror show. I never would have even had them scanned if it wasn’t for that nightmare.  And the bruises around my eyes, from the anemia… they mentioned something was wrong with my face.”

“They told you out of self-preservation,” Grey supplied as the subsequent argument, but the staunch faith was wavering at this point.

“They didn’t know we were dying.  Not then.” I took a deep breath.  “And they make jokes, when I talk to them.  When I asked if they were deliberate or accidental, they didn’t just tell me they didn’t know.  They made a joke about my parentage.  Which means they took offense.”

Xiomara took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. “Boredom, annoyance… being offended.  Those are definitely opinions, and not related at all to survival.”  I held my breath and prayed to any entity that was listening.

“By definition of Galactic Law, Else is sentient.  Antibiotics are out.”

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[writersrealmbts]

Train Tracks: Part 1

Description: Hybrid!Reader x Taehyung: As a hybrid you have no worth and your means of survival is digging through the trash, working odd jobs for those who are more kind-hearted, and--unfortunately--pick-pocketing. When you choose the wrong target, things take a strange turn as this obviously wealthy man enters your life.

Warnings: I allude to sexual assault so, know your triggers and don’t read if it even is a little trigger-y.

Posted: 04/28/2019

Tags: Taehyung, Human Taehyung, Hybrid Reader

Angsty I guess: 4,003 words

A/N: I ended up cutting what was supposed to be the introduction to a two-track story (with different endings and outcomes) into two because there needs to be more in the introduction but I couldn’t do that. Honestly, I’m just sort of stuck on this story all around (as well as pretty much every other thing I’m working on, aside from the Prince Jungkook story and another story that I didn’t even intend to work on as much as I did) so I thought I’d at least give you guys the first part of it and see if you were even interesting in the rest of the story. Also, this really was inspired by his gold outfit but I couldn’t find any good gifs of him in that suit so...

You woke up shivering, and it took you a moment to remember why you weren’t safe inside your home, but asleep beside a dumpster with a splitting headache. Your body aching and with sharp pains. Then you remembered getting attacked. You sighed, pushing it from your mind and gathering your findings from the day before. Some thrown away clothing you would repurpose or use, some food that you liberated, and some yarn that nice old lady didn’t want anymore. Scraps. That’s when alarm prickled along your spine an your ears and tail fluffed out. It was cold. Fall was approaching. Which meant winter would soon follow and you had to prepare yourself and your home for the unrelenting cold. It was time to pick pockets. You shivered again, but this time because you were scared. You remembered what happened to your friend when he was caught pick-pocketing. His scared eyes, the spasms as the sedative knocked him out. His body carted away to a mass grave for hybrids who had no legal status and according to the populace and government deserved no humane treatment or proper burial. You had climbed amongst the bodies to retrieve him and bury him in the forest. Then had been unable to sleep for four months. You just had to be careful with your targets, is all. You’d stay out of sight, not take so much that they would notice. But you weren’t careful enough.

Your seventh target—a young man who’s affluence was obvious and whose attention to his surroundings seemed questionable—whipped around and caught your wrist as you returned his wallet. “What do you think…you’re…” His words died in his throat as he studied you. You were trembling, terrified out of your wits over getting caught. “P-p-please…I’ll give it back! Please don’t call the police!” “Shh. Follow me. Don’t make it obvious.” He let go of your wrist and walked away. It surprised you how quickly you followed, easily blending into the crowd. Nobody wanted to notice a grubby hybrid in rags, except some men. He walked through the crowd, and you could see people moving out of his way. He had a powerful presence and chiseled features that commanded attention and respect. He was tall, not the tallest man you’d ever met, but his demeanor made him seem even taller. You, on the other hand, just about got trampled, but managed to continue following him from a distance. Fear of what he might do kept you going, even after you got shoved over—scraping your hands and knees and forcing you to scramble to get your scavenged items back in your basket so you could keep him in sight. He ducked down an alley and you went down one that connected to it, walking cautiously towards where they connected. He was waiting, leaning casually against the bricks like he wasn’t wearing a suit that probably cost more than everything you’d ever owned combined. He pushed off the wall, holding up the wallet. “You didn’t take anything.” You swallowed hard, then pulled the money you had taken from him out of the pocket where it had been stashed. He frowned, letting you dump the bills and coins into his hand. He stared at it for a long while. “I’m sorry,” You whimpered.. “This…this is four dollars and sixty seven cents…” He looked back up at you, eyes flicking up and down your body. “Even a second-hand coat costs more than this. Why didn’t you try to take more?” “You only have large bills. People like me never have large bills unless we stole them,” You turned your gaze to the cement beneath your feet, catching sight of the blood dripping down your leg. The scrape on your knee looked more like your skin had been shaved off your knee. You winced, feeling the pain from all of your cuts, scrapes, and bruises now that you could see how bad some of them were. Your back stung, and your legs ached. Your head hurt, and you were scared. So scared. “Show me how much you’ve stolen today.” You bit your lip, tears wellign up in your eyes as you shakily handed the money over to him. “Is…this all?” He spoke lowly. You started desperately feeling your pockets to ensure you had given him everything. He quickly caught one of your wrists. “This isn’t even fifteen dollars. Are these the only clothes you have?” You shook your head. “I have some warmer clothes back at the—” You froze, stopping just short of telling him about your home. His hand came to your face, tilting it up towards his. “Show me your hideout.” Your heart dropped into your stomach and you nodded slightly. He nodded as well, then held out the money. “We’ll pretend I never saw this.” You stared at his hand, at the money you had stolen. He sighed heavily, then grabbed the small bag you kept fabric and yarn scraps in and opened it. He looked through the contents for a second, then dumped the money into it. You were frozen as he dropped to a crouch and examined your knee. What was he doing? He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and folded it carefully before tying it around your knee. “Actually, let’s go get these treated. I have a friend who will fix you up, no questions asked. Come on.” “I’m fine,” You whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “No, you’re not. I think your knee needs stitches and if your wounds aren’t cleaned and properly treated you could get an infection. You could die.” He glared at you. “You got hurt while following me at my request. I’ll take responsibility for the treatment. Now, come.” You obeyed, letting him lead you to a neighborhood you had no business being in, to a house you wouldn’t dare enter, but getting pulled into it anyway. “Jungkook-ssi!” The man called out, gesturing for you to sit down. “Bring your first aid kit to the living room.” “Taehyung-ssi?” Another man came out carrying a large box, his eyes widening when he saw you. “Oh, hello.” “She needs treatment. Can’t go to the doctor’s or the vet. Think you could…” Jungkook nodded, slowly coming over to you. He knelt in front of you. “Hi. My name is Jungkook. What’s your name?” “Y/n,” You replied quietly. “Can I treat your injuries, y/n?” You nodded, not daring to defy the man—Taehyung. You opened your hands for Jungkook and let him look at those, as well as your elbows, knees, then your head. Jungkook was frowning as he stood up. “I need to get cleaning supplies. There’s a lot of dirt in them. But…how did you hurt your head?” “I didn’t stay still like he told me,” You answered in a whisper. “Who?” Taehyung asked, voice deeper. You whimpered slightly. “The man, last night. He scared me and I hit him. I should have stayed still.” Jungkook slowly nodded. “Alright. We’ll talk about that after we get your injuries taken care of.” He went to get the supplies. “You should fight against men like that. They shouldn’t do that.” Taehyung’s voice seemed even deeper, more intimidating. “He’d just kill me…” You replied, staring at the spot that Jungkook disappeared from. He was nicer, not as scary. “I try not to stay out past sunset. Once I’m home I’m safe.” “What about animals?” “They don’t bug me. I’ve marked my territory with ashes. They respect it. I help them when they need.” You studied the scrapes on your hand. He dropped in front of you, eyes big. “You’re in tune?” You tilted your head. “You can communicate with animals?” You nodded hesitantly. He grinned suddenly. “Whoa…all animals?” You frowned a bit. “Well, not fish…” He looked a lot less scary now. “That’s so cool!” “I suppose it is…” You shrugged. “Alright, let’s do this.” Jungkook came back in with an armload of supplies and carrying a bucket of water. He set them down around you on tables, chairs, and the floor. “She’ll be able to walk when you’re done, right? I’m walking her home after this?” “Your home?” You froze. “Hers. I’ll explain later.” Jungkook started carefully washing your bad knee, wincing with you. “Um, I can wrap it so that you won’t tear your stitches but can still use your leg. You’ll be unable to bend your knee, though.” You nodded. “If I can move, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay around home a couple days.” “I’ll give you some extra bandages and gauze,” He replied, washing around the wound as well. “You’ll need to keep your wounds and the areas around them really clean.” You nodded. Treating your knee and head took the longest, and when he was done he held both of your hands in one of his. “We need to talk about what happened last night,” He started softly, suddenly looking nervous and uncertain. “You’re not on any sort of control are you?” Your ears went back and you lowered your gaze. You hadn’t been able to afford even the cheapest version ever since your friend had been killed. He could usually find odd jobs that would give you both a little extra. He would make sure you had your control, knowing how dangerous it was for you to go into heat. Both of you pretended it wasn’t because of the way any man with the intention to use you could without legal consequences. Especially if your friend wasn’t around to protect you. He’d been a Siberian tiger hybrid—big and strong. You were a Singapura cat hybrid. Not only were you “delicately structured”, you were small. The cat breed was one of the smallest and it showed in you. You had the strength to survive but not to fight off a man. “I doubt if he used protection…” He sighed. “I need you to come back to get stitches out. If you start feeling…off, I want you to come here. Okay? We’ll keep you safe and take care of you. Okay?” You nodded again. “And if you get attacked again, I want you to run here. We’ll protect you from them.” He gently squeezed your hands. You met his eyes, nodding even though you doubted if you’d be able to. Taehyung held out his hand. “Let’s get you home.” You took his hand and he kept you steady as you put weight on your knee again. “Go as easy as you can on that. Try not to put too much weight on it. I’ll see you in a week, okay?” You nodded again, slowly testing your leg. It would do. “I owe you one, Kook.” “Yes, you do. I’ll collect later. See you Taehyung. Y/n.” You waved, a little nervous to be alone with Taehyung again, but leaving anyway. He was still holding your hand. “We have to leave the city, right?” You nodded. “East side.” He started walking, but  looked back when you hadn’t moved. “That’s north-west,” You told him, turning toward the east. You sighed, seeing that you lost the whole day. It would be dark not long after you got home. You had wounds, some scraps of both food and yarn and fabric, and less than fifteen dollars for two days. Your scraps of food would be your breakfast before you went foraging. He caught your wrist. “Don’t leave without me. I’m with you until I’m satisfied that you’re safe. Besides, you’re supposed to be taking care of yourself and going easy on that leg.” “I am going easy,” You replied softly, shrinking away slightly when you realized that you had taken the wrong tone with him and that you would probably be punished. “Still, you should let me help you keep the weight off of it. At least part of the way.” He flashed you a smile. You were even more scared now. He had been grumpy all morning, but now he was smiling at you and acting all friendly and charming. So he wanted something, and given the way he stuck close to you, it was easy to guess what it was. But he had seemed against it at Jungkook’s. He received stares at the gate from the hybrids and homeless, but they didn’t even try to approach him or slow him down. They also didn’t slow you down, refraining from their usual catcalls, groping and general unpleasantness. Which meant that the next time you saw them they’d be all over you. One of the women forcefully brushed past you, hissing, “Slut.” Taehyung was glaring at them, but didn’t say a word as you both reached the outer village. You led the way through the village, walking as quickly as you could so that he wouldn’t get bombarded. The villagers were definitely noticing him, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Thankfully, you passed through the village quickly and traveled down the deserted road. After a ways, you diverged onto an overgrown trail, getting a little bit ahead of him while the path was narrow. He followed wordlessly, catching up once the path widened, and seeming to be in the same good mood he had been in since leaving Jungkook’s. Maybe that meant he’d go easy on you, or be gentle. He tucked his arm under yours, helping you lift the weight off of your leg. If he was aware of his expensive clothing getting dirty, he showed no signs of it. He would glance at you ever now and then, but mostly he looked at the surrounding countryside as it was bathed in the dying light of the sun. Normally you would pause to take it all in, but you still had to get through the tunnel. That wasn’t easy without light at the other end to show where your home was so you wouldn’t run into it face first. When you got to the mouth of the tunnel, stepping onto the long-abandoned tracks, he stopped. “What is that?” “The tunnel. I live on the other side.” “These are train tracks.” “Your point?” You asked, hoping that this wouldn’t be the time where he punished you for your words and tone. He hadn’t lashed out so far, so maybe he didn’t care too much? You entered the tunnel, half-hoping that he would be too scared to enter. He quickly caught your hand. “What if a train comes through?” “There hasn’t been a train in years. They shut them all down.” You silently cursed him for being so brave. What did he want from you? Why couldn’t it have been Jungkook walking you safely home? At least he wasn’t scary and moody. At least he seemed to be gentle and completely against what so many others considered to be fine. Both of your footsteps echoed in the tunnel, and hearing the second set of footstep made your heart ache for the times when you weren’t alone in the world. The times when you were learning how to survive from the tiger-hybrid who seemed so large and safe to someone as small as you. Times when it was so cold that you two curled up together to keep warm and he would make you laugh to get your blood flowing a little more strongly. You should have known something bad would happen without him around to make sure you at least made it home safely. Scare off any man who tried to get near you. Stopped Taehyung from coming to your home. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel as it outlined the train car that you called your home and dread settled into your stomach as you mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable. He followed you out of the tunnel with an amazed sound. You set down the basket and bag and dropped his hand as you went up to the door, using all of your strength and weight to open the door. “Aish! What are you doing?!” He scolded. “Your leg is hurt!” You just looked back at him. “I had to open the door…” You murmured, looking inside your home. He picked up the bag and basket, still looking upset. He stepped up, then followed you in as you backed into your home. You kept your head lowered submissively, but held your hand out for the basket. He was looking around in the dim light. “You live here?” “Yes sir.” He set the basket and bag down on one of the seats, looking around. He moved through your makeshift kitchen, looked at your bedding area, and then around the passenger car with a look you couldn’t read. Because the car was a passenger car, it had been rows of seats with tables in between. Most of those were still there, but towards the the very back the tables had been removed and the seats from the kitchen area had been taken out and adjusted to fit into the space between those seats in the back. Those had been the beds of you and your friend. The kitchen area was lined with sheet metal and stones, with sand as well, to prevent your fire from spreading. The tables that were removed had been turned into shelves for the other areas that had had seats removed for storage. You hadn’t been able to help much, but you had done your best to be helpful by carrying stones, buckets of sand, and looking for useful parts in your wonderland of lost things. You had sewn together scraps of cloth for the curtains on the windows, mended his clothes, and cooked him food. Taehyung was checking the windows, then he examined the doors, giving you an upset look when he felt how hard it was to open and close them. You had grabbed the basket and bag and were putting away your scavenged supplies, except for the money, when he gave you that look. You froze, blinking rapidly at him. He closed the door, then moved over to look at everything on your food shelves, then he came over to where you were sorting scraps of clothing and fabric. He grabbed your jar of scrap yarn and started putting your new yarn scraps into it. You worked silently beside him, darting glances at him. “Is it alright if I use the other bed?” You flinched at his sudden question, then glanced at the beds and nodded. “I’ll make it for you.” He placed his hand on your shoulder. “No, it’s—” You ducked out of his grasp. “Please.” He was quiet, and didn’t try to stop you as you limped over to the beds and started making his bed with the clean blankets and sheets that you had. The best ones that you had because there was no way you were making him use the scrappy blankets. Not that anything you had was great, but there were better ones and worse ones. When you finished he was lighting your lamp and the candles in two of the lanterns. You looked around, realizing that he probably was as hungry as you were and your options for food were scraps and he definitely didn’t want those. Well, there was also the fresh food you had gathered a couple days ago that should still be edible. He was pulling food from the bag you had apparently overlooked him carrying. A loaf of bread, some oranges, and then something that smelled like meat. Sausage. You were amazed you hadn’t smelled it before, but now you did and it made your mouth water. He found your knife and cut the bread, then the sausage. He made a sandwich and held it out to you. You stared at him. He came over and took your hand, putting the sandwich in your hand before heading back and making another for himself. “Do you have cold storage?” You nodded, starting to limp over but he held up a hand to stop you. “Tell me where.” You swallowed hard at his tone, shrinking and pointing toward the door. “Outside, underneath the carriage on the side that’s closest to the tunned. There are stones holding down a metal sheet that’s over it.” He nodded tersely and headed out after wrapping the meat again. You slowly savored the sandwich, the taste of the meat filling your senses and making you wish you could melt into your bed. Fresh meat. Sausage, so technically it wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t going to go bad anytime soon. But the only meat you’d had in the past year had been from dumpsters. Already partially eaten. Mixed with trash. Taehyung came back in and sat with his own sandwich. “You should rest, Jungkook said to take it easy.” You carefully sat down keeping him in your peripherals but making sure not to look directly at him. “After we eat, I’m gonna need to hit the hay. Had an early morning today.” He was already almost done with his sandwich, looking around the place. “You live here in winter?” “Yes.” He frowned, but didn’t say anything more. You finished your sandwich feeling full for the first time in a while. You were grateful that it didn’t take much to fill you. A few minutes later he stood up and stretched and came over to the bed areas. He looked between your bed and the one you made up for him and he had that same angry look as he had the rest of the day, making you shrink back. He knelt in front of you and you mentally prepared yourself for what was next. He took your hands. “Do you have enough blankets to be warm?” You glanced back at your bed of scrappy blankets, then nodded. He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Alright.” He straightened and took off his suit jacket, seeming to fold it and then drape it over the side of the bed. He looked around and then back at you. “Hey, are those…men’s clothes?” You followed his gaze to the shelves. “Yes.” He went over, looked through them. “Can I borrow some? This isn’t the most comfortable outfit to sleep in.” You nodded, dropping your gaze. “They’re clean.” “Where did you get them?” “They were my friend’s. He’s gone now.” “Where did he go?” You looked up in surprise, staring at him. He met your gaze, his honesty and innocence evident. “He was put down after he got caught picking pockets,” You told him. His eyes widened and he seemed frozen. “Put…down…” You nodded. “I pulled him from the mass grave and buried him in the woods.” He sat down hard. “Your mate?” “No. We were just friends.” “He must have been a large hybrid.” “Siberian Tiger.” He shook his head slowly, sitting down. “Because he picked a pocket…they executed him.” “The blue shirt would be best for you, and on the second shelf up are some softer pants. The gray ones.” You shifted and started carefully moving up your bed to sleep. He didn’t move for another few moments, then you could hear him moving to get the clothing. You adjusted your blankets and curled up, hoping that the blankets trapped enough heat to keep you warm through the night. It was getting chilly and since you hadn’t cooked there wasn’t heat from your cook-fire warming the car. It got quiet after a while, then you felt part of your bed sink. He lay one of the in-tact quilts over you, tucking it around you. “Goodnight, y/n,” He whispered, then went back across the car to his own bed for the night. You didn’t sleep for a while, listening as his breathing eventually evened out and let you know that he was actually asleep, and finally starting to grow warm from the quilt overtop of you trapping the little bit of heat you emitted.

Masterlist. ~ Part 2. 

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. 

Warnings: Humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, dub-con.

Words: 1800+

Beta: @ilikaicalie  

-

“No way!” You close your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

“You’re the only person who made it to the hotel. We’re all snowed in until morning, no one can get a flight out. You’re going to have to staff him until I get there. His schedule is pretty light compared to what it usually looks like. Half his meetings were canceled because of the storm.” Pepper rattles into the phone. She’s only a year or two older than you but she’s your boss’s boss. She’s Sam’s executive assistant, in charge of the entire assistant staff and she’s had it out for you since you started four months ago.

“I don’t think I can do this.” You gulp, shrugging your jacket off. You deliver mail and push the coffee cart around the building, the lowest rung on the corporate ladder.

“You don’t have a choice.” She snips. “You think this is what I want? I’m going to end up paying for this, even though it’s not even remotely my fault. I can’t control the weather...look I’m going to send you his schedule.  Just make sure he’s on time. He’ll let you know if you’re doing something wrong, believe me. Just keep your mouth shut and do what he tells you to do. Whatever you do, don’t cry. He hates it when people cry.”

“Why would I cry?” You regret answering the phone and you already know the answer to your question.

Sam Winchester is a real son-of-a-bitch and everyone knows it.

To say his reputation proceeds him would be a gross understatement. He’s smart, successful, ruthless and above all, focused. You’ve worked for Winchester and Singer for six months and have yet to encounter him.

You’ve never even directly spoken to him, never seen him in person other than the monthly reviews he conducts with the entire company in attendance. Even then he’s just a man on a stage.

“I’m emailing you right now. Keep a copy of the schedule on you at all times.” She pauses to take a breath. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening. Have the schedule on hand, keep my mouth shut, and try not to burst into tears.”

“Just don’t fuck this up.” Pepper is as over-worked as everyone on the executive level. You can’t really blame her. This job is her life. “You need to check in with him tonight. Just knock on his door and ask if he needs anything. He’ll send you away, but he expects a check in just to be sure.”

“Okay.” You nod to yourself in a windowless hotel room. “I can do this.”

-

The elevator rises slowly to the penthouse floor of the Ambassador Hotel. It’s nearly midnight and his flight arrived only an hour ago. He was in Tokyo last week and was rerouted during the storms in Boston.

You knock twice on his door, waiting with bated breath and hoping he won’t answer. You’re about to leave when the deadbolt turns and the door opens to reveal Sam Winchester with a cell phone up to his ear. He pauses for a moment, looking you over head to toe before opening the door the rest of the way and walking away chattering to whoever is on the other line.

You stand in the hallway, unsure if the open door is an invitation. On cue he turns around, eyes narrowing as his nods his head.

Already off to a rough start.

Shutting the door behind you, you follow him into the living room, standing awkwardly, waiting for his call to end. When he finally hangs up, he presses his phone against his chest, staring at you like a zoo animal. “Pepper said you’re the only employee here?”

“Y-yes.” You choke out. “I was visiting family in New Mexico, so I flew in from-”

“We’ll have to make due I guess.” He cuts you off. “You have tomorrow’s schedule?”

“Ahuh.” You hold up your phone, forcing a smile.

“Ahuh?” He tilts his head. “I prefer actual words. Yes or no.”

Your cheeks flush hot, embarrassment settling in.

“Yes, Mr. Winchester.” You correct. “I have your schedule. Pepper asked me to check in and see if you need anything tonight.”

“No. I don’t need anything.” His stare is unrelenting. “Do you have something more appropriate to wear tomorrow?”

His question takes you off guard as you look down at the sweatshirt and jeans you’re currently wearing. “I, um, yes sir.”

There’s a nauseating combination of shame and anger settling into your gut. He really does live up to his reputation.

“Good. You better go. We have an early start tomorrow. I won’t need you until after the gym. I’ll be done by 6:15 and I expect you to be here.”

“Yes, sir.” You nod, looking at anything but his face. You’re an ant under a microscope, already feeling the heat.

“Good. You can go now.” He pulls out his phone, hits a number and begins speaking to someone in Japanese as you high tail it out of the room.

You don’t cry until you’re in the elevator. The doors shut as you fight back the urge to turn into a sobbing mess, instead of wiping away a few tears and composing yourself.

Three hours of sleep is all you manage. Between your nerves and being afraid you’ll sleep through the alarm, you’re up and showered at four and dressed by five.

Clutching a portfolio in your arms you step off the elevator. There’s a full-length mirror at the end of the hallway and you stop to make sure you’re presentable. You thought you’d be manning a promotional table during the conference, planned on wearing khakis and a pullover. You brought exactly one business professional outfit that you haven’t tried on in a year or two. It’s a plum-colored sleeveless sheath dress that’s tighter than you would prefer. It looks good but perhaps a little much for this trial by fire.

“This is as good as it gets.” You whisper, giving yourself a final look before finding Sam’s room.

You knock and he answers immediately, holding his glasses in hand.

“You’re late.” He quips, turning around to gather his suit jacket and briefcase.

“I,” You stop, checking your phone. “It’s 6:15.”

“In my world on time is late and early is expected.”

“I’m sorry.” You’re horrified. “I didn’t - I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to do better next time.” He eyes settle on your bare shoulders, then tick down to rest of your body. It’s a quick glance but you catch him. “I have files in the living room. Please make sure everything is in order and ready to go. Pack it all up, we don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You wordlessly scamper around the room, carefully collecting half used notepads and countless pages of legal discourse that you couldn’t understand if your life depended on it. When you turn back around, clutching his files in your arms, he’s leaning against the doorframe between the entryway way and the living area, watching you intently.

Your cheeks burn hot. Sam is handsome, there’s no arguing that fact, but he’s also notoriously difficult to work for. You’ve never once heard even a whisper that he mixes business with pleasure. If anything he’s known for being controlled. Everyone’s heard of his type, high-level business execs that are uptight beyond belief.

But the way he’s looking at you...no. It’s in your head.

“I’ve got everything.” You nod, shoving the files into your leather bag.

“Good, I want to get down there early.” He checks his watch and strides out of the room without another word and you’re left scrambling after him. Instead of heading to the public elevator you took earlier, he turns in the opposite direction to head toward the private lift his penthouse room offers as a perk. You stand beside him as the doors close and he pushes the button for the ground level.

He turns toward you, looking concerned. “I asked you to wear something business professional.”

“I-” The humiliation continues. “I am. This is all I brought with me.”

“I see.” His eyes narrow.

“Would you like me to go grab a sweater to wear over it?” You ask softly.

“No.” He purses his lips, head tilting ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t be able to tell how tight your dress is if I couldn't see your panty line.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. Letting out a nervous cough as your breath speeds up. You force yourself to look at him, trying your damnedest to determine what this is. Is he coming on to you? Just a perfectionist who’s so caught up in the details that the outline of your lace underwear crosses some sort of invisible line?

“I didn’t realize you could see. I’m sorry.” You stare at the floor, praying to God this day ends quickly.

“Don’t be sorry.” He commands tone calm and even. “Take them off.”

The world stops. All the oxygen evaporates out of the room.

Your eyes go wide, shooting up to meet him and his expression is unreadable. In a split second, your body reacts against your will, heat blooming between your legs, shame tightening in your chest.

You wonder if he’s like a predator able to smell fear. Does he somehow know what kind of effect this will have on you? Is it the way you called him sir, or how quickly you responded to his commands?

“You want me to…” You can’t finish the sentence but he doesn’t need you to.

“Take them off.” He repeats.

“Right now...here?” You whisper.

“Yes.” He confirms, reaching out to take the bag from you.

You hesitate, but only for a second before reaching under your dress and hooking both hands in your panties. The elevator is nearly at the first floor, and sweat breaks out over your entire body at the idea of being caught.

Stepping out of your panties you hold them up, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. There’s nowhere to put them, you didn’t bring a purse, the conference is in the hotel so you left it the room. But Sam casually plucks them from your hand and stuffs them into the pocket of his suit pants as the elevator reaches the lobby and the doors slide open with a ding.

“Try to keep up.” He hands you back his briefcase, your messenger bag of files, and steps out into the general population as you follow.

-

Tags:  @smallgirlbigpersonality @mereka18 @gryffindorable713 @trainlikeawinchester @winchesterprincessbride @bamby0304 

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[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [remastered; ch 3]

pairing: moxiety and logince (later on) with the addition of others if i feel like it

WARNINGS: mentions of self harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of scars, mentions of throwing up, food mentions, mentions of pain, hospitals, ivs, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, swearing, a knife, blood, insensitive language regarding mental illness, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog

a/n: idk why linebreaks don’t wanna work so we’re just gonna pretend they’re there okay thanks bye

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12 

companion fics: exes and ‘oh’s

-

The first thought that popped into Virgil’s mind when he woke up was that it was far too bright. He squinted, trying to make out something. A dull, throbbing pain coursed through his wrists, and he groaned at the memories. Patton was going to give him so much shit.

It didn’t take too long for Virgil’s eyes to get adjusted to the bright lights. He was in a hospital room, and everything except for his blue smock was bright, clinical white. There wasn’t anyone else in the room with him--for the time being, at least--but a light blue backpack had been discarded on one of the chairs in the corner. Patton must have quickly thrown it together before they’d left.

The door slowly creaked open, and Virgil’s eyes snapped to the movement. Patton creeped through, only standing up straight once he’d realized that Virgil had woken up. A frown spread across his face as he moved to sit in the chair at Virgil’s right side.

“Virgil, you’re lucky that Logan and Roman had a free period today and were able to come get us to the hospital. What you did was very dangerous, though I’m sure that was your intention.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but obviously I did, and I’m so sorry about that. Still, we need to talk about your situation because you aren’t fit to be left on your own. I’m not going to force you into any situation you aren’t comfortable with, but I want to keep you safe.” Patton was speaking at a million miles an hour, barely comprehensible due to worry. Virgil shrugged and turned toward the only window in the room, watching the cars pass by on the road many stories below. In the back of his mind, he dreaded having to leave. He’d been in this hospital before on the rare occasion that a family member was dying, and from his memory, the local hospital only had elevators and emergency-only stairwells. Of course, Virgil was wildly afraid of elevators.

Patton was still talking when he tuned himself back in. “I know you didn’t want anyone to find out about your situation, so I cleared it with my parents, and we checked you in under my name and made sure that there would be complete confidentiality. You’ll be covered under my parent’s insurance, so you won’t have to pay for anything. They want to make sure you’re okay and are perfectly fine with this.” He knew that Patton was trying to be comforting, but it just made Virgil feel more guilty. He was taking so much from this family. They were committing fucking insurance fraud for him.

Hot pinpricks formed in Virgil’s eyes. He tried his damnedest to will them away, but they began to slip down his face regardless.

“Hey! Virge, it’s okay. What’s wrong, kiddo?” Patton placed a light hand on top of Virgil’s arm, avoiding the tender spots where the bandages had been wrapped around him. Virgil forced himself to look at his companion. He hadn’t noticed before, but Patton had intense bags under his eyes, suggesting that he hadn’t slept at all during the night. His guilt only grew.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil whispered. “I’m so, so sorry that you have to deal with my depressed emo garbage. You don’t deserve this.”  He was a burden to everyone he met--merely bringing them down with him. There was no escape the sinking ship that was Virgil Thomas. Once you got on, it was hell on earth.

“Y’know,” Patton began. It was obvious that he was trying to pick his words out very carefully. “I’ve been in situations similar to yours. Although they weren’t nearly as intense, I’ve had great doubts about my self-worth. You really are a good person who deserves a good life, Virgil. I can just feel it. I really do want to help you, and I don’t care what I have to sacrifice to get you back on your feet.

“All of that aside, we need to talk about your living situation. Do you have anybody at home who will be worrying your whereabouts?”  Patton laid expectant eyes on Virgil.

“Um, not really. My dad is almost always out of town, and my mom hasn’t been around for years.”

Patton nodded thoughtfully. “Alrighty then. Would you be okay with staying at my house for the foreseeable future? We would obviously have to grab your things from your house, but I’d feel better if you stayed with me. And I’m sure that you’ve seen that we have more than plenty of room for one other person.”

“I guess that’ll be okay.” Virgil’s voice was shaking slightly. He didn’t know whether he should be sad or happy. He was receiving so much kindness, yet he didn’t feel like he deserved it. His thoughts were interrupted when a nurse came into the room.

“Mr. Thomas? I need to ask Mr. Shea some questions. I’d ask that you leave the room… unless Mr. Shea is okay with you staying.” The nurse had a large smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes like Patton’s did.

“Um, I’d rather Pat--uh, Virgil stay in the room, if that’s all right.” Virgil gave her the best smile he could scrounge up, and she gave a curt nod, her brown hair swishing around her face. She took the seat on the opposite side of the bed from Patton.

“Mr. Shea, my name is Nurse Lucy. Do you remember what happened before you were admitted into the hospital?” Nurse Lucy pulled a pen from her pocket and began to write on the clipboard she’d had on the table next to her.

Truthfully, the events of the day had become fuzzy in Virgil’s mind. He could remember with clarity yelling at Patton and running to the bathroom. And then he punched the mirror and cut his knuckles, but after that? He had nothing.

“I don’t really remember anything…” Virgil’s face scrunched up just slightly in thought.

“Well, Mr. Shea, your friend with the tie told us you had a ‘severe panic attack,’ and Mr. Thomas followed up by saying you hurt yourself with ‘broken glass from a mirror’ and then passed out due to a mixture of blood loss and anxiety. Do you remember any of that happening?”

“I remember the panic attack and the mirror part; although, I remember the latter only vaguely.” The teen didn’t really like the direction that these questions were going. They were getting far too close to striking a nerve. As if he’d been reading the other’s thoughts, Patton piped up.

“Nurse Lucy, Vir-- Patton has been through a lot today. How long do you think these questions will take?” Virgil sent a silent thanks to whatever deity that was watching over him.

“Just a few more minutes, Mr. Thomas,” the nurse replied with a saccharine smile. “Mr. Shea, have you had any bouts of depression within the past four months?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered.

“And how long did the depression last?”

“It started when I was fourteen and has been on and off for the past three years.” His hands began to shake.

“Have you had suicidal ideations or attempted suicide in the past four months?” The clinical tone of the nurse’s voice caused Virgil’s breath to hitch. Patton gave a small squeeze, reminding Virgil that he was still there.

“Yes. To both.”

“How long have you been having suicidal thoughts?”

“Since I turned sixteen.” He raised his left hand and ran it through his hair. He already knew the next question she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth.

“When was the last time you attempted to commit suicide?” Time seemed to freeze in the room. Virgil glanced over at Patton, who had a pained expression on his face. Lines of worry were etched across his fair skin, and his normal smile was pressed into a harsh frown.

“Today,” Virgil whispered. It was the truth, and he was sure Patton knew it regardless of if he wanted to believe it or not. He looked at his feet, refusing to let his gaze shift to either of the people at his sides.

“I see,” Nurse Lucy said with sterile crispness. “Since you were admitted due to injuries from a mental illness and have admitted to other mental instabilities, you will need to stay in the hospital for at least three days for further mental examination.” She stood up and smoothed out her pants.

“Um, Nurse, will I be allowed to stay during the exams?” Patton’s soft voice broke through the unrelenting silence.

“That depends on the doctor’s specifications. If you have any questions, I can leave his phone number here so you can discuss with him. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have another patient that I need to check up on.” Virgil could hear her clicking footsteps leave the room and the hollow thunk of the door closing.

“Virge, will you please look at me?” Patton asked with genuine sweetness in his voice, not the fake sugary bullshit that the nurse had given him. Virgil turned his head slowly. His breathing was becoming shallow, and he could feel a panic attack coming on.

“I need you to listen to me, okay? You are going to be okay. I’m going to stay with you through all of it, even if the doctor wants me to leave.” A whole new wave of tears began to stream down Virgil’s face. This time, however, Patton climbed into the hospital bed, bringing his new friend into his arms, not caring about the tears that would end up staining his shirt. They stayed in that position, Virgil crying into Patton’s shoulder, until the former fell asleep.

---

“I don’t understand why we have to run errands for some kid that we barely even know!” Roman complained, crossing his arms with a huff. He and Logan had received a text from Patton that, as soon as school let out, they needed to go to the house of the kid they’d drove to the hospital and pick up anything they thought he’d need, whether it be clothes or electronics or whatever.

“Technically, Roman, we’re not running errands for Virgil. We’re running errands for Patton, who happens to be working to help a stranger. This is for our friend.” Logan turned off the engine of his disgustingly old Dodge Intrepid. He shoved open the squeaky door and walked up to the porch of the large white house.

“Yes, but--” Roman argued as he’d exited from the passenger seat-- “Why do we have to do this? Why can’t he do it?”

“Did you see how Patton was acting when we were checking Virgil into the hospital? He was an emotional wreck. I doubt he’d even leave Virgil’s side if we threatened to murder a puppy right in front of his face. He obviously has some sort of emotional attachment to the kid.” Logan punched in the code to unlock the door. The way that Patton had gotten the code was a mystery that Logan would probably never be able to solve. Shaking the thought from his mind, he pushed open the door and led Roman inside.

The inside of the house was just as plain as the outside. Light grey linoleum tiles lined the floor, and every surface was painted white. Even the doors were white. It was the biggest disgrace to the profession of interior design that either of the teenagers had ever seen.

“The bedroom is upstairs, correct?” Logan asked, looking around for any semblance of a clue that indicated someone actually lived in this house. The whole thing was oddly bare; there were just a few pieces of furniture in each room that he could see.

“Yeah, second door on the right.” Roman had already made it halfway up the stairs by the time he’d finished his sentence. Logan sighed and followed his dramatic friend.

It would have been easy to find out which room was the correct one even if they hadn’t had the directions. The door to Virgil’s room had been painted black and stuck out like a sore thumb against the blaring white of everything else. Roman swung the door open and walked inside with a flourish that only he would add.

“What a dreary nightmare this place is.” Roman grabbed a vinyl sleeve that had been discarded on the floor. American Beauty / American Psycho by Fall Out Boy. With a slight eye roll, he shucked the sleeve onto the desk to his left. He looked to Logan and saw that he’d had already gathered a pile of assorted black clothes onto the black duvet. Shocking.

Roman let out a long sigh and gathered things from the desk. He took a few notebooks that were labeled with school subjects and their corresponding binders, a pencil case, a pair of over-ear headphones and attached cell phone, a well used black eyeshadow single, and a weird little cube with a bunch of buttons on it. He placed them on the bed and grabbed a backpack from the floor, stuffing his finds into it. Logan had pulled a suitcase from somewhere-- probably the closet--and had begun to neatly fold clothes and pack them up.

“I’m going to search for the bathroom to grab Mr. Black Sky’s toiletries.” All Roman got in response was a nod. With a slight eye roll, he left the room and began to peek into each room in the hallway. The one third on the right turned out to be another bedroom, as was the fourth, the one across the hall from that one was a linen closet, and the two down the hall were completely empty. Last, he checked the first door on the right. He opened the door and found a pristinely clean bathroom, minus the spread of toiletries across the counter.

Roman grabbed the toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush that was laying on the ground near the edge of the counter. He picked up a small rectangular metal thing that was hidden behind a stack of washcloths. It suddenly snapped open to reveal a small knife that had little flecks of blood on it. His stomach dropped, and he quickly closed the blade, nearly throwing it back onto the counter.

His mind strayed back to the time when Pat had been having a rough time. He and Logan had stayed up until ungodly hours researching things to help. Roman remembered when he’d clicked on a link and was brought to a website about cutting with graphic images of scars and cuts. Although he was not normally squeamish around blood, the thought of his friend hurting himself had nearly made him throw up.

He’d seen similar scars on Virgil when he’d helped Logan patch up his cuts. A shiver ran through his body. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Roman? Have you acquired everything that you need?” Logan’s voice called from the room over. Roman shook his shoulders and stood up straighter.

“Yeah, Lo. I’ll be there in just a moment.” After throwing one last glance at the knife on the counter, he made his way back to Virgil’s bedroom. Logan grabbed the toiletries from his hands and shoved them into the backpack before slipping it onto his shoulder. The two brought the bags out to the car and stowed them in the back seat. Roman’s memories from the bathroom were soon forgotten when he received another text from Patton.

Patton Delivered at 3:30 pm Virge has to stay in the hospital for the next few days for mental examination. They’re worried about him attempting suicide again. If you guys could pick up a stuffed animal from the gift shop, I’d really appreciate it! <333

Roman Read at 3:31 pm Of course, Pat! We’re just leaving the house now, so we’ll be at the hospital soon. Do you need anything?

Patton Delivered at 3:31 pm Just a water bottle. See you guys when you get here! <33333

Patton Delivered at 3:47 pm I just realized I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Can you grab me something to eat in the cafeteria?

Roman Read at 3:50 pm I’ll add it to the list of things we need to do that Logan’s forcing me to write. Be there in 15.

Patton Delivered at 3:50 pm Awesome! <3

Patton Delivered at 3:54 pm Roman?

Roman Read at 3:54 pm Yes, Patton?

Patton Delivered at 3:55 pm Thank you both. I really appreciate what you’re doing for Virge and I.

Roman Read at 3:56 pm It’s no problem Patton. You’ve had a rough day and deserve some rest.

Patton Delivered at 3:56 pm You and Logan are fam ILY.

chapter 4

[ambootyos]

Club Confusion Pt. 20

Part 19 

A/N: I am so sorry about the wait on this, I’ve has a lot of family issues to deal with, and I just didn’t feel like writing I’m sorry.

Word Count: 1,786

Tags: @wrestlingnoob @laziestgirlintheworld @thegenericluchadora @reigns420 @kingslayers-angel @villainsqueendom @alexahood21 @sheaxdevitt @bolieve-that @phenomenal-forearm @vipervenomisgoodforyou @i-ship-it-okay @karleedaniels27 @rebelfleur22 @g0lden-sunset @originalbish98 @libby-rose-2016  @spotofimagines

I laid next Adam, both of us breathing heavy. He smiled at the ceiling.

“...Wow..” He managed to say, I chuckled softly.

“Yeah..wow.” I blushed, which only caused his smile to grow, as he grabbed my hand, and laced his fingers with mine.

“So..that was better than the first time right?”

I bit my lip, and breathed a laugh. “It really was.”

He nodded. “That’s good to know.” He started, before clearing his throat, and sighing. “Unpause..we should probably talk about what just happened.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Are we getting back together?” He asked.

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Are you and Marty done for good?” He asked, moving on to his next question.

“I don’t know.” I said again.

“Will this affect our storyline at all?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are we going to tell the guys?”

“I don’t know.”

I guess I don’t really know how to answer most, if any questions he may have.

He sighed, before he smirked slightly. “Are you interested in a round two?”

I breathed a laugh, and bit my lip. “Sure. I may as well answer at least one question.”

He positioned himself on top of me again. “Not a bad one to answer.”

“Are you sure ‘bout this Matt?” Marty asked, sitting in the back seat of the car, next to Page, tapping his foot as he started to feel unsure of himself.

“Yes. I’m sure! We’re only ten minutes away now! Us being in the same state as her? Now that, is fate!” Matt replied, before glancing at Nick, who sat in the passenger seat.

“Actually, it’s called booking a show in a big city.” Nick mumbled.

“But..I don’t wanna show up on short notice..She doesn’t know I’m coming..what if she’s busy, or actually doesn’t wanna see me?” He asked, as they pulled up.

Matt turned around, and threw Marty the car keys.

“Nonsense! You and Page park the car, we’ll go upstairs.” Matt smiled, as he and Nick got out.

Marty sighed nervously, and did as Matt said.

“So, we just knock?” Nick asked as they reached my floor, and stood outside my door.

Matt shook his head. “Pfft! No. We’re surprising her, I have a key.” He smiled, as he took it out.

“So we’re breaking and entering? Okay, cool. I’m game.” He shrugged, and Matt rolled his eyes.

“No! I have a key! So, it’s not illegal. Probably..” He replied, as he unlocked the door, and came inside, Nick followed behind him, and shut the door.

Nick opened his mouth to say something, but Matt shushed him, and furrowed his brows.

“Oh my gosh, the ghost is back!” Matt exclaimed. Nick’s eyes widened.

“Hey you’re right..” He trailed off. “I mean, not about it being a ghost, but the noise is back.” He added, and Matt just rolled his eyes, and walked down the hall to my room.

Nick shook his head and followed after him.

“Matt! No! Don’t go in there!” Nick whisper screamed, but Matt just waved him off, and opened my door. His mouth fell ajar and his eyes widened.

Me and Adam didn’t notice him, until he actually screamed at the top of his lungs.

We both looked over and furrowed our brows.

“Matt?”

We said in sync, and he just froze.

“Matt! Go away!” Adam exclaimed.

“Matt what’s wrong?” Nick chuckled.

Matt shook his head, but didn’t move. “It’s like a car accident Nick. I can’t look away, but I’m scarred for life.”

Nick walked over to Matt to see what he was talking about, only to have Matt cover his eyes as soon as he saw it.

“No Nick! Your mind is too pure! Mine is already forever tainted.” He replied, as he pushed Nick away.  

Adam cleared his throat. “Matt! Shut the door!”

Matt nodded. “Right sorry!” He exclaimed, as he shut the door, the only problem was, he was on the wrong side of it.

Adam sighed, and shook his head.

“With you on the other side please.” He stated, his voice monotone.

Matt smacked his forehead. “Again, sorry!” He exclaimed, before walking out and slamming the door behind him. Nick was rolling in the floor, laughing hysterically.

“Still think it’s a ghost?”

Matt took a deep breath. “The two are unrelated. But, both are gonna give me nightmares. The only good thing that came out of this, is I got to see Y/N, naked..but, even that was ruined. Freaking Adam.”

Nick cleared his throat. “Uh..hey, what about Marty..?”

Matt smacked his forehead, and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Ugh! Well, when it rains it pours Nick! I dunno!” He exclaimed before storming out.

“You okay? You seemed pretty nervous back there.” Page asked, as he and Marty walked into the lobby.

“Um..yes actually. I was a bit shaken up at first. But, I ‘fink I’ll be better once I see her. I mean, I usually do feel better after seeing her.”

“Well just so we’re clear-” Page started, but was cut off by Matt jumping down the stairs, and tackling Marty.

“Matt?! Why?” Page asked, rubbing the temples of his forehead.

“Yes, why the actual f*ck would you do that?” Marty asked, as he stood up and brushed himself off.

Matt rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh..she wasn’t there. We’re just gonna have to go to..um..the performance center! Yeah. She’s probably there. That would make sense.” He explained, refusing to look Marty in the eye, as he walked out.

Nick rolled his eyes, before following after him.

“That..hardly seems like a reason to tackle me.” He mumbled before leaving with them as well.

Page furrowed his brows, already suspicious, as he left with them.

“Well..that was odd.” I stated, as I put my clothes back on.

Adam sighed, and nodded. “Well, I never thought I’d say Matt’s name during sex..so that’s an all time low.”

“Me neither.” I chuckled, and got a new shirt out of my closet, considering Adam ripped the other one.

Adam smirked. “You should wear mine. I can't have any fabric touching my back thanks to you.” He explained, showing me the scratches on his back.

I blushed. “Yeah..sorry.”

He shrugged. “Oh, no need to apologize, I mean thanks to me you have hickeys on your neck.”

I rubbed my neck, before grabbing a scarf out of my closet as well.

“Why are Matt and Nick here though? I mean, it answers my question about are we gonna tell them, but still..why?”

I shrugged, as I put my shirt and scarf on, and made sure my pants were zipped.

“I have no idea.” I replied, as I turned my phone back on, only to see missed calls from Marty.

“Oh no..” I mumbled, and Adam looked over my shoulder to see what I was talking about.

“Ugh. Why can't he just go away?” He groaned, but before I could say anything, my phone rang again.

This time it was Page.

I shushed Adam before answering it.

“Uh..h-hey..Page!” I exclaimed, a nervous tone in my voice.

Page cleared his throat.

“You slept with Adam didn't you?”

“Hey Page!” Adam exclaimed, a smirk on his face.

“Hey Adam.” Page replied, his voice monotone.

I sighed. “Uh..yes..I did.”

“Okay. Well, Matt brought Marty to talk to you. I'll stall as long as I can. But..I don't know how long that'll be.”

I smacked my forehead. “Thanks Page..”

He hung up and I turned to look at Adam, he wore a devilish grin on his face.

“You better not say anything!” I exclaimed.

He shrugged. “I won't say anything. But I'm also not gonna lie to him.”

I rolled my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I won’t say anything, unless he asks. Not that he’d have any right to be mad about it. He left.” Adam replied, crossing his arms.

“Adam, I’ll handle it. Okay?” I sighed, and he tucked my hair behind my ear, and smiled.

“I know..that you don’t know if we’re gonna fix things, and get back together, or if you’re gonna get back with him. But, I want you to know that, what happened with us today..it meant a lot to me, and I still love you. You don’t have to say it back. But it’s the truth. I really want you to be happy, I’d rather it be with me. But, if not, I’ll..” He trailed off, before choking up a bit.

“I’ll deal with it.” He managed to choke out, before he cupped my face, and kissed me one last time.

“Matt, you know we can’t go into the performance center right?” Marty asked.

Matt chuckled nervously. “Needy! Calm down! Look, dude, you gotta stop. I don’t even know why you thought it’d be a good idea to come down here!” He stated, getting defensive.

Page looked at the floor, and shook his head, and Nick bit his lip, trying not to laugh as he looked out the window.

“Uh..you told me to?” Marty replied, a confused tone in his voice.

“Oh so you just do whatever anyone tells you to do Marty? It’s not like I’m a person you should always listen to, okay?! I make mistakes!” Matt exclaimed frantically, as he parked the car.

Page cleared his throat.

“Okay..well, he’s right we can’t go in.”

Before Matt could reply, there was a knock on the car window.

They looked over to Nick’s window to see none other than Kevin Owens.

Marty rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, of all people?” He mumbled, remembering the last time he’d seen him.

Nick rolled down the window and smiled. Kevin just furrowed his brows.

“Are you looking for Y/N?” He asked, as he started to smirk.

Marty nodded. “Yes actually, do you know where she is?” He asked, forcing himself to talk to Kevin.

“Pfft, I don’t know anything. Remember? That’s what you told me isn’t it? Plus..shouldn’t you know where your girlfriend is-oh that’s right, you broke up with her. Because you’re an idiot.”

“We’ve already established that Marty’s an idiot!” Matt exclaimed. “But it’s not the topic at hand.”

Kevin shrugged. “She’s not here.” He started, before smirking and cocking his head. “And neither is Adam.” He stated sarcastically before walking off.

I sighed, and looked at my phone.

Adam chuckled. “Yeah if I were you I wouldn’t wanna call him either.” He teased.

I rolled my eyes before calling Marty, he answered as soon as I did. I pretended to be calm, and cleared my throat, before wearing a fake smile.

“You called?”