#starting to think that getting a job at the end of june is cursed for me bc this is the second time i’ve left a job

[lesbianminou]

imagine paying someone sub min wage and then asking them to stop repeating outfits. sorry u don’t even pay me enough to shop where i work WITH an employee discount. like. u don’t even pay me enough for RENT AND BILLS DUDE

[readingunderstars]

Blue Dream - Two

Sypnosis: After a tense conversation with Julian, Ria encounters Ellie at Sasha’s party.

Warnings: 18+!! recreational drug use, underage drinking, cheating, sexual content

Word Count: 5.6k

⊰✭⊱

Ria awoke the following morning to the sound of her phone ringing. Groaning, she dragged her arms around the bed, trying to locate the source of the worst possible sound on Earth. Uncovering it from the sheets, Ria squinted her eyes and found Julian’s face on the screen. It was a photo from freshman year of high school, never updated. Ria answered the call.

“Hello?” she said, a croak coming out instead of her voice.

“Whoa,” Julian laughed. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning,” she said, laying her head down on the pillow. She checked the time. 7:03 AM. Ria had to remind herself that Julian was three hours ahead, and tried not to be mad that he woke her up so early on a Saturday. “How are you?”

“Great,” he said, but Ria could tell he was itching to talk about something. Indeed, he went on. “Hey, I’m at this travel agency booking a cruise for my uncle’s birthday. We wanted to know if you want to come, too.”

“Uh . . . ” Ria’s eyes fought to stay open. “When would it be?”

“Late June to early July, we haven’t settled—“

“Oh.” Ria sat up at once and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why? Is your passport expiring or something? I’m sure we could—“

“No, my passport is fine.” You’ve put it off long enough. There won’t be a perfect time. Just say it.

“Are you getting a summer job?”

“I mean—“ Say it. “Well,” she started, but it wasn’t coming out.

“What is it?” he said.

Ria took a deep breath. “I got into the Monterey program. I won’t be going home for summer break.”

A moment passed before Julian spoke again. “What?”

“The school offered me a position in their marine biology summer program in—“

“Are you serious?”

She didn’t know what to think of his reactions. Ria couldn’t tell if he was happy or upset, so she simply said, “Yes.”

Julian remained silent.

Ria’s heart beat hard against her chest. “Can you say something?”

“I just want to get this clear,” he said slowly. “You’re choosing to spend a year away. On purpose. Correct?”

“Julian, I’ve told you about this program before—“

“I know you fucking told me, Ria. I just didn’t think you’d get in.”

Standing up from her bed, Ria stayed in silent bewilderment.

“And the saddest part is you probably don’t care whether you see me or not. So fine, run off with all the other fucking nerds—“

“That’s enough, Julian,” Ria said, crossing her arms despite him not being able to see. “This has nothing to do with us. I know you know I could never forgive myself if I let an opportunity like this simply pass me by.”

“Whatever. I have to go,” he said as his end of the call became noisy with the voices of his family. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“No—“

Julian ended the call.

“Fuck!” Ria cursed, and threw her phone against the bed. It bounced off, landing on the floor with a deafening crack. Closing her eyes, Ria scrambled to the floor, praying to every god that would listen. But the screen was shattered, only lighting up in fragments. 

Already prepared for the day to end, Ria fell on her mattress, face against her pillow. She took a deep breath in, and—with all her might—screamed into the pillow.

Dragging herself out of the dorm, Ria found solace in a study room deep within the bowels of the library stacks. She channeled all her anger into something useful. It was tedious work, especially the lab reports, but it was a welcome distraction. Julian would certainly not be the reason she fell behind on her schoolwork.

It took until midday to finish all her work for the next few days. She packed up her things and headed back to the dorm, finding the phone still lying on the ground. Ria picked it up, weighing her options.

Valerie College was in the middle of nowhere, and there was no good public transportation during weekends. The only person she knew with a car was AJ, but even if he wanted to drive her, they had both agreed to help with the party.

Until tomorrow it is.

Opening her closet, Ria dug out the duffel that had been in her possession since middle school and set it on the bed. She packed everything she’d need for the party and to stay overnight at the suite.

She passed by Hungry Mind, the cafe on campus, and picked up a cake pop for Sasha. Pressing her ID against the scanner, Ria pushed the door to Cedar Hall open. Music seeped through the door to the suite, and Ria found Sasha and all her suite mates gathered on the living room floor.

A tub of fried chicken sat on the coffee table, and they all sat on the ground around it. They looked up as Ria entered the suite, greeting her warmly.

There was Rosa Molina, of course, an expert knitter with Salvadorian parentage. Her Barbie doll of a roommate was Madi Jones. She was from Southern California, just like Sasha. Isla Kenney had come straight from Manchester to play for the school’s D1 women’s volleyball team, becoming their captain in under two years. Isla was dating Esther, who was not currently present but happened to be the childhood best friend of Quinn Xie, Isla’s roommate. They’d been born and raised just a few miles away in San Francisco.

“I was wondering if you really did get kidnapped,” Sasha said, standing to greet Ria, a party hat upon her head.

“Oh, sorry,” Ria said, “I got them, I got stoned, and then my phone broke this morning. But never mind that.” Extending her arm to show Sasha the cake pop, she said, “Happy birthday, darling! You can finally drink!”

“Legally,” Sasha said behind her hand, laughing. “And I’m sorry to hear about your phone. Come sit.”

Waving to the rest of them, Ria settled beside Isla, leaning against the couch. “What’s up, mate?” Isla said, offering a fist bump. She was one of those people who were so cool they made Ria nervous. Ria watched as she ran her fingers through her long, red hair.

“So did you talk to your boyfriend yet?” Madi asked from across the coffee table, snapping Ria out of her daze. She stared at Madi, her brown eyes bewildered. Madi stared back, unfazed until Quinn snorted, and they all burst into laughter.

Heat rose to Ria’s cheeks as she looked to Sasha for an explanation. How do they know about the Julian thing?

“We all know,” Isla said as Sasha shrugged away her culpability.

If it had been anyone else, Ria might have been angry that her personal matters were shared. But it was Sasha. It was so like her to share everything with this lot. “Letting this go only because it’s your birthday,” Ria joked, but she knew the truth—she’d forgive anything of her.

Ria sighed. “And yes, I did talk to Julian.” Sasha’s eyes widened, and she sat up. “It’s actually how I broke my phone. Sort of threw it in a fit of rage.”

“Damn,” Rosa said, sipping from her cup. “That bad?”

Ria nodded, kind of defeated. Quinn wrapped their arm over Ria’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ria.”

“Dump him,” Madi said, and Ria chuckled. It lightened the mood, bringing some cheers of agreement. “No man is worth a broken phone.”

“You should switch over to my team,” Isla said, winking. Somehow, Ria knew she didn’t mean volleyball.

Rosa stood up, starting to clean up. “How do you know she isn’t already on it?”

“I mean,” Isla inspected Ria’s appearance, and the other eyes joined hers. “Are you?”

Ria laughed nervously under their scrutiny, but didn’t give an answer. 

“She doesn’t look particularly gay to me,” Madi said.

As the group threw itself into a discussion, their eyes drifted away, and Ria listened in amusement.

“I’m sorry, does ‘gay’ look like something specific to you?” Isla said, standing up.

“Yeah, your face.”

“She definitely doesn’t look like Isla.”

“No, but she does wear tote bags.”

“Those are gay.”

“Sasha? Has she ever said anything gay to you?”

“I have the right to remain silent.”

“Fuck. Quinn, do you think she’s gay?”

“Honestly, I could see it.”

“Wait. Do you own anything Lululemon?”

“Actually, I once hooked up with a Lululemon lesbian.”

“Pause. That’s crazy.”

“Was she, like, old or something?”

“No, she was our age.”

“Fascinating.”

“Alright, that’s enough speculation,” Sasha said. “Whether she’s gay or not, we have shit to do, people.”

“Happy birthday, Sashalicious,” AJ yelled as he walked into the suite, carrying a large speaker. He placed it on the kitchenette counter. “Who’s gay?”

“You,” Ria said, kissing her brother’s cheek. She looked at the speaker. “Is this Papi’s?”

“Dang, Mr. Ortiz got that fancy shit,” Madi said, examining the piece of technology.

AJ leaned against the counter. “I knew you’d like it.”

Ria rolled her eyes and yanked her brother away from the counter, dragging him to the table where Sasha stood with everyone else.

Behind Ria, Quinn whispered to Isla. “Bet you ten she’s gay.” Sasha shushed them before beginning her speech.

“Here’s the game plan. Isla and AJ are doing the shopping. While they’re away, we’re cleaning, rearranging furniture, and decorating. We’re gonna make sure our rooms are presentable. I’m looking at you,” she said to Quinn. “Cup pong is going to be in your room, flip cup in Rosa and Madi’s.”

“What about yours?” Ria asked.

“It’ll be the crash pad,” she said. Ria thought of Halle, who always tapped out the earliest. “Anyway, when Isla and AJ get back, we need to make the spiked freeze pops. Jamie made jello shots, so we are good on that. Then we go out for dinner, come back and get ready. Pregame is at 9. Party starts at 10. Let’s go, people.”

The preparations went exactly as Sasha had planned. Ria helped clean up Isla’s side of the room. The furniture in the living room was moved up against the walls, leaving more room to dance. They set up tables for the drinking games, and put up the golden decorations all over the suite. Heading down the street, they ate noodles and sang a song for Sasha’s birthday, and by 9 pm the shots were being poured in the living room.

Ria stood in the suite bathroom, applying mascara with her cheek nearly touching the mirror. Stepping away, she scrunched her curls, shaping them until she was satisfied. Her mind drifted back to what Madi had said. Dump him. She was joking, Ria was sure.

It hadn’t crossed her mind until then, and now it was all that occupied it. Julian had been a part of Ria’s life since she was fourteen, since her mother married Tom and they all moved next-door to Julian’s family. He’d been her best friend for so many years, kept her company. They didn’t have a whirlwind romance, sure, but she didn’t mind that. Everyone loved him, and he loved Ria so deeply.

But the Julian she had spoken to that morning wasn’t the same Julian she knew. Maybe they’d spent too much time apart. They were getting farther from finding a balance, and she wasn’t blind to her own indifference when it came to the distance.

Ria smoothed the fabric of her beige cargo pants over her legs. She turned, taking one last look at her outfit. The top had been a lucky find at Goodwill, a blue, sheer top straight out of a Y2K daydream.

The living room was growing louder with the arrival of their friends. Inside Sasha’s room, Ria put away her things and kicked the duffel bag under the bed as a precaution. She didn’t want any stray partygoers going through her things.

Sasha walked into the room, holding a heap of green yarn. “What’s that?” Ria said.

“Rosa’s gift,” Sasha said, laying it out on her bed. It was a tube top, loosely knit with sequins sparsely placed. Several straps connected it to a shrug in the same style. It looked like something out of a fairytale. “I’m wearing it.”

Sasha pulled her top off at once and Ria chortled, looking away as she put on Rosa’s creation. Through the window, Ria could see the corner of Ellie’s truck.

“How is it?”

Ria spun to look at her. It was simply beautiful, the color complimenting the brown of Sasha’s skin. “You look like a mermaid,” Ria said, twirling Sasha’s hair in her hands, arranging the waves over her shoulders. “Hey, I wanted to ask—do you know an Ellie Williams? At least, I think that’s her last name.”

“Ellie?” Sasha said, stepping toward the floor-length mirror behind her door. “We had a class together. Why?”

“She was Murphy’s friend from yesterday.”

Sasha examined her appearance in the mirror. “Now that I think about it, I did know she dealt. I’ve heard quite a bit about her.”

Ria sat on the bed. “Like what?”

“Well,” Sasha said, and touched up her lip gloss. “She’s cool, but apparently, every time Ellie walks into a room someone leaves crying.”

“No way,” Ria said, laughing. She pictured Ellie, her relaxed manner in the stash room. 

Sasha shrugged. “Just what I heard,” she said. “Now, I want you to make an effort and not let this Julian stuff ruin your night. It’s my birthday wish.”

“Fine,” Ria said, grabbing the paper bag with the pre-rolls. “Let’s go, birthday girl.”

The pregame went as it usually did—the weed was distributed, Halle and Katherine were almost an hour late, and the blue freeze pops were the first to go.

Ria was four Berry Blue jello shots deep when the first large group arrived. It was a mix of Valerie sports teams, all there because of Isla. Already, the space felt tight. And it was only 10:30.

Quinn turned the music up. Isla sat on the couch with Esther on her lap, eating each other’s faces. Katherine and Jamie played cup pong as people watched. AJ was in charge of the door, and Madi had a horde of guys hanging on her every word. 

Ria watched them all as she nursed a grape freeze pop, twisting the promise ring around her finger. Rosa poured a couple of shots on the drinks table next to Ria. She gifted her one.

“Thanks,” Ria said, and nodded toward Madi and her horde. “Might have to go rescue her soon.”

“She’s fine, they’re talking robotics,” Rosa said, and raised her shot glass. 

Ria raised hers. Together, they chanted. “Pa’ arriba, pa’ abajo, pa’l centro y pa’ dentro.” They drank at the same time, grimacing as the tequila hit their tongues and burned its way down to their stomachs.

“Puñeta,” Ria cursed, squeezing out more of the freeze pop to offer some relief. Rosa downed a shot of pink lemonade as a chaser.

By the time the hum of alcohol was in full force, Ria had taken to the dance floor. She could feel the music vibrating in her chest, and as Bad Bunny’s only merengue song started playing, she dropped her jaw and looked at AJ.

He screamed as the partygoers cheered. It was a popular song, but Ria and AJ were Puerto Rican born and raised. Bad Bunny was theirs.

AJ ran to grab Ria’s hands as she laughed, and they let the fast tempo of the music set the pace. Ria moved her hips and let AJ guide her movements with his arms, just as their father had taught her. They were synchronized, and with just a shift of his hand, she knew to turn. Merengue was among their favorites to dance together, a push and pull of rhythm that was infectious.

Rosa and her boyfriend joined them, along with a few of the others who knew how to dance. They were in their own little bubble of Latin American bliss. Ria couldn’t stop smiling as she sang the lyrics.

Between the alcohol, the dancing, and the heat of a packed room, a sheen of sweat began to form over Ria’s skin. Still, she was sad when the song ended. AJ bowed when it was over, and snuck away into the crowd to do God-knows-what.

Ria’s head spun. She needed a breather. Two hands grabbed her shoulders. “RIA!” She jumped, startled until she saw it was Sasha.

“What?” Ria asked loudly.

“Look!” Sasha yelled, and pointed at something. Ria followed her finger, trying to focus through her drunken haze. “It’s your dealer!” Then she saw her.

Listening as a girl with bright pink hair talked to her, Ellie leaned against the wall, a bottle of Smirnoff seltzer in hand. Her hair was down this time, the short strands tousled into a soft shag. Boxers peeked beneath low-rise jeans, and a tank top left her arms exposed. Ria might not have recognized her had it not been for the tattoo. She tore her eyes away.

“I don’t see anyone crying,” Ria said, taking a deep breath. She was still winded.

“Yet,” Sasha said and stood up straighter, slapping Ria’s arm. “She’s coming.”

Ria scoffed, not believing her until she turned, Ellie’s face mere inches away.

She smiled down at Ria, her hands in her pockets. “Hey.” Ellie turned to Sasha as Ria took a step back. “Happy birthday. Nice party.”

“Thanks!” Sasha replied, then pointed behind her. “I’m gonna go dance.” And she was gone.

Neither of them spoke at first.

“What now?” Ria said suddenly.

“What?” Ellie said, leaning closer.

“You wished her a happy birthday,” she replied, reminding her of what she’d said the previous day.

Ellie chuckled, furrowing her brows. “That’s not all I came for,” she said.

Ria’s heart raced as Ellie’s words hung between them. She told herself it was all the dancing.

“Come smoke with me,” she said. “I owe you a few hits.”

Ellie considered it, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked to where the girl with pink hair still stood. She shook impatiently, her eyes on the two of them. Slowly, Ria realized Ellie had left the girl mid-conversation.

“Unless your girlfriend is waiting on you,” Ria said, tilting her head to the side.

Setting her gaze back on Ria, Ellie leaned even closer. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Pulling back, she spoke again, louder. “Lead the way.”

On the way to Sasha’s room, Ria spotted her dancing with AJ. She laughed to herself, shaking her head. The last time she had seen her brother this excited about someone was with this girl called Marlene, but that ended pretty badly. At least for now, AJ was just having fun. She opened the door to Sasha’s dorm, and Ellie followed her into the room.

The moonlit serenity of Sasha’s bedroom was stark against the chaos in the living room. The closed door didn’t shut out the sound, but it made the party feel far away. Ria unlatched the window and pushed it open, letting the chill of the night cool her warm face. Small groups stood outside in the fog, chatting quietly or smoking. Some walked toward Cedar hall, searching for the party.

Sitting on the bench which Sasha had bought for this very purpose, Ria pulled the tube out of her pocket. She squeezed the top until the lid popped open, flipping it over as the pre-roll slid into her palm.

Ellie sat facing her, one knee up against the windowsill. Ria held the joint between her teeth as she looked for her lighter.

Something clicked, and a flame sparked between Ellie’s fingers, emanating from that same silver lighter in her hand. Ria leaned forward, letting the fire consume the twisted tip of the joint. Ellie’s eyes didn’t leave hers as she inhaled the smoke, blowing it out the window.

When she passed the joint to Ellie, Ria’s fingers brushed hers. She took a long puff and released it through her nose, the smoke floating lazily around her. “Was that Alejandro I saw you dancing with?”

Ria nodded. “You know my brother?” 

“You could say so,” she said. “You’re a . . . junior?”

“Sophomore.”

Ellie nodded, taking another hit before handing the joint back. “You declared your major yet?”

“As soon as I got here,” Ria said, smiling as she watched Ellie hold back a laugh. Most people waited until their second year, but Ria had been a bit overexcited. “What do you study?”

“Art,” she said, and Ria looked to Ellie’s green house, at the painted pots that sat in the darkness of her porch. “You?”

Ria smoked. “Biology,” she said, trying not to cough as she passed the joint to Ellie, “with a focus on marine biology.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “You into clams or something?”

Ria giggled, the effect of the weed starting to mix with the alcohol. “No,” she said. “I’m more of a sea turtle girl.”

“I see,” Ellie said, eyeing Ria. “How’d that happen?”

Watching her for a moment, Ria smiled softly. The memory played in her mind. She smelled the ocean, heard her parents laughing, her brother shushing them. They were so little, only seven and nine, but back then AJ felt so much older. It was the last time they were all together like that. Something too close to her heart, Ria thought. “I’ve only ever told two people.”

Ellie sighed as the joint went out, lighting it again. “And who has the honor of knowing?” She was digging for something, but Ria couldn’t be sure what it was.

“Sasha,” Ria said, “and . . .” She paused, suddenly feeling strange about answering the question. Sasha and Julian. The events of that morning rushed back into her mind and left a sour taste in her mouth. Did she want to tell her about Julian? Why wouldn’t she want to tell Ellie about her boyfriend? She’d told everyone else just fine, and Ellie wasn’t special. No reason not to say it.

“My boyfriend.”

For some reason, Ria searched Ellie’s face for a reaction. There was nothing. And there shouldn’t have been. Was she expecting something from her? What is going on with you?

The questions in her mind were growing too loud. As her brain started to fog, Ria propped her head on her hand.

Taking another hit, Ellie inched closer. “Where is this boyfriend of yours?”

Ria watched her carefully. Ellie’s eyes looked soft in the dimness of the room. “Not here,” Ria said. Their faces were so close.

Ellie held the now-roach up to Ria’s lips, and she took one last puff as the fire grew dangerously close to Ellie’s fingers. With her other hand, Ellie took Ria’s chin and leaned in, opening her mouth. Slowly, Ria released the smoke into it, not quite touching Ellie’s lips.

Ellie blew out the smoke, and a grin spread across her features.

The door to the room opened, and the party lights broke the intimacy of the moment. Esther stumbled through the door, laughing as Isla—who appeared painfully sober—and Quinn followed her in. Esther stopped in her tracks at the sight of the two of them by the window. “Oh my God, is that Ellie?” she said, slurring her words as Isla ushered her to the bed.

“Hey, Esther,” Ellie said softly, raising her hand in greeting.

“Sorry guys, she’s a little too drunk,” Quinn said, pulling the covers away for Esther to lie down.

Pulling herself to her feet, Ellie stood before Ria, their knees knocking. Ria looked up at her, her head spinning. Ellie held out her hand. “Let’s go dance.”

Behind her, Quinn and Isla gave each other a look. Aware of their attention, Ria decided to let them settle their bet.

Taking her hand, Ria let Ellie pull her up, their bodies so close Ria could smell her cologne. It was subtle, woodsy with hints of jasmine. Ria tried to ignore the way her hand felt in Ellie’s.

Stepping backward, Ellie led Ria across the room and out of Sasha’s dorm, her eyes never straying from Ria’s. Before the door closed, she heard Quinn say, “Pay up, bitch.”

If the living room had been packed before, Ria didn’t know what to call this. There were more bodies in the space than she even thought possible. Ellie worked her way through them.

Several people—mostly girls—greeted her as they passed, completely ignoring Ria. A blonde was particularly touchy, her hands grabbing Ellie’s waist. She pulled away smoothly, waving goodbye as she dragged Ria along. Ria waved, too.

Somewhere near the center of the room, she stopped. The crowd around them was so tight they were forced together. “Was that another one of your not-girlfriends?” Ria asked, struggling to keep her body from touching Ellie’s.

Ellie laughed, rubbing her neck. Ria stared at her tattoo—two ferns and a moth, spreading so far down her forearm that a few of the leaves reached the back of her hand. Ria wondered if it had a meaning. “Sure,” she replied, but Ria had forgotten the question.

“You seem to know everyone,” she said.

“Perks of the trade.”

Ria couldn’t hear the music anymore, too high to make out any melody over all the noise. But the others could, screaming as they recognized another song. They moved around her, body slamming against body, jumping and stepping every which way. Ria stumbled, but Ellie took her hips, steadying her.

“Thanks,” Ria said, but her hands didn’t leave. She looked up at her, and neither looked away.

Every person in the room screamed the lyrics to the song. Ria didn’t care to decipher the words anymore. It didn’t matter. Ellie pulled her closer, moving their bodies to the music as Ria blindly followed. Her skin prickled under Ellie’s touch, her hands tracing the curve of Ria’s waist. 

Leaning closer, Ellie looked at Ria’s lips. Ria’s eyes flickered to hers, and her stomach twisted when she realized what had crossed her mind. She pulled away and immediately missed the feeling of Ellie’s hands on her. The revelation disgusted her. 

She’d danced with people at parties before. Hell, she’d probably done worse with Sasha. But this felt different. This felt wrong. She liked it too much. Her entire body itched. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” Ria lied, and Ellie furrowed her brows. Before she could say anything, Ria pushed her way out of Ellie’s sight.

The way to the bathroom felt endless as Ria fought to squeeze between the crowd. It was growing too hot, and she wanted to claw at her throat. She burst out of the mass of bodies, gasping for air. The small hallway to the bathroom was empty, much to her surprise, but the door was locked. Ria knocked, and upon hearing a response, leaned against the wall to calm down.

She stared at her shoes as she waited, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours. A pair of converse stepped into her view of the floor, and she looked up. Ellie leaned against the wall across the doorframe, in the same manner as Ria.

“What are you doing?” Ria said, standing up straight.

Ellie shrugged. “Just waiting for the bathroom.”

Ria shook her head, scoffing as she took to the wall again. She was watching her, Ria knew. The toilet flushed inside the bathroom, and she looked up. Ellie’s eyes burned through her, so intensely it made Ria’s knees weak.

The door opened, and a guy walked out, leaving them alone in the hallway.

Gesturing toward the bathroom, Ellie spoke. “Go right ahead.”

This time it was Ria who shrugged. “Fine,” she said, and stepped inside, pushing the door closed.

But it didn’t close.

Ellie pushed it open, slipping in and closing the door herself, locking it behind her.

She moved closer, and Ria didn’t step back. Her hands found Ria’s waist again, and she didn’t protest. “Ria,” she whispered, their noses grazing as she tasted the sound. “Tell me your name.”

Ria’s heart raced, and suddenly the party—her life—was in a different universe altogether. Nothing outside of that door was real. Only the two of them existed. Only her. Her breath on Ria’s cheek. Her cologne. Her lips grazing hers.

“Maria Celeste,” she whispered.

Ellie smiled softly. “Maria Celeste,” she repeated, and pressed her lips to Ria’s. Her kiss was warm, gentler than Ria had ever known. Breathing in her scent, Ria snuck her hand behind Ellie’s neck, pulling her closer. Parting her lips, Ellie’s tongue found Ria’s, deepening the kiss. 

Allowing her hands to explore her, Ria dragged her fingers down Ellie’s abdomen, running over the taut muscle beneath her shirt. She sighed against Ria, and their kisses grew hungrier. 

Ria stumbled back against the counter as Ellie pressed herself against her. She looked down, parting Ria’s legs with her knee, placing her thigh between them. With every kiss, she rolled her hips against her, setting Ria’s core on fire. 

Lifting the fabric of Ellie’s tank, Ria pulled it as far as Ellie would let her. But she didn’t stop her, only pulling away to take the shirt off. Ria’s eyes lingered on her exposed chest, and Ellie chuckled softly before kissing her again, harder. 

Her hands were all over Ria, grasping at her hips, snaking under her shirt. She squeezed her breast, moaning softly into her mouth. She hadn’t been touched like this in so long, never felt so needed. Ria found the button of Ellie’s jeans, beginning to undo it. “Don’t.” She took Ria’s hand, stopping her. Ria pulled away to look at her. Ellie smiled in the dim light. She kissed Ria’s neck, her own hands unzipping Ria’s pants. “I’m good.”

Her fingers slithered beneath her underwear, and Ellie groaned against Ria. “You’re so wet,” she whispered next to her ear as her fingertips stroked the tender spot.

“What did you expect?” Ria breathed.

Ellie grabbed her face with her free hand, kissing Ria deeply as her fingers set a steady rhythm. The room grew hotter with every breath, but not in the same sticky way as it was outside. Ria liked this—loved the heat that formed between them. Her face grew hot, heart pounding in her chest as she breathed harder. It only spurred Ellie on, applying more pressure.

A haze of pleasure clouded Ria’s already fading mind, and her hands clutched the edge of the bathroom counter, begging for something to ground her. Ellie started moving farther down and slipping her fingers inside her, sending waves of ecstasy through Ria. She was all she could hear, smell, feel—and God, she felt so good. Ria arched against her, writhing with her touch, desperate for release.

A knock came at the door. Ria’s eyes fluttered open, but all she could see was Ellie, and she wasn’t stopping. She brought a finger up to her lips, shushing Ria softly as her hand sped up. Ria opened her mouth, wanting to scream as her legs clenched.

Ellie kissed her again, silencing any sound that might’ve found its way out. The knocking resumed, louder now, and Ellie pressed against her, moving faster yet. Ria dug her fingers in her hair as Ellie pushed her over the edge, her knees buckling as climax shook through her.

It took every fiber of her being to keep from making noise, breathing heavily as she leaned her forehead against Ellie’s.

“There you go,” Ellie said, holding Ria upright as her body threatened to crumble.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and Ellie planted tender kisses down her neck.

She was still coming down from the high when the knocking intensified, the handle rattling as someone yelled from the other side. “Hellooo?” 

Ellie finally reacted, looking at the door.

Suddenly the universe inside the bathroom collapsed, and reality rushed back to Ria. She was still foggy from the substances, but growing more and more sober with the thought of what she had just done.

Ellie’s hands held her hips, and Ria stared at her unbuttoned pants in disbelief, shocked by her own behavior. Julian’s face appeared in her mind. He might not have been the perfect boyfriend, but they were still together. He didn’t deserve this. Ria’s stomach turned. “Fuck,” she said, her head spinning.

Looking at her, Ellie opened her mouth to say something before she saw the panic in Ria’s eyes. Her words caught, and Ria had a feeling she knew exactly what Ria was thinking.

Pulling away, Ria zipped up her pants, stumbling on Ellie’s shirt. “I should go,” she said, reaching down to pick it up and hand it to her.

“Uh.” Ellie quickly pulled the tank top over her head. “Okay.”

Ria walked past her toward the door, and Ellie took her hand. “Ria,” she said, but Ria couldn’t bear to look at her. It would only make her want more. She needed to leave Ellie’s presence.

“I’m sorry,” Ria told her, not knowing what else to say. Unlocking the door, she faced whoever she assumed had been knocking. They said something, but Ria didn’t stay long enough to hear it. 

She threw herself into the crowd again and burst into Sasha’s room. The window was still open, and she stepped quietly past Esther—and now Halle, as she predicted—to reach it. Climbing on top of the bench where Ellie and she had sat, Ria swung her feet over the windowsill, dropping half a foot onto the soft grass.

The fog was thicker now, diffusing the street lights of campus. Ria’s feet carried her to the green, and she laid down on the grass beneath Old Tree. Breathing in the cold night air, she let it cool her inebriated mind.

This was a fucking mess. She didn’t know how to fix it, or if it could even be fixed. Either way, she had to fix her phone first.

⊰✭⊱

Notes: this has been a long time coming (sorry!!) but thank you for reading! more to come soon

The art for this chapter is NSFW so do with that information as you will.

https://imgur.com/a/bathroom-yJFLHom

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

That is not cutlery

Pairing: Yelena Belova/Kate Bishop

Summary: Yelena keeps coming back and Kate just might end up wanting her to stay

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, be kind.

Read on AO3 | MASTERLIST

Kate liked to think that, as time went by, she got better at noticing when Yelena was about to walk inside her apartment. She told herself she could hear if something - or someone - started to go up the fire escape, that Pizza Dog would bark in an attempt to protect her life from an invader, or that her sixth sense would know if someone was about to sneak upon her.

That was obviously just wishful thinking.

She was never able to predict when Yelena was going to slide through her window and she would very often turn around and just see the woman standing there. Yelena would laugh every time she yelled in surprise, she would find it amusing while Kate cursed - she learned some colorful words with Yelena herself - and tell her, once again, she has a door.

That dynamic was fine when Yelena's visits were still scarce.

After Yelena finally confronted Clint - and they had a conversation that neither of them ever told Kate about - and left town, it was months before she returned. Kate was already sure she would never see the woman again, her memories of their encounters becoming more amusing as time tickled, and that wasn’t even brought up with Clint anymore. And then Kate walked inside her apartment after just dropping a thief at the police station and Yelena was just there. Standing in her kitchen while eating something straight from the pan, using the only fork Kate had, also while cooing at Pizza Dog, who was sitting by her feet looking up and wagging his tail.

Kate had jumped away in surprise, Yelena had laughed, Pizza Dog barked, and that was it. Yelena finished her dinner, patted the dog's head and smiled when Kate asked what she was doing there.

"I was in town," was her reply, and Kate hadn’t been able to take anything else from her.

Yelena left not too long after Pizza Dog fell asleep on the couch and Kate was left wondering what had just happened. Yelena didn’t give her a reason for being in town, so Kate spent the next few days making sure the woman wasn’t after Clint again or planning some very evil plan against the city itself. But the days went by and she didn’t hear from Yelena again, nor did she even get a glimpse of the spy. It made sense, Kate conceded, because Yelena was an expert at staying unnoticed, though Kate did her best to try to track her down.

After a week, Kate concluded that Yelena had left again and kept going on with her life. Crimes rates were always rising in New York, which was weird considering the number of superheroes that lived there, but Kate also got a more regular job - or as regular as it could be since she was working as a private detective.

Her apartment wasn’t invaded again until late June.

Kate was coming home after spending the afternoon at the park with Pizza Dog - it had been an uncommonly quiet day - and she noticed her window being open when she was walking to her building. The lights were off and, for a moment, Kate thought she had forgotten to close it before leaving earlier that day. It, of course, proved to be wrong when Pizza Dog barked and pulled his leash as soon as Kate opened the front door. She let it go out of surprise and watched in horror as the dog ran to jump on someone's legs. Not to bite, but to ask for scratches as the person standing in her kitchen laughed in delight.

"Traitor," Kate mumbled under her breath before entering her apartment and closing the door behind herself. "You're going to break my window one of these days," she had stated then, doing her best to glare at Yelena while she removed her coat to hang it behind the door.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Kate Bishop?" And Yelena had looked up, her dark eyes looking so mischievous and amused that Kate's grimace washed away pretty fast. "I don't break anything."

Yelena's excuse was the same as before - she was in town. She didn’t explain why she was in New York or why she was acting like Kate's shitty apartment was her private motel, but she cooked a fast dinner - tomato soup and grilled cheese - and Kate used the soup's ladle to eat so Yelena could use her single spoon. Pizza Dog ate Kate's grilled cheese when she wasn't looking and Yelena patted his head while the brunette whined about her food being gone.

Yelena left while Kate was doing the dishes, jumping from the window even if Kate was telling her to use the front door. Pizza Dog cried a bit and Kate ended up letting him sleep on her bed that night.

She saw Yelena again much sooner than she thought she would after that.

A month later, Kate was just walking back inside her apartment after spending some time hanging on the rooftop with her new friend, Peter - literally hanging because she was fascinated by Peter's web and they ended up getting too wild in their jokes, but that was a small detail. She liked to think about the fact that she made a new friend, a superhero no less, an Avenger like Clint, other than how stupid they could get when they were left without supervision. They knew each other for a few weeks now and no one got hurt, so she would count that as a success.

When she entered her apartment, a voice that was oddly similar to Clint was telling her it was nothing to brag about and that they should be more careful, although Kate was half sure Clint must have shot an arrow through his foot at least once. She was distracted enough that she didn’t notice there was someone inside her apartment - and maybe she should start training to be more acute with her surroundings since she had no superhuman powers to rely on. Kate should have realized something was off when she didn’t hear the dog barking, but she didn’t and, a second later, she jumped in the air as if someone had shocked her.

"You went all the way down and came back up through the stairs instead of using the fire escape?"

"Jesus Christ, Yelena!"

The spy was sitting on one of the old kitchen chairs, one hand scratching the back of Pizza Dog's ear while the other one was holding the fork right above the pan where she had cooked something to eat. Kate was just a bit pissed to throw her a glare and politely ask her to stop sneaking in, but all Yelena did was smile before going back to her meal as if Kate hadn’t said anything.

By now, Kate already knew how the night would go. Yelena would finish her food, stay for a few more minutes to play with the dog, and then she would jump through her window and into the night like she was a shadow or something equally scary. With that in mind, Kate decided to go take a quick shower like she initially planned on doing, realizing a bit too late that it didn’t feel too weird to have Yelena there.

She had started to see Yelena as a friend as well - a very non-reliable friend, mysterious and terribly good at breaking in. Kate wasn't expecting Yelena to braid her hair or to spend the night playing video games with her, but they had become friends somehow. If someone invades your house four times to eat and not to hurt you, you could count them as a friend at least.

Clint's voice inside her head seemed to disagree, but Kate wasn't good at doing what he wanted her to anyway.

When Kate left the bathroom, drying her hair with her old towel, Yelena was still sitting there, this time with both of her legs propped on top of the other chair across from her. Pizza Dog had his head resting on her lap, his tail wagging on the floor, and Yelena had a soft smile on her face. That was a look Kate never thought she would see on the other woman. She was still tense, her entire body coiled as if she was ready to jump into action at any second, but Yelena looked almost peaceful while running her hands down Pizza Dog's fur.

For a moment, Kate stayed behind and looked. Just looked. Yelena's blonde hair seemed like it hadn’t had a proper haircut in years, but it worked on her perfectly. Her round eyes held a few lines around them when she smiled, her hands looked calloused and she had so many rings on her fingers that Kate wondered how she didn’t go around losing them on the way. She had her ears pierced, surprisingly, and some visible scars running down her skin, although none of them was big enough to grab Kate's attention.

Yelena looked like she could kill Kate in a couple of seconds max, but she couldn’t brush off the soft look she had at that moment.

"I washed the fork so you can eat."

Kate had dumbly thought Yelena hadn’t noticed her presence yet, but it was a stupid conclusion. Yelena was skilled and she was much better at noticing her surroundings than Kate. She wondered if she would ever be able to sneak up on Yelena, but the thought alone almost made her laugh loudly. No. No, she would never be able to do that.

Kate threw her towel on the couch without caring too much about getting the cushions wet - she barely had time to sit on her couch nowadays, always running around town either being a part-time hero or investigating cheating husbands and wives. She then walked over to where Yelena was sitting to see a plate placed for her across the table, something she hadn’t noticed before. It appeared to be mac 'n cheese, which made her remember the first time Yelena broke in. Beside the plate, her fork was waiting for her, apparently bright and clean, and Kate almost smiled. Yelena let a sigh out before moving her legs away so Kate could sit on the chair and the dog whined a bit thinking she was about to leave.

"It's unfair how much he would rather share this apartment with you other than me," Kate complained as she sat down to eat. It was boxed mac 'n cheese, as she predicted, but it tasted good.

"Is that so, boy?" Yelena cooed at him, squeezing his face between her hands before leaning down to kiss his snout.

Kate tried to hide her surprise at the gesture and ended up choking on her food. She coughed a couple of times, bringing a hand to cover her mouth, and her face heated up when she noticed Yelena looking at her blankly. The blonde wasn’t worried, but at least she didn’t look amused either.

"So, uh," Kate said, trying to take the attention away from her, "you were in town again?"

Yelena did a once over her for a moment before nodding. The dog had calmed himself again after noticing the woman wasn’t leaving yet and laid down by her feet, letting her hands free. Yelena put one hand on top of the table, tumbling down her fingers against the cheap metal surface in a strange pattern, while the other one seemed to stay on her lap. Kate thought she wouldn’t get any more explanation from her, something she was starting to get used to by now, but Yelena's voice filled the silence right after.

"Something like that," she declared. "Didn’t go that far this time. Who's your new friend?"

Kate blinked in surprise at the blunt question, though she was fast to recover from that. "What? You didn’t listen in before invading my apartment? Again." The last word was just above a whisper, an afterthought, something to remind herself that Yelena still had to ask for her permission to enter her apartment.

"Listen in?" Yelena repeated with a hint of humor. "I respect your privacy, Kate Bishop."

"Right," Kate scoffed. Her plate was almost empty by now and she slowed down a bit. She didn’t know if Yelena would be gone as soon as the food ended, but she could try to hold her there for a few more minutes.

Yelena hesitated for a second before talking again, something Kate only noticed because she was stealing a glance at the other woman’s face while she ate. "I saw his costume. Halloween is a bit far away."

"How did you see it? How did you sneak up on us this time? He has spider senses, come on."

"When he jumped to the other building while you were taking the hardest way to get here," Yelena explained calmly, which made Kate blush a little. "But it's a good thing you brought it up. He had spider senses, you don't. You need to pay attention to your surroundings. You always get scared when you see me."

"Because you break into my apartment," Kate argued quickly.

"Closed locks don't keep the bad guys away, Kate Bishop." The spy seemed somber suddenly, more serious than Kate had seen her in a while. Her eyes got darker and a bit glossy, if she was talking about experience. Kate didn’t feel like asking if she had always been the bad guy or not. "I sneaked up on you four times already. That’s four times more than I should've been able to."

"But you're not a bad guy."

It was a stupid thing to say to someone who, seven months ago, was trying to kill Kate's mentor and friend. It was even more stupid to say that to a Russian spy who walked around killing the targets she gets paid to kill.

But it wasn’t a lie. Kate couldn’t see Yelena like a bad guy. She could see someone that was hurt and that had no other thing to do with herself, but not a bad bone in her body.

She could be wrong - God knows Kate wasn't always a great judge of character - but Yelena hadn’t given her any reason to think otherwise. Sure, she tried to kill Barton, but she didn’t, and Kate was sure she must have a good reason to do it at the time. And, yes, Yelena had the terrible habit of breaking into her apartment to steal her food, but Pizza Dog liked her, and he was a better judge than Kate.

However, it appeared to be the wrong thing to say.

Yelena's entire behavior changed in a second. Even the dog raised his head to see it, like he could feel her emotion shifting. Kate could only watch, with wide and confused eyes, as Yelena's expression became empty. There was no softness, but there also wasn’t anger. It was like all of her emotions were piled away deep inside her, unreachable, leaving behind a hard shell. It made a shiver run down Kate's spine.

It also made Kate think she never wanted to see Yelena looking like that again.

"You don't know a thing about me, Kate Bishop."

Even her voice - always heavy with an accent and at the edge of amusement, as if she always knew something other people didn’t - was void of anything. It was a statement that left no room for arguments. It was said with certainty because Yelena believed every word she said.

It took Kate completely by surprise. So much so that she didn’t even react when Yelena pushed her chair back and, without hesitation, walked to her window to jump out. Kate couldn’t move. She kept looking out the window even though she was sure Yelena wouldn’t be back.

Pizza Dog whined and Kate's eyes snapped back at him. He was glaring at her as if blaming her that his favorite human was gone and Kate was forced to agree with him. The last few bites of the mac 'n cheese tasted like ash, but she thought it served her right.

Ironically, it was Halloween night when they saw each other again.

It was late - or too soon, depending on how you wanted to see it. Kate was walking home at three in the morning after attending a small get-together party in Peter's apartment. Well, it was supposed to be small, although half of his school showed up thanks to an open invitation from Flash, and it also lasted longer than it should have. Kate had spent most of the night handing candy to kids who stopped by while Peter tried to stop anyone from breaking anything, sometimes joined by MJ when the other girl needed a break to complain about everyone being too loud and annoying. Kate had to agree with her that the sexy Halloween costumes were a bit too much this year - she doubted she had ever seen so many sexy Avengers costumes before, although the short skirt angels and tight leather devils also made an appearance.

Kate wanted to stay back to help Peter clean up after he managed to get everyone out, and that’s how she ended up walking home at such an absurd hour. Well, not that absurd to her anymore because Kate was very often working at night, but she was tired and just wanted to jump on her bed. Kate got up the stairs to her apartment two steps at a time, trying to get there faster, all while trying to reach out for her keys inside her pocket.

She slid the door open and stepped inside before locking it behind her, then she threw the keys on top of the table, causing a loud noise that disturbed the last semblance of peace inside her apartment. Kate was removing her coat when Pizza Dog came walking towards her tiredly, barely wagging his tail because of his sleepy state.

"Hey, boy," she greeted him happily. "Sorry to wake you up."

"I thought about throwing my knife at you to make up my point, but you took too long to show up."

Kate's initial reaction was, not surprisingly, to jump and yelp, already turning to her window with her fists raised to a fight. It lasted only a moment, though, because her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light and she realized it was just Yelena. It did surprise her more because she thought she wouldn’t see the woman again, but it didn’t scare her.

Until she saw the state the woman was in, at least.

Yelena was sitting outside, leaning against the firescape, even if she had managed to open the window. She had one arm thrown on the metal stair as if she was trying to look like she was having a great time just hanging outside to enjoy the night, but her other arm was wrapped around her middle like she was trying to hide something. The lights from the street weren’t strong enough to allow Kate to see what it was, but they allowed her to see Yelena's pale face and lopsided smile.

It wasn’t a normal smile, Kate could tell even from a distance. It lacked strength. And that's what got Kate moving.

"Shit," she cursed while she rushed towards the spy.

Kate had to dip her head down to be able to fit through the window and she made much more noise than she intended when she landed on the old metal stair - Kate just now wondered how the thing was still standing. The brunette crouched down, but her hands hovered around Yelena since she wasn’t sure if it was okay to touch her or not.

"What happened?"

"Oh, you know," Yelena started and just then Kate realized how breathless she sounded. Yelena's eyes could barely focus on her, something that made Kate's heart sink. "I was in town."

Despite the situation and the panic inside her, Kate couldn’t help but huff a laugh. She shook her head at the woman’s antics, and finally found the courage to touch Yelena's arm. Kate found no resistance to pull the member away from the blonde's abdomen, though a hiss left her lips when she noticed the amount of blood on Yelena's clothes. The thick red liquid was gushing from an open wound next to her left hip and dripping down the open gaps of the fire escape stairs. She had been there for a while, Kate could tell, which explained how she got too weak to go on with her silly plan of throwing a knife at Kate.

"Why are you outside?" Kate asked while she applied pressure on the wound.

Yelena showed no reaction to it, even if Kate knew that putting pressure on a wound like that was one of the most painful experiences anyone could go through. "Didn’t want to stain anything," was the blonde's reply.

"Oh, I’m so relieved you care so much about the old shit inside my apartment that you just decided to bleed out outside," Kate snapped back.

Kate wasn’t mad at Yelena, but she wanted the woman to see it had been a stupid decision. She went through the trouble of breaking in and opening her window, and then she just stayed out there leaning against the dirtiest piece of metal in New York. Kate was about to say more when she heard the dog crying behind her, clearly distressed about the situation.

"I told him I was okay," Yelena said as if it was the most important thing at the moment. "I think he ended up sleeping by the window since I told him not to come here."

Kate sighed and cursed under her breath again before she looked over her shoulder. "Boy, lay down and stay." Always obedient, the dog did just that, though his sad brown eyes kept staring at both humans in concern. Kate would have to deal with him later. "Were you shot?" She asked after she looked at Yelena again. Kate needed to know what happened to see if she would be able to help her or not.

"Stabbed," Yelena corrected calmly.

"How did anyone get close enough to do that?" It was a valid question because Kate knew Yelena was good at hand-in-hand combat as well.

"I won’t be giving you any tips for future reference."

Kate looked into brown eyes with only slight annoyance before she removed her hand from the wound to take another look. The blood seemed to be getting out faster than before, so she quickly applied pressure again and turned her head to the side. Kate tried to hide her worried expression on her shoulder while she tried to come up with a plan, even if she knew Yelena herself was already aware of her delicate situation.

"What are you wearing, Kate Bishop?"

The mundane question made Kate do a double take. She glanced down at the bright red shirt and the new pair of jeans she wore to the party - and there goes another one of her pants, now with blood stains on her knees. It has been Peter's idea to have a matching costume since MJ had decided she wasn’t going to dress up because she thought it was stupid to do so. Kate had thought they would match with something cool like the Grady twins, Dionne and Cher, Fred and Daphne, Men in Black, or Woody and Buzz, but Peter had gone the complete opposite direction. Kate regretted her choice as soon as she saw him holding ketchup and mustard shirts, though it was too late to back down - and red was more of her color than yellow, so that was her final decision. It didn’t make it any easier when Ned showed up wearing a very detailed Anakin Skywalker costume.

"I was at a Halloween party," Kate mumbled her reply a bit shyly, though she didn’t dwell on that for much longer.

"Ah, yes. The American party." Yelena sounded amused, which would have been great if she wasn’t bleeding to death outside Kate's apartment. "And you wore the most famous American condiment. How creative."

"What would you have worn?" Kate was a bit defensive, she knew that, but the blood was still sleeping through her fingers and her mind couldn’t come up with a plan fast enough it appeared.

"Nothing."

It wasn’t the time. It certainly wasn’t the time for that, but Kate felt her face heating up with Yelena's blunt answer. She shouldn’t have pictured it when the blonde was so seriously injuried, but a very vivid image of a naked Yelena flashed in her mind before she shut it down quickly. So not the time for that.

"It would cause a reaction," Kate managed to spill out after gulping down.

To her surprise, Yelena laughed. A full-on laugh, which made Kate look at her with wide eyes. They were close to each other since Kate was literally trying to keep Yelena from dying, so she leaned away a few inches to see all of the blonde's face while she laughed. She saw Yelena's nose scrunch in a way that was way too adorable on the face of a skilled spy who could flip a wrist and kill Kate if she wanted to.

"I meant that I wouldn’t be going, Kate Bishop."

"Oh." Another laugh, a deeper blush, and Kate knew she needed to take the attention away from her soon if she didn’t want to be teased by it. "We need to get you somewhere else."

The good-natured humor was gone so fast that Kate had to blink twice to wrap her head around it. Yelena was suddenly staring at her very seriously and with enough strength that it almost looked like she wasn’t bleeding out. "Why?" The blonde asked harshly.

"I can't help you here, Yelena." Kate could hear the desperation in her own voice as she shook her head almost in panic. "You were stabbed, you're bleeding so much. I can't… I can't patch you up." Kate didn’t even know how. Sure, she got better at doing bandages on herself, but she couldn’t just stitch someone up, especially when the wound itself was so wide and dangerous. Not to mention she didn’t even have the equipment to do so. Kate didn’t have medical accessories just lying around her apartment like she was a Grey's Anatomy project. "We need to get you professional help," she added.

Yelena scoffed and rolled her eyes - she surely had an attitude no one on the verge of dying should have. "I can't go to the hospital. It defeats the whole purpose of being an undetected spy in your country."

Kate bit her bottom lip hard to keep herself from yelling out of desperation - Yelena lost the strength behind her voice and her head slumped back against the railing. She hadn’t intended to take Yelena to a hospital to begin with. She knew there was a reason the Russian showed up at her apartment instead of seeking help from someone who could actually help her. But that didn’t mean there was no other place where she could take Yelena.

"The Avengers' tower," Kate declared. "They put it back up a while ago and I know they have a medical bay." Peter had told her that because he was an Avenger himself. He could get in and get out whenever he wanted to.

"There's not a way in hell that I'm going to step foot there," came Yelena's annoyed reply, a hint of a warning behind her words that Kate chose to ignore.

"That's okay, I can carry you," the brunette affirmed while she patted her pocket to find her phone.

Her pants were already ruined from the blood, so she ran her palm down her thigh to clean some of it before taking the device from her back pocket. She was about to call for help when Yelena's hand held her wrist with much more forcefulness than she should have been capable of at that moment. Kate's eyes snapped back to the other woman in surprise and she found Yelena already glaring at her.

"Listen to me carefully." Yelena's accent got more pronounced, something that made Kare gulp down in fear. "I'm not going anywhere near the stupid Avengers."

The words were spitted out like a curse and Kate had no reaction at first. Yelena was mad. No, she was furious, livid. Kate had never feared her before that moment because Yelena really looked murderous while staring back at her.

As Yelena's blood kept slipping through her fingers, though, Kate reached the conclusion that she preferred that look to the emptiness she saw the other day. She could deal with an angry Yelena. She could not deal with having the woman dying in front of her.

"It's going to be okay. I will call a friend that can take you there faster and they will help you."

Kate wasn't sure if they would indeed help Yelena, but she had to try. It wasn’t exactly a public hospital after all. However, if someone could get Yelena there in time, it was Peter. Kate couldn’t cut her way above the skyscrapers. She would have to put Yelena inside a cab and drive through the chaotic New York traffic, and it might be too late - not to mention that she didn’t know how to explain to the taxi driver that she needed to put a bleeding woman on his back seat. Peter could use his web and get Yelena some help, and that’s all that mattered.

When Kate put her phone against her ear, Yelena tried to pull it away from her. She tried to grab her hand, her arm, her wrist, tried to slap her, punch her, push her, tried to demand, to ask, to plea. Kate paid her no attention.

"Peter, I need your help."

Spider-Man was standing in the firescape of her building not even five minutes after that. Yelena had yelled at her for most part of it, but she had passed out before he got there and Kate was doing her best not to panic. She would rather have Yelena yelling life threats at her than the barely responsive state she entered.

Understandably, Peter had a few questions, but they didn’t have time.

"Can you take her to the Avengers' tower? She has been stabbed, she lost a lot of blood, she needs help."

And Peter, sweet Peter, decided he could ask questions later. He scooped Yelena up - and Kate felt her stomach churn when she saw how little Yelena looked in that moment - and, after making sure Kate wasn't injured as well, he jumped off, using his web to hang from the building across from hers.

Lucky had started barking when Peter got there, but Kate just realized it once she was left alone in her fire escape. It took her a full minute to be able to move from there and, even when she did, she felt numb. She slid inside her apartment again, trying not to notice the trail of Yelena's blood her shoes were making while she walked to her fridge. Her hand was shaking when she opened it to grab a water bottle from inside and it took her two tries before she managed to turn the cap and take a sip.

It was the cold liquid that brought her back into action.

Cursing under her breath, Kate rushed to grab her keys from the table and to make sure the dog had enough food and water, before she ran out of the apartment barely remembering to grab her coat on the way out. She ran down almost tripping on her feet, making much more noise than she should so late at night, and she reached the street in record time. Kate started to run while her eyes tried to spot a cab driving by all while she tried to put her coat on. Her jeans were dark enough to hide the blood, but there was fresh blood in her arms and shirt that she needed to hide to avoid anyone from calling the cops on her.

Kate was already at the next corner when a taxi finally pulled over and she wasted no time to jump in, almost shouting the address at the working man before she allowed her body to rest against the seat. She couldn’t do more than wait for the man to drive her where she wanted to go, although the driver luckily seemed to pick up on her urgency and quickly drove away.

Once the car was moving, Kate let go of the breath she had been holding. She dropped her head and closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from going into shock or anything similarly bad. Kate had been hurt before, she saw Clint getting hurt before, but she had never been as scared as she felt when she saw an injured Yelena. She could say it was because of the severity of it, but Kate didn’t make a habit of lying to herself.

When she opened her eyes, she was faced with her bloodied hands still shaking where they were hanging down her lap. She turned her palms up slowly, feeling the bile rising in her throat when more and more blood was shown, and sat there looking at it without knowing what else to do. Kate didn’t know if Peter had already got to the tower, if Yelena was already receiving treatment, if they even agreed to help her. Peter was a young Avenger, even if he played some important part in the fight with Thanos, and they might refuse to help a stranger even if Spider-Man was the one to take her there.

Kate cursed herself for not coming up with a plan B before sending Peter away. If he was forced to leave, Kate had no idea where he would go. He might call her to ask, or he might take off on his own and Kate would have no idea where he went. She knew they would have to take Yelena to a hospital in case no one else could help her, but she didn’t know if that would put Yelena in danger or not. Kate didn’t know what she was doing in town, didn’t know who had stabbed her, didn’t know if that person was still after her.

Kate took a shaky breath before she slowly moved her head to the side to watch the city passing by the window instead of her bloody hands.

Yelena was very adamant that she didn’t want to go to the Avengers' tower, something Kate didn’t understand at the time. She could now remember that Yelena was the sister of a former Avenger. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. She didn’t recollect it before because she had a more pressing matter in her hands - literally - but it helped her see why Yelena might have a problem with going to the tower.

Kate never knew what the spy spoke with Clint that night they confronted each other. She didn’t know if Yelena had any bitter feelings towards him or anyone else, if the woman thought it was her sister's team to blame that she died, if she was okay to be shoved into her dead sister's past. And Kate was suddenly forced to accept that Yelena had been correct the last time they saw each other.

Kate knew nothing about her.

"We're here."

Kate turned her head back to see the driver throwing her a look from the rear mirror. She glanced outside again, only then noticing they had parked across the street from the Avengers' tower - the big bright sign being the only thing that made the tall building stand out among the others. Kate reached out in her pocket with a still shaking hand to grab her wallet to pay for the ride. She had two twenties inside her wallet and she scrunched them between her fingers to take them off before reaching out to hand them to the man. He took it without commenting about her bloody fingers and Kate opened the door to leave.

"Keep the change," she mumbled before getting out. She had no idea how much the ride had cost and that left her with no money on herself, but she didn’t care.

Luckily, as soon as Kate crossed the street, Peter landed in front of her - landed, yes, because he came from somewhere above her. "Hey, you're here!" He was wearing his mask and Kate kept her eyes trained there so she wouldn’t see the blood in his uniform. "I had to come up with a lie so they would let her in, but that's fine."

"What did you say?"

"That I saved her from a robbery and freaked out," Peter said. Kate only then noticed his hands were hovering close to her as if he was afraid she might fall or pass out.  "I think someone is going to yell at me about going to the nearby hospital instead of taking people here, but that's fine."

"You said that already," Kate whispered quietly before sighing. "How is she?"

"Uh," he hesitated. "Not sure. I left her with the doctors and went outside to wait for you."

Kate didn’t ask how he knew she would go after them and he didn’t ask why she was there either, so it worked out well for both of them.

"Can I go inside?"

Peter looked over his shoulder to the large front door, clearly unsure, before looking back at her. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could imagine his wide eyes and parted lips while she tried to think about what to say. "I don't know how to explain that one," he admitted.

That's how Kate ended up calling Clint like a teenager trying to prove her father had authorized her to do something. It took a while to explain to him, while she was sitting outside with Peter beside her, what had happened - how she found Yelena in her firescape, how she couldn’t take her to a hospital, how she asked for Peter's help, how she ended up having to call Clint to ask him to give his old team a call to let them know it was okay to let Kate in. Clint wanted to know why Yelena went to her apartment in the first place, which then sent Kate into another story about the first time Yelena broke in. She let it out the other three times it happened, making it sound like Yelena just remembered her address after being stabbed by someone.

Then, after convincing Clint she wasn’t going to leave Yelena alone, Kate had to sit and wait some more until he freed her entrance. It would have been hilarious in any other situation. Kate, sitting on the steps of the Avengers' tower with Spider-Man sitting beside her while they wait for the older people to get the job done. It almost made her laugh, although she held no humor inside herself to do so.

Eventually, someone else showed up, which made Peter jump to his feet immediately.

"Oh, hey, Sam!" He waved like a small kid as Kate slowly got up as if her muscles were too heavy for them to move.

"Spider-Man."

It became clear very fast that "Sam" wasn’t happy that Peter just told his name like that, but Kate's friend was quick to fix things. "She's friends with Barton, it's fine."

"So I've heard," Sam replied and he seemed to relax a little. "Why don’t you come inside?" He threw a significant look at people that were walking by staring at the hero sitting there with a woman, but Kate didn’t exactly mind.

Silently, she followed Peter and Sam inside. Going to the Avengers' tower had always been kind of a dream to her. Since her fascination with Hawkeye started, Kate knew she wanted to help people and, of course, the biggest example of that was the Avengers. However, Clint never made any attempt to take her to his old team and he even looked hesitant to let her anywhere near it. The Avengers also weren’t going around recruiting people just because, so Kate had to accept the fact that she was friends with two Avengers but didn’t have a free pass herself.

At that moment, though, instead of letting her eyes wander to take everything in, all Kate could do was keep her eyes glued to that Sam guy's back.

"Where is she?"

Sam looked over his shoulder at her for a moment, but he didn’t stop walking until he took them to an elevator. "Our medical team is taking care of her."

Once inside the elevator, Peter pressed his watch and his suit disappeared completely, something Kate was thankful for - Yelena's blood was all over it. He was still wearing his "mustard" shirt costume and Kate was sure they certainly looked like some pair standing there with those ridiculous matching shirts. She pretended not to notice Sam doing a double take on them and turning his head to hide a grin, although she had to clear her throat to have him push a button to get the elevator moving.

"Peter couldn’t tell us much about the woman he brought in, maybe you can help us a bit," Sam spoke, but Kate kept her eyes on the numbers changing above the door. "Do you know her name?"

"Yes."

A pause. Kate could feel Sam's eyes on her and Peter changing his weight awkwardly beside her, but all Kate did was tilt her chin up and clench her jaw. "Which is?" Sam prompted even though it was clear Kate was avoiding it.

"Barbara." Kate would blame the stupid Barbie movie propaganda spread all over town for that one.

"Okay," the black man conceded, though he didn’t sound like he believed her for one moment. "Are you her family?"

"Will you put me out if I'm not?"

"You kind of just answered that," Sam pointed out after her sharp reply and Kate winced at her own stupidity. Kate wasn't trying to be cryptic because she didn’t trust these people, but because she feared for Yelena's safety - and also her reaction after she wakes up and realizes where she is. However, Sam seemed to understand what Kate was doing because he sighed a second later. "This is not a hospital. You don't need to be family to be here, but it might help us to know a few things to be able to help her. If you are her family and she needs blood, you would be our first option to go to."

Kate tried not to look down at her bloody hands. It was dried by now and it made her feel weird when she moved her fingers. "I'm her friend," she summarized her answer.

"Okay. Were you with her when she was attacked?"

It was a tricky question - and how many floors does that building have really?

If Kate said no, there was no way to explain all the dried blood on her clothes. If she said yes, Sam might ask for more details that she couldn’t exactly give or say something that would clash with Peter's cover-up story.

"She showed up later, sir," Peter jumped to her aid. "She tried to stop the bleeding until I could take… Barbara here." Well, it seemed Peter also didn’t believe Yelena's name was Barbara, which made it pretty clear to Kate that she was a terrible liar.

Once again, Sam didn’t look like he believed a single word they said, but he didn’t call out their bullshit. Kate wasn't sure what Clint had said to him when he called, but it was enough to make Sam allow her inside and let her lie her way around. Kate would have to thank Clint later on. And Peter as well. Especially Peter.

The elevator finally came to a stop and its doors opened after a loud beep sounded inside the metal box. Sam exited it first, already turning to his left to walk down the long hallway filled with doors on each side. Peter didn’t look surprised, so Kate assumed he knew where they were, which helped her relax a little bit. She followed Sam closely as if she was afraid he might disappear out of thin air, though the man was keeping a steady pace.

They finally stopped in front of one of the doors and Sam turned to look at them. "I know you want to see your friend, but she's in surgery right now and you can't go inside. We have a few empty rooms." He paused to turn his head to the side. "Friday, unlock this door," he demanded and, a second later, the door opened. "You can freshen up here."

"No." Kate surprised even herself with the strength in her voice.

Sam didn’t look impressed. He simply arched his eyebrow. "You could take a shower and change your clothes."

There was so much blood on her, Kate thought when she glanced down. Her pants were ruined, her shirt wasn't so bright red anymore, and it seemed like she sunk her arms inside a paint can. She was still shaking, Kate realized as well.

"It's okay, Kate." Peter was the one to talk next, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. He was shorter than her, younger too. "I can wait for you and then I can take you to the medical bay." He paused, frowned, and looked at Sam. "Right?" He was asking for permission, which would have been funny.

Sam looked between them for a while as if he was trying to make up his mind about it, but eventually he nodded and took a step back. "Right. Peter, explain to her about Friday, please, and show her where we leave some spare clothes. Call me if you need anything."

"Wow," Peter breathed out while they watched the man walking back to the elevator. "Can't believe he actually listened to me."

Kate moved her eyes to her friend, divided between being amused or surprised, but Peter had a wide smile on his face, looking proud of himself, so she refrained from saying anything. A second later, Peter jumped in to tell her about Tony Stark's creation and how Kate could use it for basically anything. From opening doors, to communicating with other members of the team, to even getting the coffee machine from the kitchen started. He then took her to a large locker just around the corner so she could pick something up to wear. They were all the same gray sweatpants and black t-shirt, so Kate took something that would fit her before returning to the room Sam set her.

"I will wait outside, okay?" Peter asked once she entered. It was only when Kate turned around to face him, holding the clothes in front of her, that she noticed how worried the boy looked. "If you keep walking past the locker, there's a living room. I will be there, okay?"

Kate only nodded and he had to awkwardly lean forward to close the door for her. She stood there in silence for several minutes, until her legs stopped wobbling enough for her to walk and, then, she went straight to the bathroom. The lights turned on as soon as she entered, but Kate didn’t pay any mind to her surroundings. She wanted to get out of her clothes, wash the blood away and go find Peter as soon as possible so she could finally know how Yelena was.

It took her ten minutes to open the door and step outside. She followed Peter's instructions and found the living room with no problem at all. Her friend was inside talking on his phone, but he must have heard her approach because he was already looking at the door when she appeared there. He quickly ended his call - and Kate pretended not to notice him saying "love you, MJ" before shutting it off - and walked towards her with his silly smile and worried eyes.

"That was fast," he commented as if he wanted to make small talk, but Kate couldn’t have it.

"Can we go see her?"

He nodded quickly. "Sure, sure. Come with me."

They were inside the elevator again in no time, going down instead of up. Kate noticed the glances Peter was stealing from her and it made her sigh. "I'm fine."

"Good, good." He tended to repeat his words when she was nervous, Kate knew that. "I was just wondering… Well, I told Sam that you weren’t there when your friend was attacked but… How did she end up in your place?"

Kate looked around. "Can they hear us?"

"Uh." Peter didn’t seem sure, which was a bit worrying. "Friday, can anyone hear our conversation?" He ended up asking.

A moment later, a robotic voice replied to him. "No one can hear private conversations inside the Avengers' tower, Mister Parker."

"Great, great."

Peter said nothing else and it was clear he was waiting for Kate to do so, even if it took her an extra pause to finally explain. He had heard her conversation with Clint before, but there were things she didn’t tell her mentor, and Kate couldn’t help but trust Peter.

"I think she thought I could help her, but I wasn't home. When I got there, she had already bled out." Kate took a deep breath when the image flashed before her eyes. "I don't know exactly what happened, she didn’t tell me, but her work is… dangerous. I think she might have found a bad guy or something."

She stopped talking when the elevator reached the floor. The doors slid open and Peter stepped outside, but stopped on his track when he saw Kate wasn't following him.

"Everything okay?"

"Her name's Yelena," Kate admitted quietly.

Peter nodded eagerly and smiled. "Nice, nice."

This time, Kate smiled as well.

That floor was a real medical bay. White walls, uncomfortable waiting room, the smell of antiseptics, the whole thing. As soon as they made their way to the waiting room, a nurse came to them to let them know the surgery was still happening, but it would be over in a few minutes hopefully. She didn’t answer any of Kate’s questions, saying the doctor would talk to her later, but she did let Kate know that Yelena would be in observation for a while and that she wouldn’t be able to see her right away. After that, the nurse excused herself to go back to where she was needed and Kate fell on one of the chairs without much care. Peter set beside her and patted her back a few times before allowing her some space and silence.

Kate just sat there with her head between her hands and her eyes closed while she tried to stop herself from freaking out completely. Yelena was fine, she tried to tell herself. The surgery was ending soon, which meant it wasn’t anything too complicated to last for hours and hours.

At some point, Kate heard the elevator doors opening again and she glanced up to see Captain Marvel herself walking towards them. The woman was still wearing her combat suit and her face was serious, albeit she didn’t look as abrasive as she initially did when she pulled Peter to the side to talk with him. Kate paid them no mind though, and soon hung her head again to go back to her thoughts. When Peter returned, she didn’t even look at him.

“Sam told her what happened. I had to lie to her too, but I don’t think she believed me. She’s a bit scary.”

“Sam didn’t believe you either, Peter,” Kate replied without looking up.

“He didn’t?” It was the way that Peter sounded honestly surprised by it that got Kate to move her eyes at him. She shook her head, a bit amused now, and saw as his shoulders dropped a bit. “I thought I was getting better at this.”

Kate patted his knee friendly. “Thank you for lying for me.”

Peter’s smile returned. “There must be a reason you need to protect Yelena. I trust you.”

That’s all Kate needed, really.

For the next minutes, she allowed Peter to explain to her how Captain Marvel was the new leader of the Avengers, how Sam was second in command, how Captain Marvel had apparently just dropped from space when she got a message from Sam, and how Peter admired both of them. Kate let him talk, but she barely paid any attention to what he was saying. She couldn’t.

It was a time later that Sam showed up again. He didn’t come from the elevators, Kate noticed as the man stopped in front of them, but he was still wearing the same clothes from before and a small smile on his face.

“I talked with her doctor,” he said, which prompted Kate to jump to her feet so fast that she almost got dizzy. “She’s fine,” Sam calmed her quickly, raising a hand to stop Kate from talking or walking past him. “The surgery went well, she’s now in the recovery room getting some good meds to get through the pain she will certainly feel when she wakes up.”

It was like Kate was finally able to breathe. Like she had been drowning for hours and someone just pulled her out of the water suddenly. Her lungs filled in, her heart started beating again, her body stopped floating.

“Oh, God,” she groaned while many things happened at once

Kate took a step back and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulders while the other one went to her own chest. Afraid that she might faint, Peter also got up and placed a hand on her back to keep her up, while Sam held her arm strongly. She wondered how badly she looked if everyone around her assumed she was about to pass out like that.

“Easy,” Sam told her as he helped her to sit down again. “Everything is fine. Barbara is fine.”

Yelena was fine.

Yelena was fine.

Yelena was fine.

Oh, fuck, Yelena was going to kill her when she woke up.

“The doctor said there was no big damage inside. No organs got hit, no important artery either. She fainted due to blood loss and she will need a few days to fully recover from it, but she’s fine. I suppose she would heal faster if Wanda was around, but good old medicine also does the trick.”

“Where Wanda?” Peter had asked, but Sam didn’t reply.

“Can I see her?” Kate asked the man in front of her.

Sam looked like he was about to deny it for a moment, but his dark eyes took a very good look at her face and he immediately changed his answer. “Sure. Let me just ask someone to take you there.”

She didn’t even remember to thank Peter, or Sam, before she followed a nurse minutes later. The woman took her to a mostly empty room, let her in after warning her about avoid touching the woman lying right in the middle of the room, and then left. That was the first time Kate would see Yelena after seeing Peter take her unconscious body from her fire escape.

Yelena looked smaller than ever, paler too, and Kate checked the machine beside her to make sure her heart was still beating. It was, and she was breathing, and she was alive.

Kate allowed herself to break down finally.

She sat down at the armchair beside the bed as some tears ran down her cheeks, but she refused to look away from Yelena.

God, the last few hours had been insane.

After her tears dried, Kate made herself comfortable since she had no intention of getting out of there any time soon. Yelena’s doctor came and went, and a nurse showed up to give her more medication, but that was about it. Kate was warned that Yelena might sleep through the rest of the day, but she refused to leave her side regardless of that. Someone brought her food after a while and Kate forced herself to eat since it had been hours since she ate anything, and she had to wander off at some point to find water.

Kate had no idea what time it was when Yelena woke up.

She stirred at first, groaned either in pain or confusion, before her eyes blinked open. Kate saw it all happen and waited to see Yelena coming back to the world of the living, however, the blonde fell asleep again before she even realized Kate was in the room with her. With a sigh, Kate rested back on her chair and waited a while longer.

It was an hour later before Yelena fully woke up, this time conscious enough to curse a word in what Kate thought was Russian since she had no idea what it meant - she assumed it was a curse because it sounded like one.

“Hey,” Kate called her out softly after watching Yelena turn her head from side to side to try to figure out where she was.

Yelena’s dark eyes found Kate a second later and the relief she saw washing down the blonde woman couldn’t be her imagination. It made sense, Kate thought, because Yelena did go to her when she needed, which meant she trusted Kate at least to some degree. However, in the few seconds that they just stared at each other, it was like everything that happened came crashing down on Yelena all at once.

“You took me to them, didn’t you?”

She sounded angry, which Kate had been prepared for. “I did, but-” Kate had to stop talking when Yelena made an attempt to get up from the bed. She jumped from her chair to reach out and hold her, but there was no need. The wires and Yelena’s own wound kept her from going too far. Yelena ended up falling back on the bed with a groan as she pushed Kate’s hands away from her. “Hey, take it easy. I didn’t tell them what happened, or your name, or who you are.”

“Like that matters,” Yelena bit back angrily. She was pressing a hand against her side, but her eyes were hard on Kate. “You took me to them.”

There was enough venom in her words to keep Kate from saying anything else right away, but she knew she wouldn’t have much time to do so. It was probably that a nurse would show up soon, alerted that Yelena’s vitals had peaked, and she couldn’t run the risk of having an angry assassin face people who saved her life.

“I’m sorry, but I had to.” Kate stared at her as if she was begging Yelena to understand. “You passed away and I was worried. I couldn’t patch you up alone, and going to a hospital seemed more dangerous because I didn’t know if the person that stabbed you was still after you or not,” she explained.

“He’s not around anymore,” was Yelena’s reply and Kate tried not to think what it meant.

“I was afraid that you might die, so… Here you are.” Kate finished talking by opening her arms to show around her, although she was sure there was no point in doing so. It looked like Yelena wasn’t done trying to stare into her soul.

“I told you I didn’t want to come here.”

“And what should I have done, then?” Kate snapped back, now feeling a bit angry as well - and fear… fear for what might happen now that Yelena was awake. “Let you die?”

The silence that followed was answer enough, which made Kate grimace and get up. She didn’t walk away from the woman lying in bed, but she started to pace around the room as the feelings from the day started to eat her from inside. Kate had been so worried, so afraid, so scared. If she had to take Yelena through the desert to save her, she would have. She would have crossed oceans, fought aliens, dodged bullets if she had to. If she had the time to. But Yelena was dying right in front of her and Kate made the best decision. She knew that, she knew it was the best.

“All I’m asking you, Yelena, is to understand that I couldn’t just let you die,” Kate ended up saying after pacing around for a few minutes to calm herself down. The blonde hadn’t tried to say anything in the meantime either. “You went to my apartment because you needed my help and that’s what I did. I did what I had to do.”

Yelena still didn’t look happy, although she didn’t keep the discussion going. Kate wouldn’t back down and she just knew Yelena wouldn’t either, and they would spend all day fighting over this. Kate took Yelena’s silence gladly, though.

“How are you feeling?” She asked after letting out a sigh.

“Like I was stabbed,” Yelena replied without missing a beat.

Kate let her shoulders drop in defeat. “Can you be more specific? I’ve never been stabbed.” She shouldn’t sound that sad about it, but the problem was that she had no idea how Yelena was holding up.

The spy smiled at her, now finding some humor at Kate’s expense, before she shrugged. “Tired and sore, but fine. I’ve been worse before.”

“You have?!”

Kate’s reaction was a bit exaggerated, she would admit, but she couldn’t imagine Yelena being in a worse state and still getting out of it alive. The woman in the hospital bed looked better than when Kate first encountered her, but she still assembled a ghost somehow. And who was there to help her the other times?

“Yes, Kate Bishop, I have,” Yelena teased her lightly. “That’s why I don’t think this was necessary.” She waved a hand around to show the expensive equipment measuring her vitals and giving her medication.

“Was I supposed to put a band-aid on it and call it a night?”

“Maybe kissed it better too to help it heal faster.”

Both women only stared at each other for several seconds, until Kate scoffed and shook her head at the blonde’s laid-back reaction to the entire thing. Kate ended up sitting down on the armchair again, breathing deeply. She reached out with one of her hands as if she was going to touch Yelena, but she stopped herself when her palm touched the soft blanket covering the other woman - she didn’t take it back, though.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

Dark eyes studied her face carefully before even providing an empty reply. “Things didn’t go as planned.”

“I’m so glad you gave me so many details,” Kate’s sarcastic comeback didn’t hold any surprise.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “I can’t give you details about my job, Kate Bishop. I told you, it kind of defeats the purpose of being a spy.”

The brunette could only sigh after that. She knew Yelena wouldn’t tell her what happened and there was no point in pressing the matter. She could, however, ask other questions. “Did you really think I would help you with that?”

“In my defense, it wasn’t that bad when I first got there. But I called out and you didn’t reply, so I could see you weren’t inside.” Yelena shrugged. “I thought you wouldn’t take that long, so I sat outside to wait. I must have fallen asleep.”

Kate blinked. “You fell asleep?!” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. Yelena fell asleep while bleeding out on her fire escape? Who was this woman? Did she not have any sense of self-preservation whatsoever?

The spy only nodded, wisely ignoring her outburst. “I woke up sometime before you showed up actually, but then I had already lost too much blood and it was hard to get up and go somewhere else. Then you showed up.”

Kate could only shake her head and mumble curses under her breath before she pinched her nose and exhaled harshly. “It’s a good thing I did, then,” she groaned out.

“Indeed,” Yelena added almost happily.

The brunette sighed again after that and brought her hands to her thighs as she made a move to get up. “I’m going to call the nurse to take a look at you. Make sure everything is fine other than your crazy head.”

Yelena took her comment as it was - a joke - and chuckled as Kate left the room to call someone. She had to stay out while people examined Yelena and she was fully surprised when everyone got out in one piece. She also hadn’t heard anyone screaming in pain or being smacked on the face, so she was sure that Yelena had behaved herself - which was even more surprising. When Kate entered the room again, the blonde was sitting on the bed, looking better than before with some color in her cheeks, and she was slowly eating what seemed to be a soup.

“Told you it wasn’t that bad,” Yelena commented as Kate sat down at the armchair again. “And they gave me two spoons, which is more than you have.”

Kate huffed and rolled her eyes while she placed her legs up, using the bedside frame to support her feet. “If they gave you soup, then it was bad.”

“I like soup,” the spy argued before blowing the hot liquid into her spoon.

Kate watched her for several minutes after that, just to assure herself that the woman was actually fine. Yelena didn’t seem in a rush to finish her food, taking small bites and making sure it was cold enough to eat every time. Kate could feel her muscles complaining after being tense all day long and after being awake for over twenty-four hours now, begging her to go to bed and rest, but Kate ignored all of it.

“I talked with the doctor on her way out,” she said after a while. “She told me you would need to stay here for another day or two, which gives me enough time to go home to feed Pizza Dog and clean up all the blood. I should also clean up the couch while I’m at it. I found it behind a dumpster,” Kate explained the last part as an afterthought when Yelena arched an eyebrow.

“I hope that’s not the first time you clean it.”

Kate wisely didn’t reply to that. “I will go tomorrow and set everything up.”

“What for?” Yelena looked at her briefly in curiosity.

“Well, for you to stay there,” Kate declared as if it was obvious, completely missing the way Yelena froze with the spoon a few inches from her mouth. “You will need to rest and I assume you don’t have a place in town since you’re always invading my apartment to steal my food.”

“I’m not staying a minute longer in this town than I have to, Kate Bishop,” the blonde quickly interrupted her. “I’m not even staying at this poor excuse of a hospital for longer than tonight, and I’m only staying because this soup is actually pretty good.”

Kate couldn’t hide her surprise even if she tried to. “What do you mean?”

“I came here for a job and I did it,” Yelena insisted as she went back to eating. “It’s done, so there’s no reason for me to stay.”

“I think that recovering from a stab wound is a good enough reason to stay for two more weeks or so.”

Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was crazy. Yelena couldn’t possibly be serious about that. She was injured, hurt, she needed to rest to have a full recovery. She didn’t scrape her knee, she was stabbed. She bleeds out. It wasn’t as simple as putting her shoulder back in place after falling from a building - which Kate unfortunately had the experience with.

Yelena, of course, wasn’t on the same page as her. “Maybe if I didn’t have somewhere else to be.”

“And where should you be?” Kate asked quickly.

This time, Yelena glared at her in a warning. “Somewhere else,” was her enraged reply.

However, it appeared that Kate lost completely the fear of death. “I can’t believe how stubborn you are,” she snarled. “You want me to believe you have somewhere else to go?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Why do you keep coming into town? You said it the first time we met that it was the first time you ever came to New York, and then suddenly I blink and you’re inside my apartment again.” Kate lowered her legs and started waving around with her hands feeling restless. “What are you doing coming to New York so often?”

She could see the outline of Yelena’s tongue inside the woman’s mouth running from one cheek to another as if she was stopping herself from saying something and Kate was ashamed to admit she enjoyed the fact she made Yelena lose her temper like that. Her victory lasts only a few brief seconds though.

“And what do you suggest?” Yelena asked. “That I go home with you and we share your apartment until I’m, what, healed?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting, Yelena.”

“Well, then take that stupid idea from your head quick, Kate Bishop.” The blonde’s nostrils flared. “I’m not a case of good-will.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Kate argued.

“Then stop acting like you’re trying to save me from something.” They stayed in silence while looking at each other, studying each other, until Yelena’s lips curled back almost as if she was disgusted by something. “I’m not going to your apartment to play ‘normal life house’. I’m a spy, that’s all I know how to do, and my work is all I have. So, once this soup is done, I’m going to leave this place and I will go to my next mission.”

“Taking a week break isn’t going to get you fired,” Kate said back. “Whatever your work is, I’m pretty sure it will still be there once you stop bleeding yourself out.”

“And why is that so important to you?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I care?”

Kate's answer caught them both by surprise. While Kate’s eyes widened, Yelena’s reaction was the opposite. Or, better said, lack of reaction. It was like staring back at Yelena in her kitchen from weeks ago - when all emotion seemed to leave her body, when it looked like there were no feelings inside her suddenly. Kate hated it. She hated it so much, and she hated it even more that she caused it twice now.

“You shouldn’t care,” Yelena ended up saying, voice void of anything. “That’s why I don’t get too close to people, because I know they will eventually ask me to leave it all behind for them.”

Kate wasn’t sure if Yelena intended to say the last part out loud, but she heard it regardless and it made her move in her chair to get closer to the bed. “I’m not asking you anything. I just want you to think about your own safety for a moment. You can stay in my apartment and recover. Once you feel like you’re good enough to go, you go. I won’t try to stop you, even if I’m pretty sure that your job is very, very, very, illegal.”

Whatever Yelena was about to reply was lost when there was a knock on the door. Kate jumped from her chair, but the other woman didn’t seem at all fazed by that - like she had heard someone coming. Kate looked to the door and then back to Yelena before sighing to herself and her incapacity to pay attention to her surroundings. Before she could think about walking over to open the door, though, it opened from the other side.

Clint’s head appeared a second after that.

“Hey,” he said, sounding uncertain while his eyes took in the scene in front of him. “I heard someone fell from the monkey bars.”

His joke wasn’t appreciated by Yelena, who just kept staring at him, but it brought a chuckle from Kate and she couldn’t hold herself to walk towards him to pull him into a hug. She wouldn’t normally do that, but she was so happy to see him there that she didn’t think too much about it.

“What are you doing here?”

“I caught a fly after you called me,” Clint explained. “Thought I might check in.”

He didn’t say if he was checking in on her or Yelena, but Kate knew he was talking about both from the way his eyes went to the hospital bed when they pulled apart. Yelena was the little sister of his deceased best friend, it was only fair that he would worry about her as well.

Yelena’s reply, though, wasn’t as welcoming. “Sup, loser?”

Clint fought against a smile that threatened to break free and shook his head. “Guess she’s fine,” he mumbled under his breath before looking at Kate. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Sure.” Kate nodded and waved a hand to motion for them to step outside, but she paused to look back at Yelena before getting out. “Try not to run into anything sharp while I’m gone, okay?”

Clint looked like he enjoyed her joke as he waited just outside the door, arms crossed and legs slightly parted to give him a more serious stance. “So, care to explain to me why you and Yelena are playing with knives now?”

It took Kate several minutes to put his concerns to rest and make him believe Kate had nothing to do with what happened. She just tried to help Yelena. Which, of course, prompted more questions as to why exactly she was doing that - and her reply saying she’s not strong enough to move a body wasn’t appreciated as her other joke. Clint didn’t seem satisfied until Kate told him about how Yelena spared her life on the roof before, how she did the same with her later on, and how it just seemed like it was their thing by now.

“Just like her sister,” he had grumbled, although he didn’t sound angry. “And when were you going to tell me you have feelings for her?”

“What?!” Kate’s yell made two passing by nurses look at them with a grimace and a demand to keep quiet, but she barely paid it any attention. “I - What?! I don’t - I mean, it’s not like - I was just…” She would blame her sleep-deprived state for what she said next. “I mean, yeah, she’s beautiful and she’s funny, and I’m pretty sure she’s smart or she wouldn’t manage to be alive still with the job she has. I mean, I don’t know what’s her job really, but I suppose it’s… hard.” Kate couldn’t bring herself to stop talking. “Would I like it if she stayed around for more than a day at a time so I could take her out? Yeah, I mean, wouldn’t everyone? And she gets along very well with Pizza Dog, and I like her food. But I don’t have… feelings.”

Clint looked way too amused, which clearly meant he was just messing with her before. “Okay, Romeo, if you say so,” he teased her before tapping her shoulder in an almost paternal way. “Do you think you have a few minutes? I want to introduce you to the team.”

That’s how Kate ended up meeting every Avenger that was in the tower at that moment. She saw Peter again, remembering to thank him properly, and Sam, who looked amused to see her teasing Clint at every opportunity. There weren’t many people around, so your small tour didn’t take so long, but you were sporting a smile when you walked back to Yelena’s room. She even thought about more arguments to make her stay.

That’s also how Yelena went missing.

Well, not really missing. Somehow between Kate’s conversation with Clint and her wandering off, Yelena had slipped from her room, walked past the nurses and doctors, and just vanished. Kate caught the message that she hadn’t been kidnapped when she spotted the hospital gown neatly folded on top of the bed, but that didn’t keep her from worrying. Yelena had meds to take and she was just out of surgery, she shouldn’t be walking around.

“How did she escape?” Kate had asked when the entire team reunited at one of the large rooms.

“This building was made to keep people from coming in, not from stopping them from getting out,” Sam told her gently as a reminder. “And there’s not much we can do. She’s an adult and she left on her own terms.” He paused then to throw Kate a look. “She is an adult, right?”

Kate didn’t know how old Yelena was, she had no idea, but Clint had nodded his head and that has been it. Kate left not long after that, feeling disappointed and concerned, but not surprised. Clint walked with her to her apartment, but said he would try to catch a flight back home soon, and Peter promised to stop by later to help her clean up the mess in her firescape. As soon as she entered the apartment, though, Kate grabbed a bucket and walked over to her window to clean it all up while Clint played with Pizza Dog.

After she was done, Kate threw herself in her bed and fell asleep quickly.

Clint was gone in the morning.

Kate only saw Yelena again at the end of November. And, once again, she was taken by surprise when she entered her apartment and saw Yelena already inside.

They just looked at each other for a while. Yelena could see that Kate was angry and Kate was trying not to gush over her to see if she was fine. It was almost a standoff. Until the brunette closed the door behind her and threw her keys on the table where Yelena was sitting.

“You left,” Kate declared as an accusation while she walked over to grab a water bottle.

“I told you I was fine.”

“And now here you are,” Kate continued like she hadn’t said anything. “Again. After breaking in. Again.”

Yelena remained from saying anything else until Kate was facing her. “You changed your locks.”

Yes, Kate had done that. She thought about what Yelena said about being so easy to enter her apartment and decided to do something about it. Peter helped her to pick a better lock and then MJ helped her install it since she seemed to be the only one able to read instructions. Kate knew that people would still get inside if they really wanted to, but it was a start.

“But you didn’t put a lock in your window,” Yelena declared lightly. She was fishing for an explanation, that much was clear, but Kate made her ask for it. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want you to come back here and think I was trying to keep you out.”

Her answer was honest. That had been her line of thinking. She wondered if Yelena would go away if she saw that Kate made an effort to keep her out and that made her forget the idea of putting something on her window. She didn’t want Yelena to be away, even when she was mad at her for being so reckless about her own well-being.

“Why are you mad that I’m back then?” The blonde shot her another question, although she seemed a bit surprised by her previous bluntness.

“I’m not mad that you’re back,” Kate said while she leaned against the sink to get more comfortable. “I’m mad because you left.”

“I told you I had to,” Yelena reminded her quickly.

“You did very little to explain to me why.” Kate waved a hand, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. “And then you were just… gone. You can’t keep coming into my life and leaving again anytime you feel like doing it, Yelena. Not when I care about you. That’s not fair.”

“I never asked you to care about me.”

“Well, that’s not your decision to make, is it?” Kate raised her brows. “But I thought-”

“What?” Yelena asked when Kate interrupted herself. “What did you think?”

Kate sighed heavily. “I thought we were friends. I wasn’t expecting you to ever come back, but you did, and you just kept coming back. And you kept leaving too. You keep leaving.”

“We can’t be friends, Kate Bishop,” Yelan declared after a pause where it seemed like she had gulped. “I’m not like you. I don’t walk around trying to save lives just because I know how to shoot an arrow.”

“So why do you keep coming here?”

Yelena’s jaw twitched visibly. “Maybe I couldn’t pay for a hotel,” was her final answer, something that made Kate scoff and roll her eyes.

“Fine, whatever.” She pushed herself away from the sink and put the untouched water bottle back inside the fridge. Kate went to put more food in the dog’s bowl, but she noticed it was already filled and the water beside it looked fresh. Great, now Yelena was taking care of her dog as well. When she strengthened her back, Kate looked livid. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Yelena said easily. “What do you want from me?” Having her question shot back at her made Kate pause and it was enough time to get Yelena talking again. “Don’t ask me to stop going away because I can’t do that.”

“I’m not asking you to do that,” Kate argued almost desperately. “All I’m asking you is to… I don’t know, text.”

One of Yelena’s eyebrows rose. “Text?”

“Yes! So I know you’re okay and didn’t get yourself killed.” Kate noticed she was about to start rambling, but couldn’t stop herself. “I’m not even going to ask you to call me, just text when you can. Say ‘hey’ so I know you’re alive, and then let me know when you’re going to be in town so I can actually clean up this apartment for once. Stay after dinner, I don’t know. Don’t run away when you have a stab wound. By the way, how’s that?”

“Fine,” Yelena replied when Kate paused her speech waiting for her to do so.

“Good! It would have been great if I received a text weeks ago so I could actually have a good night's sleep instead of worrying if you were dead because you got an infection or something like that.” Kate took a breath. “I don’t have to text you back if you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe I text you at the wrong time and it gets in the middle of your work, whatever that is, so I don’t have to.”

“How will I know if you’re okay and didn’t get yourself killed?”

Yelena’s question made Kate’s mouth hang open for several seconds before she snapped out of it. “Okay, so I can text you too!” She waved a hand, hit it on the counter unintentionally, and blushed. “Is this why you keep coming here?” It was a delayed thought, as if it had just occurred to Kate, but it somehow made sense and it also made her heart run a bit faster inside her chest.

The spy, though, just shrugged and said: “You’re interesting.”

“I-What?”

“You’re interesting,” Yelena repeated herself after Kate’s stutter. “You’re not very good at hand-in-hand combat, but you’re strong and fast. You’re good with a bow.” She shrugged again as if there was no more explanation needed.

Which was totally not the case. “That’s it? That’s why you kept coming back?”

“What else do you want me to say, Kate Bishop?”

Kate hesitated, but there was something in Yelena’s eyes that made her brave enough to ask: “Do you want to have those drinks you promised?”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” the woman remarked smartly. “But yes.”

Kate almost choked on her own saliva. “Nice,” was all she managed to say.

“Nice,” Yelena echoed, sounding amused by the reaction and the word.

“Tonight? Since you will probably be gone by tomorrow?”

Kate would need to take a shower and she had no idea if she had washed her nice clothes, but she would make it work. She would because she could feel that Yelena could become someone very important in her life and that wasn’t something that could be treated lightly. She had been attracted by Yelena since she first met her, she felt almost like there was something pulling her to the other woman, but Kate just knew - without knowing how she knew - that it could be more than that.

It certainly wasn’t love at first sight, but Kate wondered many times before if it could be just as impactful, so yes. She would take Yelena out for a few drinks even if she had to wear one of Clint’s old shirts if she had to.

However, Yelena’s response was quite surprising. “Actually…” The blonde stopped to take a deep breath. “I might stay around for another day if… If we have plans.”

That was meaningful. Very meaningful, Kate thought.

It was as if Yelena was giving her a glimpse of hope, something for Kate to grasp when the spy inevitably went away again.

Thankfully, Kate was oddly good at grasping things.

Hence her lack of surprise when Yelena suddenly opened her window the next Tuesday while Kate was sitting down on her couch watching a baseball game.

Once again, Kate didn’t hear her getting up the fire escape, but she had received a text from an unknown number - “because a spy using a formal phone number is stupid, Kate Bishop” - hours ago saying she would be there tonight. It has been over a week since they went out for drinks - “Is that our first date?” which was replied with a patient “I don’t steal nice clothes to hang out with friends, Kate Bishop” - and exactly a week since Yelena left New York again to ‘work’. She still hadn’t told Kate exactly what she did, but she left a note on Kate’s fridge when she left, saying she would come back once it was over.

There was no destination, no date of when she would be back, and Yelena signed it off with ‘mom’ in the end, but it was something. Kate knew she couldn’t ask her any of that because she didn’t know when her job would be done and it was risky to write down where she was going to or even her name. Kate would have to get used to that part of Yelena the same way the spy would have to learn how to sleep with a large and heavy dog sleeping on top of her.

“Are you in one piece?” Kate asked while she turned her head to look at the woman from over the back of the couch.

Yelena was just closing the window and kicking her shoes off after she felt the faint smell of lavender, but she nodded. “One entire piece, yes,” she replied. “You?”

“Locked my finger at a cab’s door.” Kate raised her hand to show her the bruised finger.

“Shooting finger?” Yelena sounded worried as she approached the couch.

Kate smiled when she leaned against the back of the couch, close to her head. “Nope.”

“Good,” the blonde nodded. “I’m hungry. Do you have mac ‘n cheese?”

“I do. Do you want to take a shower first?”

“Later,” Yelena said as she pushed herself away from the couch and walked back to the kitchen. She made a stop to pat Pizza Dog’s head and kiss his fur, and then kept going until she reached one of the cabinets. “Do you want some? I can use the wooden spoon to eat so you can have the fork.”

Kate wondered about it for a moment, even going as far as looking down at her stomach as if she was holding a conversation with it, before she agreed. “Sounds good.”

Yelena was gone two days later, another scribbled note hanging on Kate’s fridge letting her know she hadn’t run away again. It had started to snow and it was cold, which made Kate grimace in concern, but she knew Yelena knew how to handle herself. She also noticed her coat was gone from the hanger behind the door and she rolled her eyes when she had to go through Clint’s clothes to find something warm to wear outside.

Kate spent all day following a guy whose wife was sure he was cheating -  although Kate was following him for two weeks now and only saw him getting in and out of work - and she was almost heading back home when she heard the police sirens going off. A second later, Spider-Man past her in his web and Kate didn’t think twice before finding an empty alley to change her clothes and follow him. Together, they stopped a kidnapping from happening and a bank robbery while they were at it, and they high-fived before parting ways. Peter said he had a date with MJ and Kate needed to feed her dog.

Later that night, she received a text from another unknown number asking how things were, so Kate considered it was safe enough to text Yelena back. She told her everything was fine and then asked her if she would be gone for too long because Christmas was just around the corner. Yelena only replied the next day, from another number, saying she didn’t celebrate Christmas but asking Kate if she did. Kate said that she used to love it when she was a kid, but now she just enjoyed the food - it also reminded her that it has been a year since her mother was arrested.

Surprisingly, Yelena sent another text right away saying that she would try to get her job done soon and that was it. Kate didn’t try to contact her again since she knew it was very likely that Yelena got rid of the new number as well, and Yelena didn’t reach out for another few days. It made Kate wonder if the spy saw her little adventure with Spider-Man on TV somewhere and wanted to make sure she was okay, which made Kate blush like a schoolgirl.

The Avengers threw a Christmas party on Christmas Eve and Kate was invited to it, much to her surprise. Peter swore up and down that it hadn’t been him to got her the invitation, but her question was answered when she entered the tower and saw Clint standing there with a smile. Almost everyone was there, even the members of the team from the freaking space, and Kate had a great time. Peter had taken MJ, Carol was having fun trying to get Thor drunk, Sam was silently talking with an elderly man at the corner, Bruce and Pepper were making sure everyone was behaving, and, overall, it had been a great night. At the toast, they remembered the ones that weren’t with them anymore.

Tony.

Natasha.

And the ones that couldn’t be there that night because they had things going on in their lives - either getting it back on track, dealing with a more pressing matter somewhere else or who they just couldn’t reach out to for some reason. Shuri, Scott, Wanda, Stephen.

Food was great also, and Carol gave everyone a little memoir saying it was her job as their leader to make them live to see another Christmas. Kate was surprised to gain the small keychain, but she accepted it with a smile - and watery eyes, but whatever. After that, Clint walked her to her apartment again and they chatted about how their lives were going. Kate asked the man if he wanted to crash into her apartment, but he said he managed to convince someone to give him a ride home with one of the quinjets so he could be there when his kids woke up, so they parted ways with a wave and a promise to visit soon.

When Kate entered her apartment, she immediately spotted Yelena sitting by the floor playing with Lucky while the old puppy waggled his tail and tried to lick her face.

“Hey,” Kate greeted her while closing the door. “Didn’t know you would be here. Did you get here too long ago?”

Yelena looked up from the dog when he ran to greet Kate as well, jumping on her legs, and smiled. “I got here a few minutes ago. I even saw you walking here with Barton.” Pizza Dog ran to grab one of his toys and brought it to Yelena, who chuckled while she tried to take it from his mouth. “I couldn’t get another phone, that’s why I didn’t tell you I would be here.”

“That’s okay.” Kate smiled as she watched Yelena throw the toy across the apartment, only to see Pizza Dog standing in front of her looking at it with his tongue out and not a single sign that he would run to grab it. Yelena huffed, which made Kate laugh and walk over to the kitchen counter where she had hidden a bag earlier that day. “Hey, boy, over here.” The dog looked at her and barked when he saw Kate holding a new toy, and he practically skidded over the floor in his heist to get to her. “Merry Christmas, Lucky.” She put the fake corn into his mouth and he gladly walked away to jump on the couch to chew on it.

“Oh, man!” Yelena cooed from where she was still sitting on the floor. “That’s cute.”

She was too busy looking at the dog to pay attention to Kate approaching her, so the brunette had to wave around with the other object inside the bag to get Yelena to look at her. Once she did, the first thing Yelena saw was a fork very close to her face, so her eyes raised to meet blue ones - she did a very fast pause to stare at Kate’s lips but no one could blame her for that.

“What’s that?” The Russian asked as her hand raised to take it from Kate’s fingers.

“A fork,” the other woman replied the obvious. “Now you have your own.”

She didn’t wait for Yelena to say anything. Kate simply turned around and started putting the things inside the bag away. She had bought plastic cups so she wouldn’t have to wash the three she had, and something to help her take Pizza Dog’s fur from the couch, and a new curtain since the one in her bedroom was too thin. Kate knew she had access to her family’s money since her mother was in jail, but she tried not to use it since she didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. She supposed that going on a Christmas shopping spree was a good enough reason to use some of it, though.

Since she had her back turned, Kate missed the look on Yelena’s face. The wonder that colored her features, the soft smile that curled her lips up, the glint in her eyes, the way her entire body seemed to relax in a way it never did before. Kate had no idea she had just gifted Yelena the best gift ever. A fork, a simple fork, that meant much more.

To Yelena, it meant future, something she never had before. Yelena lived one day at a time, not sure what the next one might entail, not sure where she would be or how. She didn’t make plans because there wasn’t anything out there for her.

Now, though, she had a fork.

A stupid fork that was hers in Kate Bishop’s apartment.

She still thought it was ridiculous that the woman had one set of cutlery - and now another fork - but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to think that Kate Bishop was quite interesting - charming, even.

“Did you eat?” Kate asked from the kitchen where she was putting a few things away. “I ate already, but I have mac ‘n cheese or we could order something for you.”

Yelena decided she wanted to stay.

[lgbtqmanga]

New Releases June 11, 2024

Birds of Shangri-La (manga) vol. 3 by Ranmaru Zariya

A paradise of sensuality, Shangri-La is a male brothel celebrating the glories of gay sex—not somewhere you’d expect Apollo, a straight man, to seek employment. But Apollo has now finished his training as a teaser under the brothel’s most sought-after bird, Phi, and he’s quickly realizing he’s not keen to work with anyone else. When Phi himself starts to show possessiveness over Apollo, the two further risk permanent exile from paradise!

Case File Compendium: Bing An Ben (novel) vol. 2 by Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou (Meatbun Doesn't Eat Meat)

From the outside, He Yu seems to have everything going for him: he’s handsome, rich, and smart. But beneath his perfect facade, he’s hiding a dark secret–one that makes him a slumbering threat to the people around him. After spending years abroad, he enrolls in film school to pursue the girl of his dreams, Xie Xue…but that forces him to deal with her overprotective older brother, the man He Yu hoped he’d never see again.

Xie Qingcheng, an icy man of subdued emotion, was once He Yu’s doctor, and is the only person who knows He Yu’s terrible secret. He Yu swears not to let his past with this man get in the way of his feelings for Xie Xue, but he soon finds himself drawn into a tangled web of intrigue and violence that involves both of the Xie siblings. As a sprawling conspiracy sucks in He Yu, he must confront his own grudges and face new truths–including his own feelings for Xie Qingcheng, which warp into a fixation much darker than what he feels for the man’s sister.

Even Though We're Adults (manga) vol. 8 by Takako Shimura

Is it worth making everyone else miserable just so we can be happy? Even as they wrestle with this question, Ayano and Akari decide to move in together. Their new life together sustains Ayano after salacious rumors chased her out of her last teaching job. Meanwhile, Wataru is left hurting in the wake of the divorce and Eri struggles with an adulterous love of her own.

Finder Deluxe Edition: Mirage (manga) vol. 13 by Ayano Yamane

Akihito is back with Asami but has lost his memories of him. And to make a bad situation worse, Akihito is going through withdrawal from no longer taking the drug responsible for his memory loss. But despite not remembering his lover, the warmth of Asami’s kindness has Akihito feeling confused about his growing attraction. Will that be enough for Asami to get his old Akihito back?

I Think I Turned My Childhood Friend Into a Girl (manga) vol. 6 by Azusa Banjo

Hiura and Mido’s time as roommates ends with the start of the new school term. But now that Hiura’s gained a little more confidence, he’s forging deeper friendships with his fellow classmates, and at the invitation of rich girl Yoshino, he somehow ends up making his society debut! Meanwhile, a new character who is knowledgeable about makeup gets a glimpse of Mido’s secret. Will this set something off?!

Marriage to Kitsune-sama (manga) by Ken Homerun

In the town of Hokutochou, a mystical tradition unfolds every few decades. A villager is selected to ascend the mountain to marry one of the alluring fox spirits who reside there. Inaho has longed to take on that role, and when his time finally comes, he eagerly climbs the mountain to meet his new handsome husband, Subaru.

The captivating lord has been watching Inaho for quite some time and is pleased to receive his new spouse. But before this supernatural marriage can enter its honeymoon stage, Inaho discovers Subaru is cursed to devour his beloved--aka Inaho! Can they find a way to break the curse, or is this marriage doomed to end in tragedy?

The Moon On a Rainy Night (manga) vol. 5 by Kuzushiro

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Summer break has finally begun, and Kanon and Saki throw themselves into preparing for the upcoming choir contest. When Tanabe suggests setting up a maid café for their school festival project, the three friends decide to head downtown to look at maid outfits. What with conductor practice, shopping excursions, and spending almost every minute with Saki, Kanon is actually starting to enjoy summer in a way she never did before. The only thing that could burst this happy bubble is an unexpected encounter with her classmate Tomita, who usually treats her with scorn. Could there be more to Tomita’s story than she’s letting on?

The Passion of Gengoroh Tagame: Master of Gay Erotic Manga: Vols. 1 & 2

A slipcased edition of the best-selling two volume series collecting the work of Gengoroh Tagame, the "Tom of Finland of Japan" and modern master of "bara" manga.

The often violent, visceral, and always provocative style of Japanese manga legend Gengoroh Tagame, one of the originators of Japanese bear culture, comes to life like never before in our two volume The Passion of Gengoroh Tagame series — the only English-language collections of Tagame’s erotic work, celebrated around the world for its groundbreaking subject matter, masterfully crafted imagery, and unbridled exploration of bondage, lust, passion, and romance.

Vol. 1 includes ten short stories dating from the late 1990s to the early 2010s, with an introduction by celebrated novelist and biographer Edmund White, as well as an essay and jacket design by acclaimed novelist and graphic designer Chip Kidd. In Vol. 2, Tagame serves up what his fans love best: elaborate, sensational, beautifully rendered erotica and BDSM. Kings, monks, cops, athletes: no manly man is safe from the deliciously depraved fantasies within this treasure trove of long and short stories previously unpublished in English, accompanied by original essays and an exclusive new interview with the internationally renowned cartoonist.

Our new two volume slipcased edition is a must-have for Tagame fans, as well as fans of bear cultures in general. (Please note: This book is a traditional work of manga, and reads back to front and right to left.)

Pulse (graphic novel) vol. 7 by Ratana Satis

FINAL VOLUME!

Sue’s past is finally coming back to bite her! Both she and her husband have been summoned to give statements and it won’t be long before they have to go to court. Is the director standing at the precipice of her fall from grace? All will finally be answered in the heart-pounding conclusion of PULSE!

Punch Drunk Love (manhwa) vol. 2 by MOSCARETO and art by Okdong

After getting not just one, but two passionate encounters with manager Jeong Tae-moon, finance worker Park Seon-woo is on cloud nine. The problem? Mr. Jeong is completely turned off by everything from Seon-woo’s frumpy appearance to his sloppy oral technique. Desperate to keep living his ultimate fantasy come true, Seon-woo works hard to improve himself and become a man worthy to stand at Mr. Jeong’s side…or just to crouch on hands and knees as Mr. Jeong’s footstool! Could he even dare hope to become Mr. Jeong’s exclusive lover? Maybe if he ditches those Coke-bottle glasses…

Shonen Note: Boy Soprano (manga) vol. 7 by Yuhki Kamatani

After an unexpected mishap at the national choir competition, Midori loses sight of who she is and decides to resign from the choir. Meanwhile, Yutaka's time as a boy soprano is reaching its end as his voice begins to change. He hopes Midori will get to hear him perform one more time, but…

Untamed: the Official Artwork

This stunning hardcover collection is a full-color guide to the rich world of historical fantasy The Untamed. This live-action drama series–an adaptation of Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s New York Times bestselling novel series Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation: Mo Dao Zu Shi–became one of the most popular dramas in China with over 9 billion views and fans located all over the world, including those introduced to the series in English on Netflix. This full-color hardcover (300+ pages long) is an art-and-text guide featuring beautiful shots from the show, character features, cast interviews, explorations of fashion and settings, illustrations and concept art, song lyrics, and more!

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Melting for You"

It's been a bit since I've done a Self Promo Sunday post, but with the weather heating and well into summer this one shot came to mind, and it seemed like the right one for this week to get them going again. I wish we had a few more steamy CS pics to work with to make a cover art, but I still gave it a go. If this is new to you, I hope you'll enjoy, and if it's a repeat maybe you'll find it fun to revisit.

Summary: When Emma decides to tease an overheated pirate, soon she's the one burning up... A Post Season 6 canon divergent ff, with CS enjoying their happy beginning

Can also be found on AO3 if that's your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Even indoors the air was heavy and oppressive - especially for June - and Emma Swan gave herself a mental pat on the back for even being out of her recliner nearest the air conditioning vent in the old, high-ceiling house that could be expensive to sufficiently cool. She tended to covet a day like this - off from the station, Henry out with friends, no one needing anything from her, and a backlog of her favorite crime procedurals ready in her streaming queue - chuckling to herself about deserving some sort of Savior Above and Beyond medal for being in the kitchen tackling a sink of dirty dishes.

Normally, she’d just put them in the dishwasher, but the last clean load had never been taken back out and put away - one of Henry’s designated jobs - and her husband, loving and fond of her son as he was, was still a captain through and through, determined for each member of his crew to pull their weight. Emma, on the other hand, while not as worried about the degree of neatness Killian would prefer, was just stubborn enough not to do her kid’s chores for him. Henry had been busy lately; finals, college applications and other genuine responsibilities taking up the bulk of his time, but she trusted him to get to it when he could. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the real reason she didn’t put the clean dishes away was because she didn’t understand Killian’s precise method for storing all the various pots, pans, containers, and baking sheets; inevitably, when she tried to unload the dishwasher alone, she ended up with numerous things she couldn’t find a place for strewn across the kitchen’s center island and more of a mess than she’d started with.

It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

So, here she stood, sweating over a sink full of hot, soapy water, feeling loose tendrils of hair begin to curl around her face in the humidity, just trying to make sure they had enough clean spoons and to-go mugs for their coffee the next morning and cursing the 90 degree heat and the ceiling fan not doing an adequate job of getting the cooler air to her as her shirt began to feel stuck to her skin between her shoulder blades.

At least she had a good view. 

Emma smirked to herself, eyes lighting up once again as she refocused from the charred bits of pizza crust she’d slightly burnt onto a pan and back out the window over the sink. She wasn’t sure how her husband could stand it outside, and he’d been at it for at least a couple hours at this point, but as she took in the scene before her, Emma couldn’t help thinking that at this moment, his discomfort was a cross she was willing to bear.

Standing up straighter, running her forearm across her face, she dazedly allowed her hands to drip across the counter as she studied him more closely, almost forgetting where she was. Killian was wearing dark, stained denim jeans he often used when out of doors and not on his ship, along with a thin, gray T-shirt, stretched and faded with holes in places, but more than serviceable for working around the house and yard. She could see the muscles in his back and shoulders straining and bunching through the nearly threadbare material easily, and hardly realized she’d unconsciously licked her lips at the decadent sight.

As she continued to shamelessly spy on her fine pirate, Killian stretched his arms up overhead, clearly working out some of the kinks from his exertions, then to her eternal delight, raised the hem of his T-shirt to mop sweat from his brow. She could see a band of tanned, flushed skin on his lower back, unknowingly tantalizing her as she stared, unable to blink or look away. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, he slowly peeled the taut fabric up his torso and off over his head before tossing it to the side.

She knew her breath went a bit shallow at the sight of his whole back bared to her while Killian stood for several long moments catching his breath. At this point, her sudsy hands were clutching the edge of the sink while her knees went watery at the show he was putting on inadvertently. The expanse of his skin was marred in places by lines almost white from the time gone by since they had been inflicted, and high on his left shoulder a compass sat, bearing the name ‘Liam’ along its edge, while the dark tentacles of a kraken curled surreptitiously along his rib cage on his right side. The dark and light took not one iota from his swarthy perfection though, not to her eyes. In fact, if she had been overwarm before, she was burning up now; the sight of his whole torso practically glistening in the bright afternoon sun making her weak. She was seized with the almost uncontrollable desire to go out there and started licking the salty moisture from his skin with her tongue.

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was purposely trying to tempt her. 

Wait… did she know better? Emma paused, tilted her head to one side in thought. She’d told him when he’d gone outside that she was kicking back to watch some tv. But Killian could be scarily prescient of everyone around him, alert without even trying. Did he know she was watching; and, if so, was he teasing her?

Eyes narrowing, she thought for a second, feeling more than a bit devious as she considered her rapscallion husband and just what mischief he might have on his mind. She could almost picture him scoffing about getting her riled up; his brow arched just so, tongue poking against the inside of his lower lip, practically leering at her, knowing she couldn’t resist him at the best of times, and absolutely using it to his advantage. What she needed, Emma decided, a twinkle coming into her eye as the perfect plan of attack took shape in her mind, was to get him back, while appearing completely innocent. Get him flustered and as hot and bothered as he was making her. Turning off the tap and quickly drying her hands on a towel nearby, she grabbed a large glass from the cabinet to her left, then opened the freezer for ice - and her chosen secret weapon.

Strolling outside, Emma tried her best to school her expression, knowing a twitch of mischievous humor or devilish twinkle would give her away. Her pirate still read her like a book - knew her every feature more minutely than anyone else had ever bothered to try - even more so after years together. He’d catch any slip and be on the alert.

Killian turned to look at her, just as she drew up beside him. Reaching out to trail the hand holding an ice cold glass of water down his damp, overheated bicep, she fought to hold in the smirk as her husband let his head fall backwards, nearly growling in pleasure. The unrelenting heat had the glass already covered in condensation, and the warmth radiating from Killian as well after working so long in the sun, meant the cool moisture had to feel heavenly.

Eyeing her with both adoration and curiosity, her captain made Emma’s own inner thermostat raise a tick as well when he licked the perspiration from his upper lip. “May I assume that’s for me, Love?”

“Yep,” she replied, letting the ‘p’ pop distinctly, just as he often did when alluring her with his speech. “I thought it was time to bring you some water. Can’t have my True Love getting dehydrated, after all.”

He raised a brow, as if wondering why she seemed so enthusiastic, but he took the glass from her eagerly, seemingly deciding just to accept the gesture with thanks. Of course, as his Adam's apple bobbed with his greedy swallows of the cool, refreshing liquid, it was Emma who found her throat working desperately to gain more air.

For a second, she almost forgot her plan in the wake of the tantalizing distraction he made, before she regained focus and hurried to unwrap what she held in her other hand.

While Killian’s eyes were still closed savoring the last of his drink, Emma quickly stuffed the wrapper of an ice cream bar in her cutoff jean pockets and began to lick the chocolate coating, enjoying the sweet taste, but also waiting for the moment she would feel the sizzle of his eyes on her once more.

“Here you go, Love,” Killian’s voice spoke up as she felt him turn toward her, just as she enveloped the whole tip of the ice cream bar between her lips. “That truly hit the sp - “

His words died on his tongue as he got an eyeful of what she was doing, though Emma avoided looking back just yet, knowing the glee she was feeling would give her away. ‘Gotcha, Pirate!’ she couldn’t help gloating in her mind.

Humming slightly as if she was only focused on how delicious her frozen treat tasted, Emma was inwardly high fiving herself after shooting a quick sidelong glance at her husband to see him looking as though he had swallowed his own tongue. The empty glass he’d moved to hand back to her fell to the ground from his suddenly lax fingers, and when she heard him speak again, his words were a hoarse whisper. “Gods above, Swan, are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not,” she chirped happily, winking at him with what she hoped was breezy nonchalance. “Just enjoying some refreshment myself.” She then popped the treat back into her mouth, pointedly hollowing her cheeks a bit, then pulling it back out while letting her tongue trail along the rapidly melting chocolate coating.

‘And now the final touch,’ she thought, turning her head back toward the porch and deliberately putting more swing in her hips than normal. “Bring that glass with you when you come back in, okay Babe?” she tossed over her shoulder, with one brief backward glance that she hoped managed to be sultry.

Congratulating herself, even as just the short amount of time she’d been outside was beginning to make her sweat too and the vanilla insides of her ice cream began to drip down her hand, Emma had nearly reached the outdoor water spigot and attached hose by the porch steps, which seemed a good place to finish her dessert and wash off the stickiness, when she heard heavy steps coming up behind her rapidly. ‘Right on cue, ’ her mind practically crowed.

In the next moment, Killian’s strong, muscled arm snaked around her stomach and jerked her back firmly against the front of his body. Holding her tightly, his teeth nipped her earlobe before he purred a seductive warning against her neck. “It’s cruel to tease a man like that, Minx - not if you don’t intend to share a taste.”

Impishly, Emma held up the rapidly shrinking bit of ice cream left on the stick, as if in offering. However, when he dove in to swipe his tongue up the side of her hand and engulf both the melting treat and the tips of her fingers in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, she willingly let go. His eyes were pure blue flames that wouldn’t allow her to blink, turning her bones and sinew to liquid more than the heat outside could have ever managed.

Emma was leaning into him breathlessly, mind going blank at the way he pulled his lips back off her fingers, laving her skin playfully as he leaned away, the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes along with the heat telling her all too well that he knew what he was doing. Winking devilishly, he stepped away slightly, making her nearly stumble as her body strained to follow, a soft whine leaving her throat completely against her will. 

“Hmm…” he purred, baiting her now, sensing victory no doubt. “Just as I thought - delicious.”

Emma’s misfiring synapses crackled back to life as he stood there, just out of reach, clearly waiting for his wife’s next move, and almost certainly counting on her being unable to resist.

Her chest heaved, trying to get a full breath and bring herself under control. She’d had the upper hand! She was so sure she’d have him begging - just this once. But she was flushed and sweating every bit as much as Killian now. That sinful way he was tracing her bare legs with his gaze, and the feel of his mouth on her, however briefly, had been all it had taken to send her temperature soaring beyond all reason.

“You don’t play fair, Captain,” she chided, her voice low and her own teasing smile finally returning to her as it just tilted the corner of her lips.

Killian’s dark brow arched devastatingly in challenge, not about to be outdone. “Oh, and I suppose you think waltzing out here in those shorts that barely cover your knickers and shamelessly teasing me was fair play?”

There was no good comeback, and Emma knew it. She’d been messing with him from the start, and neither of them had any doubts on that score. However, it was just then she remembered the hose and spigot right behind her. Using an innocent shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her blond hair she knew could often distract him - pirate indeed, her golden hair had always drawn his touch, he’d been brushing it over her shoulder since they had first climbed the beanstalk together - she managed to move back enough to reach behind her and turn on the water without him catching onto her actions. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” she sniffed, feigning insult. “I only brought you a cold drink. You looked like you needed…” she fumbled to grasp the hose quickly and pull it up into her hands “...to cool off!”

Without further warning, she pointed the nozzle at him, squeezed the handle and let fly, startling him with a blast of water right to the chest. Luckily, she’d managed to crank up the power enough to have a steady stream leaving the hose at full blast, and they kept it coiled in the shade of the porch, so she knew the spray rapidly soaking her husband was as ice cold as the sun beating down on them from above was burning hot.

Spluttering and yelping at the sudden, frigid onslaught, Killian’s pleased smirk dissolved as he threw up both arms in a helpless attempt to block the spray. She couldn’t help throwing her head back with a triumphant laugh and an emphatic “Gotcha!” escaping her lips. No part of her husband was getting out of this unscathed, she decided, aiming to soak him from head to toe while she had the upper hand. 

Unfortunately for her, the victory was short-lived. Adaptable and quick-thinking as ever, Killian had steeled himself against the cold blast and was inching closer amidst laughter of his own and short exclamations at the bursts of chilled water hitting him.

Emma was about to relent in truth, the sight of Killian’s streams of eater running down his arms and sides and droplets clinging to his trim, well-defined chest and the enticing covering of matted dark hair across his taut chest muscles, was more than enough prize for her efforts. The handle actually faltered in her grip for a moment as her mouth fell open with her gawking.

 It was all the opening her pirate needed. 

Killian bounded forward, closing the slight distance left between them and deftly plucking the hose from her grip. The squelch of his feet on the wet grass and the slap of soaked denim against his legs were Emma’s only other warnings before the sharp, freezing spray was turned on her full blast in retaliation.

“Ahhh! Killian!” she screeched helplessly, the shock of the cold making her gasp, despite knowing she wasn’t going to get any more mercy than she herself had been willing to grant moments ago. Instead, she floundered forward, grabbing for the hand aiming the spray at her. They scuffled briefly, both only getting wetter and more winded, until - ridiculously tangled up with each other and the hose - they tumbled to the sodden grass in a heap of wriggling limbs.

At this point, both of them were laughing, hands rapidly smoothing over wet skin in delicious slides. The hose fell from Killian’s grip, easily forgotten, and the water splashed them both in a wild arc until it fell to the ground and stopped. The damage was long done anyway as they rolled together on the marshy ground, legs entwined and bodies beginning to move against each other deliciously, almost without thought in a deliciously familiar next move.

Unable to resist any longer, and far past teasing or trying to win their game, Emma’s hands stole to trace up his panting side, thrilling at the feel of his stomach muscles trembling where her fingertips swept over them. 

Killian was not idle as she worked feverishly, a low groan of pleasure escaping him as she stroked along the planes of his torso.  In the next moment, he dove in, pulling down the vee of her own shirt further and baring her breast before closing his mouth over the tight, alert bud warming and tormenting in equal measure with swipes of his wicked tongue.

She bucked up into him, keening and whimpering and wordlessly desperate to urge him on. After that, there was no time for words, merely pants of exertion, the occasional clacking of teeth, the slapping of damp skin on skin, and the smack of the rest of their soaking clothing frantically shed on the swampy ground around them. Soon they were moving in unison, Killian pushing forward, and her opening to pull him in, then clinging to him tightly for all she was worth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, as the evening shadows fell, a light breeze moved in, cooling the heavy air of the day. Emma’s eyes trailed languidly over the nude lines of her husband’s hip and side as he returned to her with water and slid back under the light blanket they had draped over their bodies as they snuggled skin to skin on the back porch. It hadn’t seemed worth bothering to get dressed again when they’d only adjourned as far as the porch before their kisses and touches and mischievous smiles led to them going again at an achingly slower, more luxurious pace on the porch glider while the sun had slowly dipped closer to the horizon. As Killian curled back around her and brought her hand up to kiss each one of her knuckles reverently, humming as he somehow found a sweet bit of leftover ice cream, Emma could only think it was lucky their porch faced nothing but the rocky coastline and the harbor beyond it. Not that she was ashamed of how quickly she had melted at his whim, but she didn’t need anyone else to get an eyeful.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64

@apiratewhopines @iamstartraveller776 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @teamhook

@revanmeetra87 @anmylica @xarandomdreamx @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx @motherkatereloyshipper

@stahlop @mie779 @jonesfandomfanatic @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89

@darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @zaharadessert @booksteaandtoomuchtv @caught-in-the-filter

[grifff17]

Audiodrama Sunday 6/2/2024

Happy Pride Month! Audiodramas are overwhelmingly queer anyways, almost everything I listened to this week, by total coincidence, had queer characters in it. Unrelated, I've decided to start doing new show alerts, and putting them at the top of these posts, to try to spread the word about new shows I check out.

NEW SHOW ALERT Hamuel Burger and the American Dream was created by @asbestos4president for the @podcast-bookclub Podcast Jam. The show, which currently only has 1 episode, has the insane premise of an alien twitch streamer who has come to earth to kill the president. This show was so funny. I laughed out loud multiple times. I really want a full season of this show.

NEW SHOW ALERT The pilot episode of Bitcherton, an improvised Jane Austin parody podcast, came out this week. I love the cast for this show, it already looks like its going to be really fun. The occasional modern day references ("I think he was just a misogynist") had me rolling. Their Kickstarter for a full season starts June 13th, check out the pilot episode before then!

I listened to parts 1 and 2 of the Last Breath miniseries of Skyjacks Couriers Call. The description of the whole town, and the Leviathan refinery in particular, was insane. Excited to listen to the last part when I have time.

I caught partially up with @breakerwhiskey. Holy shit, an actual other person who is alive and doesn't want to kill Whiskey. I sure hope nothing bad happens to them! Things do seem to be looking up for Whiskey, I expect something to go wrong soon.

@midnightburgr released part 2 of Welcome to the Horizon! I love Verge so much, they're such a great character. I desperately wanted to hear that conversation between Verge, Frank and June that was implied to happen right after the episode ended. Hopefully its in the next one. I bet this miniseries will lead to Verge going off to find the diner to reunite with Leif, and I can't wait for that.

@midstpodcast had a hell of an action scene in the first half of this week's episode. I loved the nature corner. This show keeps doing this thing where I'm already blown away by the episode then look at the runtime and there's still 20 minutes left.

Mission Rejected this week has me wondering how many episodes until Chet Philips is the president of the United States of America. The Speaker of the House is 3rd in line for the presidency, he's not far off. As far as the actual plot of the episode, I have fond memories of watching Murder She Wrote with my grandparents so I loved this episode. Of course she figured out they were spies. Also I love how this show changes the bumper music for themed episode to match the theme.

@re-dracula Jonathan had a good idea to try to send letters through intermediaries, but it wasn't clever enough. Dracula is actually starting to be intimidating to me, rather than charmingly weird as he was in the earlier episodes. Dracula also knows that Jonathan uses shorthand code now, which can't be good.

Dear Liisphyra this week had a really funny intro bit. Also, the idea of a Genie who is just really annoyed with the people who find his lamp is great. He's not going to curse them or anything, he just wants them to go away so he can go back inside. I keep thinking I should write a letter in to this show, they have an email address in the description, but I need an idea first.

In Spout Lore this week Vyng's dice really told a story. I feel like Vyng is usually so competent in combat, and consistently rolling badly vs the pigs was so different. Speaking of the pigs, I love the aesthetic of "post-apocalyptic farmingpunk". I've never seen anything like this before, and I don't know how else to describe it. It's a post-apocalyptic wasteland, but its of halfling farmers, so they have scarecrow disguises and beets carved into skulls.

I started a new job this week, which theoretically means I have less podcast time, but I still listened to so much this week. I'm ready for getting through more of my backlog next week!

[nikatyler]

🌈 2023 ✨

Another year is over so it's time for a look back at what was happening on this blog! I haven't really been around, it was just my queue, and maybe that's one reason why I looked at my archive and went "huh" at everything. I don't remember much. The other reason why this year probably went poof in my head is because I was dealing with some mental health stuff lol. I say lol but it wasn't actually very lol but I'm doing better now and 2024...is looking promising for now.

So, let's talk more under the cut, shall we?

January

We're in Bridgeport and Sawyer is living his best life. You know, girlfriends, boyfriends, being turned into a vampire, giving birth to three little vampires, threatening to sell his enemies' organs on the black market...best life indeed.

February

Okay I am now seeing that "talking more" about every month will be impossible since I actually don't have much recollection of 2023 lmao

March

Sawyer and Erin are at the best point of their relationship, but we left them alone for a bit and went back to NSB. Pastel just moved to Strangerville and got a...rather strange roommate.

April

The rather strange roommate becomes Pastel's rather strange wife. I love these two so much. We also say hello to Moss -- and also to Ross, who returns from...god knows where. I mean yeah, there was the ts3 Ross, but technically they're two different people. Parallel universes and stuff.

May

Thea is born and strange wife Jesse gets even stranger. That whole "merging with the mother plant" thing was kinda weird but I really enjoyed it. Idk what I was on but it was fun. And then, before returning to the lepacy, I posted my Cottage Living screenshots! ...which were really just me going "uwu what does this do" on every possible Wicked Whims option.

June

...and I went from posting weird WW Ross stuff to posting wholesome Growing Together Ross stuff. If that gave you a whiplash, I am sorry, but imagine what it must be like for me. I'm locked with this guy in my head 24/7. He's the whiplash king. A blorbo to you, a curse to me. A beloved curse tho. Ok I'm getting weird. Back to the lepacy.

July

Lepacy time! Loved the soap opera Generations gen. Kinda wish I had sticked to some of the storylines instead of going "eh nvm I just wanna play". I'm not saying I regret not actually letting Saywer go on a killing spree but also...imagine if he went on a killing spree. You don't see that in lepacies often do ya

August

August was...welp 💀 I was at the grippy socks hospital for most of that month, 10/10 would recommend, but my queue ran out while I was there so I just reblogged some old stuff for a few weeks.

September

September is just lepacy month. Cornelia and Archer are happy, they get married, they get more children...yeah. Good wholesome Generations times all around. It's not like they're gonna get divorced later or anything.

October

The twins are kind of chaotic, one of them turns into a ghost, both then bring their cursed imaginary friends to life...and the final child of Archer and Cornelia is born.

November

I loved running into Sawyer at the grocery store all the time. Weird vampire alleged killer grandpa behavior suits him. Dorothea goes away to a boarding school, hates it there and instantly comes back. Relatable. Oh and midlife crisis hits Archer hard.

December

And we're in December! Dorothea enters her horsegirl era and finds herself a girlfriend...and we'll continue that in 2024!

What's in store for the new year besides the lepacy? Well, Not So Berry will be making a return (and HOPEFULLY we'll finally get to the end. we need to). There's a story I want to do in the NSB universe, if you know you know. Before we dive into the next lepacy generation, I'm thinking of another BC with the gen 7 heir...oh and Marika's Black Widow. Shoot and I'm starting an irl job in January. Yeah no we're not doing all this in 2024, don't count on it 💀 But I'll try.

Happy New Year! 🎇

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Our apartment is through a management company. It's usually fine. The last several months, we've had issues with them 1) actually sending out maintenance, and 2) not fixing our fucking floor.

Our floor was put in during the Fall of 2022 after the fucking flood of June 2022. For the entire summer, we walked around on the original concrete floor of our renovated 100-year-old basement apartment.

Management company swore the problem was that the property owner was dragging his feet.

I'd met the property owner several times as he'd come to inspect the damage and understand what he needed to do as owner, since it would be his insurance covering things. I thought he was an asshole.

The new floor went in. We moved home. A few weeks later, I noticed a space between the boards in the kitchen. I debated calling the management company, then went, "I'm in no fucking mood" and threw a rug over it.

I'm not a professional, but I know bits and pieces of home shit. I figured, with the weather cooling, the vinyl boards were shifting a bit, and it'd either stay the same or just slip back together at some point.

And then the rest of the floor started buckling.

I put a maintenance request in. A guy came out, took one look at the floor, and went, "Oh, yeah, I know what's happening." He took photos. He pushed back together what boards he could, and he left.

Nothing for about a week, then a call. The owner wants to come out and look. I sighed and agreed. He came out and brought along his wife, the maintenance guy who'd come before, and our property management contact.

He was NOT PLEASED. His wife's job that day, very obviously to me, was to get my real impression of the management company while the owner asked some questions about why it was taking a week to even update me on next steps?

I told the wife, "We've never had a real problem with maintenance. Stuff's always gotten fixed."

"Have you needed it often?" she asked.

"Nope," I said because it was true.

When the whole apartment was getting torn up after the flood, the demo guy was 1) great and 2) informed me that all the finishes in the apartment were commonly used but also the high-end version. Yeah, they were all particle board and vinyl and what have you. But they were the top-notch versions of everything. I remembered thinking, "Wow, the dude who renovated this place gave a real shit."

We have not heard word one from anyone at the management company about our floor since around October. We have heard from the owner and his wife on a few occasions, calling to see if the next step of the plans had happened. Which is how I found out there were plans. Our contact at the management company (with 16 years experience, something she mentioned when she sent out her intro email at her hiring) had not given me any information.

A couple of weeks ago, our kitchen turned into a tiny swamp. There was water coming up through the fucked up floorboards. A pipe had frozen upstairs a couple of days before. There were four inches of glaze ice over everything.

We called the management company. We got an email back: "We are confirming with the owner how he wants to proceed."

I started cursing the owner's name up and down.

And then he showed up that night. In the ice and the snow. With it pouring sleet (literally pouring sleet). I thought he was being a control freak.

He looked at things, said, "I'll have to turn the water off." And then went upstairs to check on things there. He came back a few minutes later, needing to try and find the shut off. We couldn't locate it down here, either. He shut it off at the street, then took Sean out and showed him how to use the tool to turn it on and off.

"It's a very slow leak," he told us. "If you don't mind mopping up water when it comes up, you can turn the water on for short periods of time."

Two days with no water. The ice continued not to melt. I fell on the dog walk and slid into the side of a car (nothing serious). The owner showed up again when the roads were still barely passable. He had the leak fixed and the water back in by the end of the day. He apologized for the delay. He left the wall open so things could dry, and came back the next day to check things again.

He started to grow on me. He knows his shit. He works quietly. He tries to be as unobtrusive as possible. I sent my regards to his wife, for which he thanked me.

During these few days, I'm getting sporadic emails from the management company basically rehashing everything that had happened that day. Even though I'd heard him call them and explain things to them within half an hour of showing up each day.

So, they were in the loop.

And, yes, so were we.

But there's a way to do these things.

And acting like it's all brand new information to you when the email gets to me at six, after he's left again after apologizing for getting some mud on the floor because he's been in and out not only fixing the leak but also beating the shit out of the four inches of glaze ice with a shovel so he can clear the sidewalk for us. Which is one of those technical requirements that I don't expect of any owner or management company when it's below freezing multiple days in a row in a city where that does not happen regularly. Like, the official city policy during the weather was "please stay the fuck inside."

The contractors came to put the wall back together. The owner showed up to properly introduce them, then left them to it. They did good work as far as I could tell.

I've heard nothing from the management company for several days, and I continue to be very unimpressed by their current actions. Which is just additional unimpressed feelings since October when I got a call from the wife saying, "Did the contractor come out to measure?"

"Measure?"

"For the replacement floor."

"No, Ma'am," I said, not knowing until this phone call that a contractor had even been signed. "Last I heard anything was when the inspector came out."

"Did the company contact you about them?"

"Yes, but then the inspector didn't show the day he was supposed to, and we didn't hear why. He did show up a couple of days later."

The kind of pause you only get from a woman who knows how to use her powers for politeness, smoothing ruffled feathers, and fucking murdering someone. "I see. Okay. Thank you."

"I've worked on a lot of floors," the contractor told me yesterday as he wiped down all the places drywall dust and paste had gotten (everywhere; including the bottom of Bean's foot I discovered this morning). "You're definitely gonna need new floor where the leak was."

"Oh, yeah," I said, with a wave. "We need the whole thing replaced, actually. It's in work."

"Yeah, I noticed it was bubbling," the contractor says. "Not surprising. This is the cheapest vinyl floor you can get."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I've worked with the owner for years. I'm surprised he approved this."

About a week after the wife last called me, we got a letter in the mail from the owner. It read, in part:

...please copy us in all emails to the management company. We want to be fully aware when issues arise so they can be handled as quickly as possible...

Given all current evidence, I am beginning to suspect the problem was NOT the owner but the management company. As I have never worked in property management, I don't know who decides things like which flooring. However, having watched the owner over this last couple of weeks, I suspect the management company picked the flooring and the contractor to do it and the "dragging on" issue was the owner pushing for better quality.

I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that the owner was here today to paint the repaired wall and a strip of ceiling that has gone unfixed by the management company since before we told them the floor news.

I have been beyond happy with the speed of things with the owner in charge of repairs, and I've come to appreciate his dedication to keeping our place in good kit. He is proud of this place and wants it to show. He wants high-quality and good craftsmanship.

He also ended up not painting because the ceiling repair doesn't have the right texture when the lights are off. He is coming back tomorrow morning with the contractor so it gets done to his liking. "It can be difficult to match the texture of sheet rock," he told me. Having watched him work these past couple of weeks, I know he wants it done to a high standard that I appreciate as the tenant.

On the other hand. What an asshole.

[moccahobi]

May and June Reads

I know it isn’t the end of June but I am posting this anyways! It’s been a rough month and I am working on resetting and orienting so Imma imagine that posting this marks a new start for my reading log periods.  Last month, I read seven pieces and this month I managed to read ten! Which makes me quite happy! So many of my reads were stuff that I got consumed in and couldn’t step away from! There are truly so many amazing creations and I am so glad that I am exploring and reading them!

Two months ago when I last posted my reads, I talked about starting a schedule for fanfic reading... I’ve not. BUT! I did put fics that I already know I am interested in reading on my document and filled in everything other than my comments on it. This really helped me keep looking to reads. I plan to continue to putting fics I know I want to prioritize onto my bimonthly log when I find them because that helped so much!  I think it also helped me to mix up shorter pieces and longer pieces. I had two pieces that I read that were almost 50k (wow! In so much awe of the authors) and it really helped to have some smaller pieces that I could intersperse as well! It’s been so nice to mix my book reading with my fic reading and work fic reading in as little breaks from all that I am doing! 

If you all have any fics you rec me reading, please send them to me! I’d love to add to my TRL!

BTS MxR

Tongue Tied (Jungkook x Reader) ( @jeonqkooks )

“Jeez, you’re acting like I asked to peg you or something.”

Warnings: brief mentions of sex and drinking

18+

1.5k

Fluff, F2L, Neighbors AU

As an enjoyer of the tension right before a relationship starts, this fic gives such a good depiction of if! The tone is light hearted and the narration is funny. It's a great fic to brighten your day and rest with. So adorable! 

Sit. Stay (Seokjin x Reader) ( @daechwitatamic )

Your new puppy, Zinnia, has turned your world on its head. She’s ruined everything from your sleep schedule to your favorite shoes, and you know it’s your own failure to train her properly. When your cute upstairs neighbor tells you about a local obedience academy, he slowly starts to make himself a place in your schedule, your life, and your heart. After your last relationship went up in flames, will his affections be something else you can count as a failure?

Warnings: language, casual drinking, parental medical problems, mentions of surgery/doctors/hospitals (major operations lightly mentioned; no d

NSFW

14k

S2L, Neighbors AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst 

This had me hooked and hanging on at the edge of my seat as I read! Joe does such a beautiful job at weaving humor with serious topics of healing and medical emergencies and it is really just so wonderful. She does a wonderful job at creating complex and gray stories that help readers sympathize with both characters. If you want a fun and goofy story that also tackles serious topics, this is a great one for you.

The Perfect Gift (Jimin x Reader) ( @moonleeai )

A cute story about two friends that decide to "fake date" for the Christmas Holiday while visiting family, but with each household they fall for each other.

Warnings: None

SFW

6,346

Fluff, Fake Dating, F2L Christmas AU

This story follows our characters as they try to get their parents off of their backs. It is such a cute and classic fake dating AU and if you are a connoisseur of fake dating tropes you NEED to read this fic! It’s funny and cute and all the domestic moments kept my heart full! I highly recommend you read it!

Crazy For You (Taehyung x Reader) ( @oddinary4bts )

You’ve known Kim Taehyung your whole life. When you meet again at a party hosted by your best friend, alcohol looses your lips and you spill your secrets to your childhood crush. Will Taehyung give in to your desire, or will you be struck by remorse?

Warnings: alcohol consumption, lying/hiding the truth, unclear relationship, feelings of  cheating, cursing, mention of a grandparent passing away, sex (see fic for full list of sex warnings)

NSFW

46.8k

Angst, Smut, Fluff, Idol AU, angst, smut, fluff, Best friends older brother, Fake dating

If you enjoy monster oneshots, this is the fic for you! I am in awe of how long and detailed this fic is and you can truly lose yourself in it! There is so much that’s explored and so many angsty moments present! Lovers of idol aus will love this too. The detail and ways everything is woven together is just astounding and truly so amazing. READ IT!

Fearless (Hoseok x Reader) ( @hobisuniverse )

On your way home from a party, you tell your best friend to pull over so you can dance with him in a storm in your best dress, fearless.

Warnings: None

SFW

718

Fluff, Confessions, Friends to lovers

FLUFFY CONFESSION LOVERS! COME HITHER! Ahhhh! This fic is so short and sweet and so glorious! If you enjoy fluffy confessions, weather matching emotions (kinda), and feeling fuzzy all over, this is the perfect quick read!

BTS MxOC

To The Beach (Jungkook x OC) ( @mydogssqueakytoy )

Jungkook’s daughter misses her mom and needs a way to pass the time before she comes home.

Warnings: None

SFW

712

Fluff, Dad Jungkook AU

Father BTS fics are just so adorable! And this fic is such a perfect example of this! The author does such an amazing job at showing the ways Jungkook may express his love for his family: comforting his kid and looking his partner into it all! If you enjoy father BTS fics, I highly rec reading this piece! It’s soft and cute and just leaves one feeling so soft!

Honorable Mention

@magicshopaholic​‘s amazing universe (BTS x OCs)

This series consists of fics set in the same universe, of the members of BTS and their long-term OCs. While these are part of a larger story, most fics can be read standalone as well.

18+

Generally, I try to only post finished pieces BUT Cath’s amazing works have been things I’ve been slowly reading throughout the past four months! I immediately got hooked on Hoseok and Chaeyoung’s storyline. Because OMG CHILDHOOD NEIGHBOR’S TO POSSIBLY LOVERS? It is gold! I inhaled it! THERE IS ANOTHER PART THOUGH THAT I’VE NOT READ AND AM SO EXCITED TO! And recently I’ve started reading Yoongi and Miso’s storyline which is also SO INTERESTING! I am a slow reader and have been interspersing my reading of her universe through all my other pieces and because everything is one universe and each series is being updated kinda at the same time (which is so impressive! Cath weaves so many stories together and I am so in awe). It didn’t feel right not to mention it. 

If you’ve never read an MxOC piece before or don’t really read them, I highly recommend Cath be your introduction to it! I know that on tumblr there is a strong pretense for MxR rather than MxOC (I only read one other OC piece in the six months I’ve been doing this and that is also in this post).  The range in MxR is BROAD. We have some who have no physical characteristics, some who do and are labeled, some who do and aren’t labeled, and all of them have personality traits that are close to how the reader is or isn’t. Each reader is a character. They are just vague in some places. OCs are just other characters. They also exist on the same range and are just as rich in depth! I highly recommend you read some if you enjoy reading books and fanfic!

BTS MxM

Honeycomb For a Heart (yoonminjoonseok) ( @hungline )

Yoongi never actually expected to build his own hive.

Warnings: mentioned misgendering and transphobia 

SFW

1.4k

In this fic, Yoongi is a king bee and I absolutely love how his hybrid identity is tied into his trans identity! The story introduces the readers to yoongi and his struggles in such a quick but heartfelt an empathetic way and we get introduced to Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin in such a fun and open way! Although the story is only 1.5 k and we only get their meeting, there is so much personality and hope packed into the story. If you're wanting on uplifting quick read, this is a great one.

( ✓ read 10:18 p.m. ) (Yoongi x Jungkook; Hoseok x Jimin) (AO3)

By the time Suga got back to him with the name of the sample, Jungkook was sitting in class. He’d never been an in-class text-er. He listened well. He followed rules. He gave professors the attention they deserved. But if Min Suga texted him, Jungkook always found himself texting back, attention 100% on his phone. Maybe it was because messaging the stranger felt as informative as half of his classes. Suga gave good advice. He’d caught himself thinking over the weekend that maybe he actually did owe Jimin some coffee.

Warnings: No archive warnings, mentions of sex, insecurity

18+

47k

College AU, Young Professionals AU, Angst, Fluff

AHHHHHHHHHH! This fic is an adorable story. As readers, we get to see Jungkook try to grow and learn to accept his growing feelings for Min Suga, an unknown man he slowly gets to know. Only thing: he is emotionally constipated and Yoongi feels so much that he struggles… Oh and also Suga kinda likes Jimin… or does he? Owo. It’s such a good series! The chapters are short and addictive and left me unable to put the fic down! It’s angsty and focuses on the growth of everyone and it’s such a wonderful read. It’s such a good series and I highly recommend you read it!

Got7 MxR

Filipendulous (adj.) - hanging by a thread (Jinyoung x Reader) ( @flurrys-creativity )

Summary: After a fight with Y/n, Jinyoung spirals with jealousy. One call changes it all.

Warnings: mentions of an argument, mentions of jealousy, mentions of drinking alcohol (not really responsible), mentions of an accident, mentions of results from said accident, short hospital setting, one kiss…

SFW

1,967 words

Angst, No AU

Do you like angst? Open endings? Many struggles and layers to a fic? This is the fic for you! I read this and gasped with each new development! Flurry does wonderful at getting us hooked and keeping us hooked! It's such a wonderful read!

Got7 MxM

Brewed Love (Mark x Jackson) ( @limjaeseven )

Summary: Jackson is comfortable working at the cafe Jaebeom owns. He expects to earn a living there, he doesn’t expect falling in love.

Warnings: None

SFW

Fluff, Coffee Shop AU

1,518 words

Coffee shop aus are so cute! And this fic is no different! It’s such a vibe and it had my heart fluttering all while reading. Cris is an amazing writer and his care for word play is present in the many coffee references that are present in this fic. Its short and sweet and just the perfect thing to energize your day!

[misssugarpinkshome]

Author Update!

Boy oh Boy have I got a story for you.

[Stares in November] I bet you're wondering how I got here! Well-

(TW: Abuse, Sui, Health Scares, Unsanitary Shit, and a lot -- I MEAN A LOT -- of stress and trauma.)

JULY

The Pink Eye curse (thankfully) ended

Not sure if the ringworm went away?

Electric will be starting soon on the house! It'll be estimated to cost fourty fucking grand, but... at least our house won't catch on fire?

EMDR goes super well and genuinely I'm really happy I started doing it.

My friends started up a discourse server with me. This can't go wrong, can it?

By the way, a user in June posted this huge callout post that ended up with my friend in the hospital for watch. I wrote up a huge post in response of "please fucking stop." Drama Ensues but I sort of ignore it all because I'm trying to discourse less.

AUGUST

Electric will be starting soon!

Wait

ELECTRIC WHY ARE YOU TAKING SO LO-

We go camping!!! Try not to think about it!!! Get bitten to hell and back by mosquitoes, which you're allergic to-

Anyways, school started! Did I mention they decided to tell us about two weeks before school started that we have an entirely new rubric scale which makes it so kids cannot earn an A unless they get a 100%

[Screaming]

I am BOMBARDED with shitty parent emails about how I'm an absolute failure at my job and how the kids deserve better :')

I try my best to combat this and fail.

EMDR continues to go well for about a week into the school year, and then I am far, far too stressed out to continue it. Sigh...

Electric starts to wrap up 3/4s of the way through August (a month after they said they would be done), so we start finally plastering the walls of the house, because the walls need replastering.

I am... terrified of being on ladders, so I instead work on paint stripping the fireplace that the previous owners painted white for no reason.

I am undergoing a severe traumaversery while this all happens, as last year, I cut off my family.

We buy a new shower, because the house needs a replacement. That's 20 grand.

We discover more and more wrong with the house, but we do our best regardless. Our friends help us regrade the soil, which is mandatory if we don't want our basement to be flooded.

At this point, every single weekend is spent on housework entirely, either on our new house or on trying to maintain our basement apartment.

The basement apartment floods.

Twice.

My roommate's friend commits suicide. Me and my fiance try to comfort her as best we can, but we are both tapped out emotionally, and there's nothing much we can do.

My friend messages me a suicide note while I'm asleep.

SEPTEMBER

My friend reaches out around the third that they aren't dead, and are in medical care. I pray to god they will be safe.

School continues to be stressful. I am ready to break under the pressure almost immediately. I'm not proud to say I took it out on the kids a bit, who deserved far better than my anger. None of them seem upset by my yelling anymore now, but I really don't like who I became this month.

My school discriminates against me. I am asked to stop using my pronouns publicly; using they/them and going by Mx. is fine, but I can't change pronouns. It's "too confusing for concrete thinkers." I go to my union rep in tears and break down.

This cascades into a lawsuit that I am not part of. I have no idea what's happening. I am hardly communicated with. I am so so scared.

We prepare for Renn Faire. A mouse has shat and pissed through most of my partner's vintage Renn Faire outfits, which have molded due to the basement flooding.

We go to the Renn Faire and have a fucking amazing time. It's a much, much needed de-stresser.

I am sick immediately after Renn Faire, praying it's not Covid the entire time. (It wasn't -- it was from the mold and dust).

I try my best to celebrate my birthday week.

I have a flat tire.

My spare is flat.

My mother reaches out to me via my work email. It's gaslighting, it's manipulative, and it's trying to get me to open back contact. I delete the message and go to my administration to let them know to please give any gifts that come for me to the front office staff.

I speak to IT about how to block my mother's email.

I am horrifically retraumatized and embarrassed by all of this. The nightmares this month were horrible.

I have a flat tire still. It takes four days to fix said flat tire.

We have a timed mental breakdown at work, because we cannot spend more than 2 minutes crying, we have students coming to class.

Right after this, we need to replace my partner's brakes.

Right after this, we need to work out my partner's tire-light being fucked. By now, the people at Mr. Tire know us on sight.

There is an infestation of mosquitoes at my house. At my basement apartment AND my house. I am dying nightly from mosquito bite allergy. I double dose medications to combat it.

I called insurance and did adult things, the first big thing I felt that was praiseworthy in months.

Have to unfollow a LOT of people due to ridiculous amounts of antisemitism.

Our landlords awkwardly ask when we'll be moving out. We let them know an update on our progress on fixing up the house, with plastering going slower than we'd hoped. They drop on us that they want us out by Thanksgiving. We are given a month of warning.

OCTOBER HELL

Every single waking moment is now moving our things from our basement apartment into our house, and trying desperately to finish plastering before we move in.

My physical health starts failing because I'm breathing in dust, mold, plaster, and other hazardous materials, because we no longer have the luxury of time to be safe.

My therapist tells me I need to take off days in October because, and I quote, "I don't think you'll survive until the end of the month." I respond back that I can't, because if I take off, I will be in a worse position at work, which will make me kill myself. He agrees to compromise with me and I'll take time off in November.

I split a new alter due to the severe stress I am experiencing. I now am up to 15 parts.

The discourse server is going poorly because one of the users seems to think I accused them of Heinous Horrible Things. This did not happen. They leave the server and vaguepost about me and block me on every single blog I have. Impressive!

Other than that, the discourse server is my friends, I love them a lot and we talk about a lot of stuff beyond discourse. It's nice.

I start getting chronic migraines.

I start a bracket blog. Because I need to cope. Poorly.

Somewhere this month, my cat catches a mouse. I don't remember when. It's a stressful day. It takes 2 hours to catch the mouse.

I tell my supervisors, when they ask me how I'm doing, that I have to take mandatory mental health leave because of the god awful curriculum they've given us to implement. I spit their words back at them. They are... shocked, to say the least. I don't care. What will they do, fire me?

We hire a moving van. It is not in the place it should be. We go to three other locations to find our moving van. It costs double what it should've.

We move things into our house. It is very upsetting, because the house is not done. It takes us all day. Not everything is moved yet.

Discourse picks up. It's very upsetting. My friends are nice though.

NOVEMBER

Our landlords ask my fiance's mom if they can borrow her van to move our things into our house. As in, without consulting us. I experience homicidal rage over this that I work to quell.

Nothing gets easier.

I start NaNo. It is the only thing bringing me joy. We have no internet at home, so I start going to the library.

Library also brings me joy. Things are looking up.

I take off the 6th and 7th for mental health.

Election(tm)

At 9:30am, my fiance's mom shows up on the 6th to move more things into the house. She stays until 5pm. I do not get a mental health break. I get to clean my house. I break down three times, sobbing, begging audibly for the world to give me SOMETHING.

Our internet cables were cut so we won't have internet for a week or so longer.

Remember that person I mentioned who dropped a callout post? Yeah, well, they're now PISSED that my friend allowed me to call them out for it, as well as some other stuff my friend did. So now they are harassing me and my friend and posting slander about us.

My partner's laptop screen completely broke for no apparent reason, and mine is making a HORRIFIC sound suddenly.

So, in short

That isn't even fucking everything!!! That's just the shit I COULD REMEMBER. I didn't include my therapist switching offices and the anxiety that brought, or the paranoia, or the nightmare I had last night that brought back MORE TRAUMA.

I HAVE BEEN GOING THROUGH HELL YALL.

Posting this chapter, to me, is a sign. It's a sign of things getting better. GOD I need it to get better.

The next chapter is already 3k words long. I'm hoping to churn out more soon. But thank you so much for your patience while we went through... all that.

I love you all.

Thank you <3

[life-takes-practice]

Wow after all this time I’m back on this blog. Tbh I never truly left but I guess I haven’t actually posted in a while. Surprisingly I’ve made it to June 2024 and I don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse.

A lot has happened since I last posted but I can honestly say that nothing has gotten better like people always say it will. I went to uni and my life still feels like it’s falling apart around me.

I guess I’ll start with the positive things that have happened over the last couple years. I went to uni that was a big step, I made some amazing new friends who I love so much, I got my first job bartending at a music venue which is pretty cool, I’ve been to some amazing concerts, and I’ve made some amazing memories.

So I guess my life feels a lot different to how it was when I started this blog but with each change comes a new set of challenges. Unfortunately, throughout all of this change, one thing remains to consistently mess everything up… me.

I went to uni and my mental health went down the drain even further than it already was and I struggled so much. In November 2022 it all became too much and I tried to commit which was terrifying but I felt like I was ready to go. That led to a diagnosis of cyclothymia alongside my depression. But I decided to persevere with uni and struggled through the rest of second year only to fail and to take a leave of absence. The leave of absence was meant to be a good way for me to have a break and get help to be able to return to uni in a better headspace but realistically it’s been one of the worst years of my life and I don’t know where to go from here tbh. My uncle died back in September which was truly heartbreaking. Then I experienced psychosis in January whilst being off my meds. I have also discovered that I’m autistic which has been a relief to know in some ways but absolutely earth shattering in others.

I don’t know why I’m writing all of this tbh. I guess this will serve as some sort of explanation if something happens to me and anyone finds it but I feel like I’m stuck at a dead end and I can’t escape. I’m 21 and I’ve been ready to go since I was like 9. After 12 years of feeling this way I’m thinking that maybe it’s time. This world wasn’t meant for me. Everything is so difficult, even basic survival takes up so much energy so idk how I’m supposed to live, let alone hold down a job or finish a degree or do what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. And all of those things don’t even guarantee me the freedom of enjoying life. It feels like the only one that can save me is myself but how do I do that when I barely have the energy to leave my bed let alone actively saving myself. 12 years is a long time to be stuck feeling this way and I commend younger me for getting this far but each time I claw my way up a little I feel like I get stomped back down into my pit of despair. There’s that famous quote that ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.’ I think it’s time for me to give up and stop fighting. I’ve been fighting so hard for so long and I’m tired. I honestly don’t know what to do anymore and I feel like I’m out of options. Everyday when I go to sleep I hope that I don’t wake up, to spare my loved ones the grief of knowing that I did it to myself I’d rather just peacefully drift away in my sleep. But with everyday that I wake up I’m so sad to see the day again. Everyday is agony and I’m sick of it. When will it all end. I’m too tired to fight anymore.

I’m so so tired.

[kenpachi-okami]

4:06 PM Sunday June 25, 2023

Title - Life

Today started crazy. Woke up pretty late

Got to the train looked at the timing of when the train would come basically it was coming late ( 40 Mins ) Late.

When the train finally comes I go in find a seat and two stops later this guy that seemed like he was on something don’t know exactly but he started yelling at an older guy cause he was in the way a little in front of the doors but to be honest there was barely any space to move then he started randomly cursing at people like what the fuck. So I spoke up cursed him the fuck out and said if you want to mess with someone then fucking mess with someone your size and age bitch . People looking at me like I’m crazy but I’m tired of the bull shit in New York I’m tired of these homeless people sleeping and being aggressive on the train just cause they think people should give them money or food I’m not trying to be harsh or sound messed up but our priority is our family , our home we need to have money to pay bills and have food in our stomachs. But yea after I said that to the stupid fuck another 2 stops later he got off and some lesbian black chick gave me my props that I didn’t want cause I didn’t do it for no props or anything I’m just tired of the fucking bull shit anyways after that happened finally get to my stop and wait for the bus there’s was about 10 people waiting 5 mins passed and a bus coming from the opposite side comes and says “ you guys have to walk to a certain avenue to wait for the bus the time is already 7:15 am so I start walking my ass all the way to that avenue wait aniother 5 mins for the bus to be basically full but I forced my ass inside going going going and I finally get to my stop walk to my job and its 7:45 am the only thing I was able to get because I only had enough for it was a large fucking coffee. Which helped me out threw the day not gonna lie cause I drank it little by little didn’t really care if it got cold you know. But I am starting to get hungry now. Probably end up eating something when I get home if this hunger don’t go away you know. Well ill probably write something later on if I’m not knocked out or anything. I hope when I get home everything is ok.

Sincerely - Kenpachi Okami

4:27 PM

[thatbanditqueen]

No One Walks Out on Big Daddy Chapter 1: Souvenirs

Summary: Rebecca is a young, single mom working a dead end job in Jackson, Mississippi when a chance encounter brings her into bed with Elvis in June 1975. Angst and smut follow....

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, smut, sex, oral, cursing, drug use and alcohol.

Words: 10,913

--------

Chapter 1: Souvenirs....

Monday, June 9th, 1975, Jackson, Mississippi

The metal shelf clinks as you set down another can of paint, only a few more left to restock. Your watch reads 5:59 p.m., one minute to closing. You let out a deep breathe, only to feel your stomach clench as the shop entrance bell rings. You yell out, standing up to walk towards the main walkway of the small store.

“We’re closed!”

You hear the low thud of footsteps slapping the linoleum as they get closer, and you repeat yourself.

“Are ya deaf? We’re fixin’ ta ——“

You stop, transfixed in space as your heart drops seeing Elvis’ body round the aisle entrance.

His voice growls.

“No wonder this store’s empty... employees here ain’t got no manners…” his lips betray a sly grin.

You swallow, meeting his eyes as he looks you over, pausing as you see him notice your belt. His belt. The belt of his that you walked out of the hotel with this morning while he was passed out. The belt you decided to wear all day long, savoring the light bouncing off the metal star, feeling the ridges on your fingers and smiling with pleasure as you remembered the night you spent on his chair. Floor. Bed…..

“Nice belt,” he mutters with a crooked smirk as he steadies himself, griping the larger, thicker and more ornate buckle at his own waist. Then he notices the ring you are wearing, you see his eyes fall on it and his eyebrows wiggle. Fuck fuck fuck….

“I guess ya caught me ——“ you say, and start to take it off. He laughs, and slides his sunglasses down.

“Honey, I didn’t even notice they was missin.’ ”

It is at this very moment that your cousin Harriet emerges from the other end of the aisle behind you, carrying another box of paint from the back room.

“OK Becks, I think this is the last of it, we ca—“ she drops the box when she sees Elvis, the sound of paint cans rolling across the floor rings through the store.

Elvis looks at you, shifting, and meets your gaze with a questioning face.

“Becks?” You’re frozen, your eyes look down as you try to think of what to say but stupid Harriet remembers how to use her mouth first and starts blabbling.

“Yeah, that’s Rebecca, I’m Harriet ! Oh my God, we are such big fans, especially Becky—”

“Huh, yeah, you don’t say?” he grins, interrupting Harriet. His voice is deep and powerful and he shifts and walks a few steps towards you. “Thought you said your name was Rachel…..?” He pauses then shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Whoo man, you are sumpin’.”

You look at your feet, then steel yourself, turning around awkwardly to glance back at your cousin as she looks at you with wide, glaring, questioning eyes that grow even wider as she seems to get the gist of what’s going on and backs away in response to your silent hand movements signaling her to fuck off. Now. She quickly mouths an “Oh my god Elvis fucking Presley! I cannot believe you.” You shake your head at her, and turn back to Elvis.

“So if you’re not here to get your belt back, then……..?”

“You know I had my crew all over Jackson today lookin’ for you?”

Another gulp. You push yourself up and put your hands on your waist, pushing down the urge to run and jump onto his firm, wide waist and cling to his neck as you pepper his face with kisses. Summoned by the memory of his face looking up at you in awe as he brought you to climax while you rode him last night, slowly, forcefully, tears falling out as you orgasmed for the first time in god knows how long. You had tried to hide in his flesh, burying your face in the fur along his shoulder, embarrassed, blushing, trying to swallow the sobs that emerged uninvited. He’d coaxed you back out in front of him and shushed your whimpers as he wiped the tears away and whispered “everything’s ok, baby,” his hips continuing to meet yours as you fell even deeper on to his lap in a rhymic trance. His hands smoothing your face as you grasped his to yours and pressed your lips to his forehead, fucking away the pain and the loneliness and surging into Elvis' sweaty, warm, burly body.

That was then. You had allowed yourself to get caught up in the energy of the night, the concert, the party and the pull of Elvis’ magnetism as he’d focused his attentions on you. But the party was over, you had to go back to your life and you would be damned if you were going to make a fool of yourself fawning over him. You hate him right now. Last night was almost perfect, and now this is more than a one night stand. He’s making this hard, prolonging the inevitable and make the heartache even worse when it comes…. You resolve to get rid of Elvis… this is selfish and impossible and nothing good can come of dragging out what happened between you. Yes, fuck him.

 “Hmmm… still doesn’t explain why the fuck you’re here?” You growl.

He steps toward you, inches from your face as he grabs your orange work vest and pushes you into the shelf behind you, the plastic of the paint swatch display board creaks against your body and you feel his weight press into you as the heat of his breath warms your ear. His left hand traces its way along his leather belt at your waist, pulling on the top of the buckle to bring you in closer. The air smells of cigars and a spicy, citrus cologne. Unlike you, Elvis had clearly showered today. His hair is slightly damp as it grazes your cheek, and he whispers.

 “No one talks to me like that… I don know who hurt ya, honey, but you can drop the cold ass bitch act right now… .” He kisses the nape of your neck, right below your ear, and you shudder. You can feel some of your shields start to retract and fold down as Elvis’ voice turns from vinegar to honey. His right hand slides up from your work vest to your neck, gripping the base tightly at first, then softening and caressing your collarbone. ”I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you all day… ya left without even saying goodbye…“

Your head slumps forward in response, his gruff tenderness melting the ice out of you, your arms began to make their way up his chest. You are about to kiss him, but then you think of all the reasons this is a bad bad BAD idea, so you slap his chest instead and fortify yourself, conjuring up the most lifeless expression you can.

“Maybe it was better that way. You should stop thinkin’ bout me, I’m ain’t thought of you since I walked outta that fancy hotel this mornin’… I went back to my real life and you should too.”

You slip out of his grasp, turning around after a few steps to look over you shoulder and say “But if that is what you came for, then I’ll give it to you and say goodbye,” and with that you walk to the back of the shop.

Elvis stands there, stunned. He covers his mouth with his hand, rubbing it as he thinks, the swinging door to the back of the store flaps back and forth as he watches your long, dark hair bounce up and down in a messy bun through the small, square window. What the fuck just happened? He thinks. Used to be them begging you to let them come back to the hotel wit ya…. you’re loosing it, ole man.  “No I ain’t, goddammit, it’s this fuckin’ stubborn ass chick…..why do you always like the crazy ones, huh Paco?” he mutters to himself, looking at the floor and shaking his head, before running his hand back through the fringe over his eyes. “Sonofabitch…” he growls, putting his hands in his jacket pockets as he marches after you.

You went to the storage room at the back, and leaned against the wall in-between stacks of building supplies and tools, hoping he had left. You take a deep breathe and think of last night. You had lied, of course you had, when you told Elvis that you hadn’t thought of him since you left his hotel this morning. You had been replaying the events in your mind all day…..

 ———

 Sunday, June 8th, 1975

 At this point in the summer you stop wearing make-up to work, the thick hot air in Jackson makes you rub your face so often it just felt ludicrous to try. It was almost 90 degrees outside, and your uncle refuses to put an air conditioner in his hardware store. There you sat, on top of the check out counter willing yourself to be as close to the ceiling fan as you could manage, when your cousin Danny rushed through the front door.

“Becky, you’ll never believe it!”

“What?”

“The station just gave me two press tickets for the Elvis concert tonight….”

“Since when are you press?

“I’m a DJ, aint I?”

“The overnight DJ….. how did you manage to swing these tickets over the prime time guys?”

“Well, George’s going tomorrow, and my boss didn’t realize we were getting passes for the three shows.. I was in the office when they got dropped off. “

Your sweaty thighs stuck to the counter as you slid off. You heart starts to beat faster, as you take in Danny’s intense energy.

“So wait, are you here because…..

“Wanna come?”

You squeal  and jump up and down once, then try to compose yourself. You’re a grown ass women. You have a 9 year old kid. Stop jumping up and down like a teenager.

“Are you sure? You wanna bring me? What time does it start?”

“OK, so…..yes and yes - you’re the biggest Elvis geek I know…. concert starts at 8:30.”

“What about Ruth….?”

“My mom will watch her…. come on, Becks, when was the last time you cut loose?”

You nodded, wiping you brow, a hundred thoughts run through your head and collide. It had been over six months since you went out for a night on the town... New Years Eve.

“Pick ya up at 6:30? I wanna get there early….”

“Danny, that only gives me an hour to get back to the house and get ready…”

Harriet walked back in with your popsicles from the drug store next door,

“…Get ready for what?”

Of course Harriet covered for you. You sped back to your aunt and uncle’s house where you live with your 9 year old daughter Ruth. You shower quickly, mainly focusing on the crotch and underarms, no time for hair washing. That swampy humid mess would have to be pinned up. The few nice dresses you owned were too boring for a concert, they were for synagogue, or PTO meetings. It’s that or jeans, babe…..

Your eyes fall on your mustard yellow bell bottoms, a little more fun than jeans, these could look cool with a cute blouse and some gold hoop earrings. Understated. You want to be comfortable anyway. OK, outfit accomplished.

You had to choose between make-up and saying goodnight to Ruth, isn’t that how it always is…..?   The thing about having a kid is that you never get to do everything on your list, you always have to choose, and the list is constantly expanding. You make your way to the living room where your daughter was watching TV with your aunt Ida, uncle Saul humming as he does the dishes in the kitchen. You grab a piece of garlic bread from the table, and, munching, sit down next to Ruth, mussing her hair.

“Y’all sure this is ok? We might be out real late…”

“Mom…. yes, you’re life is sooo boring. Finally I’ll have something to say about you at school.”

“Ok, great…you’ll appreciate boring when you get older…I love ya, baby, I’ll see you in the morning when I wake you up.” At 6 am….. DO NOT STAY OUT LATE, you warn yourself.

You stand up to go wait outside but Ida follows, walking over and cupping your face in her hands.

“You should be going out and having some fun, Rebecca, you’re 25 —

“I’m 26, Ida…almost 27”

“Ok, I’m sorry, 26, that’s a big difference, practically ancient…oy vey, my girl… 26 is still young….. Saulie and I used to go out, we went out even after we had the kids….We still like to go out, you know, your uncle can really cut a rug….”

“She speaks the truth!” Your uncle yells from the kitchen, poking his head out of the door way and wiggling his hips. “See, I can shake my hips just like Elvis.”

Ruthie busts up with giggles. Ida smiles, and tries to smooth your hair as you push her mothering hands away.

“You deserve this, kidlet. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone?”

“Yes, mom, bring me home a new dad…”

You shot Ruth a stern look, she was getting too sarcastic for 4th grade…. I wonder where she gets that?

“I’m not even looking for that, any guy who would pick me up at a concert isn’t new daddy material…they’re all sleezebags… I’m just excited to get out and dance and see Elvis … I don’t have time for a man anyway….  ”

“Don’t use me as an excuse for being boring and miserable mom….”

Then Ruth looks back at the TV. The sound of Danny’s car horn blasts through the walls.

“I’m gonna miss Rhoda tonight, maybe I shouldn’t go….”

“Leave!” “Get lost already!” “Have fun!” Your family yells, and you smile to yourself as you ran out into the night, jumping over the car door into your cousin’s white convertible with a thump as you sink down into the seat.

“Hmm, I thought you were gonna dress up a bit…”

“This was all I had time for, Danny boy. Plus, I don’t wanna scare off any of the girls who show up hot and heavy for Elvis and decide to settle for you…”

“Ha. Ha. Haaaaa.” Your cousin smiles, as he punches you in the shoulder, and you grab the joint from his other hand to suck it in - coughing as the rough sweet smoke hits the back of your throat. When was the last time you got high? New Years Eve? That was also the last time you got laid…. And it wasn’t even good. Why not indulge tonight? You ask yourself. All rules were out the window and you felt your heart beating through your chest as the cool air washed over you. You determined to leave all the baggage and bullshit at home, tonight was just for you.

 You arrive at the coliseum around 7, one of Danny’s press badges hung around your neck as he led you through the back entrance into a large lounge. You let him do his thing schmoozing with some of the other people he knew from the Jackson radio and TV scene. Grabbing a beer, you walked through the crowd, looking at the posters from previous concerts and events on the wall. It was nice to just be silent, the freedom of not knowing or caring about anyone around you made you giddy. And the pot. And the beer. Those made you giddy, too. Danny found you before the show and ushered you to the press area, it was at the left side, only about 15 feet from the stage. You drank another beer, and started to move, even with no music playing, as you settled into being a part of the masses ebbing and flowing, moving with the heightened expectancy that hung in the air. You embraced the anonymity of being in the dark among thousands of people. The smell of hash wafted through the building, mixing with cigarette smoke, beer and sweat, all of which intensified when the music kicked off and the audience went wild. Danny lights up another joint and you both add to the earthy atmosphere in the audience.

Elvis ran through the blue curtains on the other side of the stage, wearing a white jumpsuit with wide bell-cut pants, wider than the ones you were wearing, a zebra pattern zig zagging down his legs. His top was open down his chest, with a wide collar, the hint of a belly protruding out. It was more pronounced when he leaned back and put his hands on his hips, exuding confidence and sheer joy as he absorbed the audiences’ energy. Elvis was older, broader and hairier than in any of the films you’d seen, it made him seem more powerful. The excitement in the arena was palpable, you throw back your head and let the music take over your body, dancing, jumping, unabashedly diving into the the moment. The feeling of your hoop earrings hitting your neck was sensual and felt so good, you turn your head side-to-side through the night just to feel them graze you again. You watch as women run up to the stage throughout the show, noticing how Elvis came alive and laughed as he bends down to kiss them and give them scarves. You’re overtaken by his voice, you expected it to be diminished by age or overuse, but it is more forceful in person, ripping through you and compelling you to let it own your entire being. Especially when he belts out those deep long notes. The sound waves crash into you, filling in the cracks from your broken, fucked up disappointed life, all your worries and obligations dissolve as the music takes over and you move with the throng.

The show ends, and Danny lights up another joint and passes it as you sit down to wait for the crowd to disperse. He smiles at you, laughing at your sweaty, giddy expression.

“You look happy, you look younger…I’m guessing this was fun, yes?…. Whose your favorite cousin?”

You hesitate for effect, then laugh and say “You….. course….”

“Good, because I need a favor...one of the producers invited me and the other radio DJs to the after party…. It would be a good networking opportunity… it would be a real nuisance to drive you home and back, I’d loose like an hour…..”

This sobers you up, and you purse your lips, starting to shake your head

“Maybe I should just grab a taxi home…”

“I thought you left grumpy Becky at home…? Come one, fun buzzed Becks wants to party…. You might even meet Elvis…”

“Ha, yeah… no, I don’t think so, I haven’t got the nerve….”

“There’ll be free food…?”

“Well, why didn’t you say so, jackass… I’m in, only because you got me stoned and I’m hungry… Let’s make a pact - we leave by midnight?”

“Yeah, no problemo - its only 10:15 now…. I have to be at the station anyway before 2 am to get ready for my show, so no argument from me…”

“Ok, cool….oy….I already know I’m gonna to feel this in the morning…”

The party is in the presidential suite of the Belhaven Hotel, it may be the only suite like this in Jackson, you think as you walk in, it is certainly the only one you have ever been in. You feel completely out of your element as you take in the ornate decor, the sheer largesse of the suite, with its kitchen, lounge and separate bedroom, it might be bigger than the house you live in with three other people. You try to feel at ease, embrace the high you still feel, the Eagles are playing on the stereo and the party is already in full swing. The women are what you used to call cotton club debs back home in Birmingham, they looked like the country club set who came from old tobacco or cotton money, just sluttier. Maybe they’re high class hookers? You giggle as you think this, but you feel even more self-conscious as you swear you see one whisper to her friend “Who let the trash in?” when you walk by. Danny is uninhabited, he’s an extrovert, especially now when he’s around music people, he doesn’t even notice the glamorous guests or surroundings, he just rushes in and starts talking to people. You nod at him as he introduces you to some of the other local DJs, some one hands you a beer, and you start to relax.

It’s another hour before Elvis and his entourage arrive, but it was impossible to miss their entrance. Everything stopped as they walked in and you felt the rush of air as people swarmed towards the man of the hour. You did not even try to get close, you watch from afar. He was wearing sunglasses and a silk blue collared shirt under a heavy fur coat. In June. In June in Mississippi. A season when the air hugs you tightly just to let you know that you belong to it and the overgrown kudzo and the deep red dirt.

It’s surreal to be in the same room as Elvis Presley, and you take in his stance and the group around him, watch as he kisses the women who push their way up to him. You quickly decide that this is definitely not your scene, you don’t want to ruin your fantasy or memories of listening to Elvis’ music and marinating in the sweet, tender neediness you always felt his voice conveyed. The Elvis in front of you strikes you as cocksure, jaded, larger than life and he knows it - dressed like a superfly pimp straight out of Shaft. You shake your head, everything from this night has coalesced into an absurd adventure. You owe Danny for this, you haven’t had this much fun in a while. You turn around to go find a drink, opting for a Pepsi as you realize its already 1145 and you want to be somewhat not drunk when you drag Danny out of here and go home in the next half hour or so.

12:15 rolls around, Danny is no where to be seen and you find yourself cornered in the kitchen being talked at by Joe, a short stocky guy from Elvis’ entourage. He’s wearing a printed shirt, leather jacket, is coming on hard and getting handsy. You know he is part of Elvis’ crew because he said it five fucking times. You can’t figure out why he’s chatting you up, but you gave him a fake name because he makes you feel uncomfortable with the way he’s boxing you in to the corner and licking his lips. He smells like hamburgers and too much cologne. Its not fair, if he was handsome or charming, you probably wouldn’t care. But he’s neither, you’re not interested and you’ve been politely trying to give him the cold shoulder. The night would have been perfect if you had left 30 minutes ago, goddamn you Danny, where are you? You accidentally let a laugh out as you think of Ida’s hopeful look, Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight. Assholes and married men, Ida, that’s all that’s left for me. You laugh again, in your own head, wondering what she would think of the prospect in front of you and then you notice his stare and try to remember what he was telling you about Chicago, but you can’t so you start to giggle. Fuck, you are still buzzed and a little high.

“What’s so funny?”

You tell the truth, why not, you don’t care what Joe buddy here thinks.

“I didn’t really have time to get ready for the show tonight, I came straight from work, I didn’t think any guy would even bother me, ‘specially with all them here.” You motion to the other partiers, the gorgeous women decked out with big hair and big make up and little dresses.

Joe misinterprets what you are saying, you’re trying to give him the brush off, let him know he is bothering you, but he thinks you doubt his intentions and moves in closer, reassuring you that he’s definitely trying to fuck you as he puts his hand on your waist. Uh oh…

“Hey, that’s why I came over here, I like plain girls, I don’t care for those high maintenance types. You look so normal… it really turns me on.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, you cringe as the hand at your waist tightens. “Plus, my boss over there gets competitive,  I knew I wouldn’t get in EP’s crosshairs talking to a girl like you.”

“Gee, thanks…” you say, as you whisper into your drink, “I can see why he sees you as competition, you are a real lady killer….. pure charm….”

Whack!

Something small and hard hits you in your eye and you stagger to the side, crying out loudly in pain as you feel the sting of salt, salt? and hear your voice boom “What the fucking cocksucking fuck was that?”

The room is quiet, except for some hushed laughs, and you look down to see a pretzel on the floor, how did a small projectile weapon turn into a pretzel after it hit you square in the eye? Fuck you’re still high….. You clutch your right eye protectively as you look around the room and notice Elvis Presley, the Elvis Presley, looking at you like the cat who swallowed the canary and pointing to the short white guy next to him.

“I saw Charlie here throw it, miss, he was a-a-a aimin’ for that bastard a standing beside ya…he just can’t throw for shit is all.” A laugh escapes Elvis’ lips, but then he summons a solemn face. The music is turned back up, and conversations rekindle as you watch Elvis stride toward you. He throws off his coat on the back of the couch, sauntering over slowly with his hands out in front of him. As he gets closer, he pushes his sunglasses down a smidge and you can see his blue eyes, mirthful but also tired, with a dash of sympathy for you.

“Let me take a look at ya, honey, don’t worry, I’m a medical expert.”

Elvis reaches for your hand, pulling it aside and pushing your chin up with the other. You feel the cold metal of his ring press into the bottom of your jaw. A shiver moves up your spine at his touch. Your eye still smarts as you blink up at him. Up close, you can see the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the creases in his neck, but he is still astonishingly handsome. So much for not talking to Elvis.

“You swear like a sailor, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only after they try to blind me…”

Elvis laughs as he looks at you, and you try to be cool and act like you are just talking to a random guy at a random party that you randomly ended up at.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc, think I’ll be able to keep it?”

Elvis chuckles.

“Joe, go be useful for once and get some ice in a napkin for ——“

“Rachel —— “ Joe answers for me. You immediately regret telling Joe your name is Rachel, you would have liked to hear Elvis say your real name in that throaty baritone voice.

“For Rachel here… that’s a good boy, off ya go, she wadn’t interested in your ugly mug anyhow.”

A scowl passes over Joe’s ugly mug, but he does as he’s told. Your eyes meet Elvis’ as he turns back to you and steps closer, tracing your eyebrow with his fingers, pushing his belly into you, blocking your view of the rest of the party, the rest of the world, the entire universe is just Elvis Presley’s thick body. You shudder, and he feels it, a crooked grin breaking out across his face as he relishes the heavy breathe that escapes your mouth, as if he likes provoking this nervous response from women. You feel like you just lost some sort of wrestling match you never sign up for.

“I’m a healer, you know, I have a gift…. I can touch your affliction and make it go away…” his face is boyish almost and his eyes are alight as he jokes around.You feel yourself soften, something about Elvis’ warmth and the steady hand that has made its way to your waist puts you at ease.

“That’s lucky, cuz I’m fairly convinced you were the one tryin’ to blind me.”

“Huh, you sayin Imma a liar….?”

“You said it, not me….I jus think you looked awful guilty when I looked over is all… poor Charlie….”

“He’ll be alright, he’s used to covering for me by now.”

“So you admit it - a ha!”

“I really was a aimin’ for Diamond Joe over there… though you looked so unhappy, maybe I did ya a favor—“

“Don’t worry, I am quite capable of taking care of myself, if you hadn—“

“Well, ya looked stuck to me - but hey, let’s Joe back over here and I’ll leave y’all to it….”

You hit Elvis in the chest, “Don’t. Please.”

He grabs your hand and holds it there, his other still soothing the area around your  eye, and you instinctively pull in closer to him when Joe returns with the ice, grunted a “here,” before stomping off. Like you said, pure charm.

“Hey honey, let me do that,” Elvis holds the ice over your eye, his other hand now rests on top of your shoulder. You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, wondering how late it is and where the fuck Danny is and why you are starting to feel aroused looking up at Elvis’ long hair and meaty jaw hovering over you, his eyes amused as he feels you fidget with your hands on the counter.

“I was a aimin’ for Joe, just so we’re clear…”

“Ok, well in that case I forgive you…”

“Good, so we can be friends, then?”

“Sure…”

“You enjoy yourself tonight?”

“T’wasn’t bad, I’m just not, you know, not a big Elvis fan…”

Elvis grins, leaning closer.

“Me neither…. I fuckin’ hate Elvis…”

You exhale, bite your lip, fuck, fuck fuck…. are you flirting with him? Was he flirting with you? A tingling feeling starts in your core, it scares you, you haven’t felt that electric burn in a while. You clamp up, feeling how intimate and close you’ve become with him.

“OK, I think I’m good,” you say, pushing Elvis’ hand away from your eye.

Elvis’ steps back, but doesn’t move, he stays there looking at you, and after a few awkward moments you can’t bear it anymore. You think of something that will get rid of that urge to pull him to you and rip off his clothes, will get rid of him….

“Guess you really do have healing powers, maybe you can do something about my genital warts.”

You say it with a straight face, some dry humor to break the mood. Oh dear god what is wrong with you and why did you say the first thing that came to your head. No more pot for you. Ever. Elvis is silent for a beat, and then leans his head back in a loud, deep belly laugh.

“Man, you are one funny chick….man” he laughed again,

“Oh no, I’m 100 percent serious,”

“Baby, if you wanted to show me your beaver, you don’t need no pretense, jus go right ahead…”

You look down, inhaling, You thought he’d be grossed out and step aside. You see Danny emerge through suite’s door with a few of his friends, he must have gone outside to smoke more pot or something. You look back at Elvis.

“Usually talking about genital warts has the opposite effect on men, scares ‘em off.”

“That what you tryin to do? Get rid of me? Or seduce me?”

“Get rid of you... I usually prefer talking to good looking men.” You smirk, raising an eye brow.

Elvis clasped his hands on his heart, pursing his lips, and staggers back a step in mock despair. You smile again, then look at your watch: 12:50. Time to go, time to turn back into a pumpkin. Elvis follows your eyes, a look of disapproval on his face as you notices you checking the time, but before he can say anything, Charlie comes up and whispers in Elvis’ ear that the governor just arrived with his wife, and they are ready to take a photo downstairs.

“Hey, alright, honey, don’t go anywheres I’ll be right back.”

You nod, but the second Elvis’ is out of sight you move quickly, grabbing Danny.

“Where were you? I have to wake up Ruth in five hours, then open the store…”

“Were you just talking to Elvis?”

“Yes…. I’ll tell you ‘bout in the car, let’s go….” As you walk, you stop Danny on the shoulder. “I gotta pee, you go get the car and I’ll meet you at the front door?”

Danny nods, and you find the bathroom. Washing your hands, you catch yourself in the mirror and smile. You look tired, pale, and exhausted, but also happy - there is a glow in your eyes you haven’t seen in a while. “Hey stranger…. it’s good to see fun Becky,” you say to your reflection, smiling deeper, still exhilarated from the concert, the party, the few moments you spent with Elvis. You need to make a point of going out more often.

You’re still smiling as you wait for the elevator, when you look up to see Elvis come off with Charlie, Joe and another guy you haven’t met. He locks eyes with you.

“You ain’t leavin’?” He asks, looking down at you above his sunglasses.

“I gotta…” you mumble. Elvis flicks his head towards the hotel suite and the guys go ahead without him. He steps toward you backing you into the hallway table across from the elevator as he follows you, and lightly touches your waist.

“Like hell ya are, I told ya I would be right back…haven’t had the chance to work my healin’ powers over that pussy a your's yet…”

You gasp and look up at him, eyes full of shock as you take in his devious, dark blue eyes. He works his hand down over your pants, between your legs, cupping you there. You pull back.

“I think I gave you the wrong impression…”

“Hmmm…. Are you sure….?” He whispers deeply in your ear, then kisses your neck. You pull back further, but his body moves with you and he lifts you on to the side table, thrusting between your legs, his wide berth pushing you open.

“I didn’t come here trying to get with you——“

“I know it honey ——“ He says as he starts to kiss your neck.

“——I’m not a groupie——“ You say, a feverish moan escaping your lips as Elvis presses his soft lips to your mouth. You feeling the tight charge of arousal ignite.

He pauses, looking into your eyes. “Trust me, I can tell——“

Elvis kisses you again, groaning slightly, you feel his tongue in your mouth, gentle, then rough, then his teeth tug on your bottom lip. You gasp again, as he holds you steady at the waist, kissing the top of your exposed left shoulder, grunting.

 “— I never do this —  … there’s a whole room of women over there who came here to ju  ——“

Elvis moves a finger up to your lips, his other hand pulling on the empty belt loops at the side of your pants, looking at you, holding you close.

“Shhh, stop that now, those hens s’are as boring as hell, rather be with you, you can tell me all about those genital warts——“

“Ughhh, don’t remind me I said that… I don’t even know why…”

“Me neither suga… I don’t know why but that was the moment….I thought, if this girl has VD she’s probably real good in the sack…I gotta find out tonight…“ he laughs as his hands move under your blouse, slowly, and he takes in the heave of your breathing, pushing his hands under your bra as he rest them on your breasts while they moving up and down with each inhale. His eyes are locked with yours, not asking for permission but watching for rebuff. The delicate touch of his fingers feels so good, you close your eyes and part your lips in a low exhale. Your earrings hit your neck as you turn your head slightly and you let out a small moan.

“I never do this…one night stands… not with rock stars…..not with anyone….” You pull on his buckle, drawing him in, kissing his chest.

“S’ok, baby, I’ve done it a lot, I’ll show ya how it works——“ his face cracks into a crooked grin.

You laugh, then sober up for a moment as you take in the this situation, this has gotten out of hand. You look at Elvis and let go of his pants, pushing him back and pulling down your bra and your shirt. You are in a public hallway, what the fuck are you doing?

“Oh god oh god…. I can’t……my cousin brought me to this party, he just went to get the car - I need to go——“

Elvis charges back into you, his forehead meeting yours as he leans in and his voice echoes in the space between your mouth and his.

“Go tell him you’re gonna stay … I’ll go get rid of everyone else….”

“Shut down your party?”

“Yup… there’s only one thing I wanna do and it ain’t listening to the goddamn Eagles or making small talk with strangers….”

“I don’t—“

“You want me to go downstairs and tell your cousin I’m gonna fuck your brains out? Don’t try me, women, cause honey, I will….”

You exhale again and look up as he caresses your thighs, the aching need to pull him into you overpowering any sense or reason in your head.

“Fuck it,” he growls. “You’re comin’ with me, I’ll send Jerry downstairs, I’m not lettin’ ya outta my goddamn sight.”

You just nod, dumbstruck, your vagina has taken over and will be making all the decisions from now on. She is telling you to find somewhere more private to tear this man’s clothes off. Now. Elvis pushes back into kiss you, your arms reach up around his neck, his eyes ablaze, you think he is reading your mind.

“Ok,” you stutter as he smiles, lifting you off the table and gripping you around your waist to walk you back into the hotel suite. He motions for one of the guys, whispering into his ear. The man nods and leaves. Oh god Danny, don’t judge me…. You think to yourself.

Elvis loosens his grip on you and walks to the center of the room, yelling out, “Alright everyone, I reckon I’m ready to turn in.”

You watch as Charlie turns the stereo off, and starts turning off the main lights, leaving a few table lamps aglow. Others start guiding people out. Elvis winks at you as he says good night to the guests while they leave, and you make your way to the sofa, plopping down, looking up at the ceiling. Trying to get a handle on the electricity running through your belly, the anxious, nervy feeling of anticipation. You haven’t had sex in six months. And that wasn’t even good sex…. it’s too depressing to wonder how long its been. What if you are bad…or boring in bed…. How did this happen? How much you will regret it tomorrow? You shove those thoughts away, all you want is to feel Elvis strong fingers again on your skin. Joe comes out of the kitchen area and glares at you, pulling out a piece of paper, he calls out the names of Elvis’ entourage and gives each of them room keys, a few have women hanging on their shoulders. Joe is the last to leave, giving Elvis a salute, you hear them mutter a few words to each other, and then its just you.

Elvis turns towards you, wiggling his eye brows as he strides over. You let out a nervous giggling shriek, and jump up. He grabs your hand and pulls you into him.

“Alright honey, first lesson in one night stands - find the bedroom….” He kisses the top of your head, you stretch your arm around him, grabbing flesh at his hips as you lean into his shoulder.

You follow Elvis’ lead pushing off shoes as you enter the bed room suite. You shudder, nervous, aroused, exhausted but also WIDE awake, lust and adrenaline pounding up from your toes into your chest. You look over at him.

“You want something to drink?”

You shake your head, and slip from his shoulder to pivot in front of him, moving your fingers up his chest and around his neck, spreading them over his shoulders.

“Naked?”

“Huh?” he asks.

“I’m just guessing here, but step two is getting naked, right?”

You gently and deliberately start to unbutton his shirt, leaning up to kiss his lips.

“Whoo, slow down baby… I’m a gonna grab some water, its been a long night… let’s take it ….slow….” Elvis winks at you again as you breathe in, and he strolls over to the side table to pour himself a glass of water.

He sits on the big chair in the corner, and pats his thigh, summoning you and you answer, sliding onto his lap and running your hand through his hair as you rest your arm across his shoulder. Elvis takes a sip, then brings the glass to your lips, watching your neck as he tilts the glass further. You feel him stiffen a bit in his pants as he watches you gulp the water down, straining slightly to match the pace at which he pours the liquid into your mouth, a satisfied smirk spreading across his lips as he stops and finishes the water himself, slamming the glass down with a potent clang on the side table. You swallow, jutting out your chin, watching his eyes lids droop for a moment with desire, he is still wearing his sunglasses and he stops your hand from removing them.

“I need ‘em to see, baby…I’m an ole ole man….” he says, somewhat playfully, but you sense, for the first time tonight a vulnerability there…. you want to comfort him. You nod, accepting this without question, reaffirming your attraction as you bend to kiss him, your lips needy and firm as his right hand comes up to caress your cheek with his fingers.

“Wearing glasses doesn’t make ya old, you know….my sister was wearing glasses at three….. old men can’t do what you did on stage tonight, I’d like to see my daddy try… now he is an old man.”

“I’m probably old enough to be your daddy….” His voice drops a register, and he grins, his hand moves to your throat as he kisses you back.

“I don’t think these glasses are working, you woulda have to be, uh, 12  or 14 when you had me,”

He pulls back, looking you over.

“What, aren’t you about 20, 21…?

“Uh uh, now you’re making me feel old…I’m ‘bout to be 27 next month…”

“Man, my sight is really going, I usually only go for hot young chicks….”

“Ha, well, like I said, I usually like my men handsome, but here we are,” you add with an impish smile, and he laughs.

“Yeah…. here.. we…are…” he says, slowly, softly, as he moves to lift your blouse over your head and undo your bra, sitting back to stroke his fingers across your breast, his eyes darkening as he tweaks both of your nipples at the same time.

Your eyes close as a “fuckkkk” slips out of your mouth. You feel the blood run to your core as it starts to pulsate. You open your eyes and watch Elvis’s lips part as his eyes are wide with want and desire, he tugs again, a little harder, and you stifle a low scream because the insistent mix of pain and pleasure is sending a current of want through your chest and down into your tingling clit. He releases, and you press into him, your kisses are now demanding, and his tongue meets yours as you start to unbutton his shirt, the silky fabric welcoming as you insistently grasp his chest and neck. You are driven by an aching awareness that Elvis is wearing too much clothing, and you seek out contact with his warm skin. You come up for air, his shirt is pulled out from his pants, his lips are at your neck, and you can feel his erection as your hands release the last button from the bottom of his shirt. You swallow hard, feeling as though you might erupt, and he raises his right eyebrow at you, and you feel his hands push gently on your shoulder, pushing you down between his legs, his eyes are filled with a dark, savage need, tempered by his questioning eyebrow, and you bite your lip and work on unbuckling his belt. What the fuck is this buckle, it’s huge and too hard to undo... its different from the costume belt that he wore over this jumpsuit at the show, this one has an engraved, elaborate gold sheriff’s star as its buckle.

Elvis shakes his head, batting away your hands as he undoes his own belt, unzips his pants and lifts to pull down his trousers. There is no underwear, just the long expanse of Elvis’ cock at half mast, hardened but not taut, a curiosity in both size and the foreskin rolling back to reveal the head. You’ve never encountered an uncircumcised penis before, and you reach your fingers forward gently to touch the head, following with your mouth to lightly kiss it, sweetly, tenderly, your eyes moving upward as you watch Elvis looking down at you, his mouth agape, his lip curled back in pleasure as your own arousal builds between your legs. You steady yourself on your knees and open your mouth wider to take him in half way, pulling in as you return to the tip to create suction that is rewarded with the low utterance of a “goddamn…” His head tilts back in pleasure, and his hand moves through your hair, down your jawline where his knuckles gently caress your cheek as you push back on to him, and he grips your hair, pulling. The firm tug hurts, you start to feel like his cock is suffocating you but the insistent pace causes your own arousal to spread, you feel it right below your chest as you surge in and out, sucking and breathing hard and following with your hand, as you feel his cock strain and flex in response to the encouragement of your mouth. The butterflies in your belly flutter as you hear him groan every time you swell forward to take him to the hilt and push through the gagging feeling at the back of your throat. You savor the firm, salty musk of his manhood as his hand yanks your hair even tighter, and he draws you on in an increased rhythm.

“Fuckin’ goddammit woman, ughhhh…. “ his fingers pull you back into him, then let go as he pulls out of you mouth.  “Whooo, whoo….. don’t wanna blow my gasket just yet…..”

You scoot backwards, still on your  knees, wiping the spit from your mouth as Elvis joins you on the floor, removing your earrings from each ear, pulling each one out slowly, his mouth open in concentration, tenderly kissing your earlobe as he does this, before taking off his glasses. Elvis sits up on his haunches, you rest on your knees across from him and he pulls you in, kissing you as his hands move to your pants fidgeting with them.

“It’s ‘bout time these came off….”

You pull his shirt and throw it to the side before he pushes you below him on the carpet,

 He hovers above you, still fully erect, and you help as he tugs off your pants and underwear and throws them to the side. Calmly, gently, Elvis leans over you and kisses you, his fingers finding you moist and welcoming between your legs. He pushes your knees apart, looking down into your sex, thumbing your nub, and whistles.

“Don’t see anything amiss ‘round here… looks, pretty, pink, healthy…. must be my healing powers working already…”

You let out a “Ha!” Followed by an insistent come hither curling of your index finger, you almost don’t recognize the brazen hussy who has possessed your body and commands Elvis, saying “I know it’s pretty baby, but I didn’t open my legs just you for you to stare - come here and fuck me already.”

“Hey…don’t tell me what to do, woman!”

Then he tickles you at the hips, his eyes laughing as he moves between your legs and leans to shut you up with a forceful kiss.

He looks into your eyes, raises his eyebrows in question as he hesitates, but then pushes forward - looking down as he enters, slowly, and you gasp and clench at the sharp first thrust. Elvis moves thoughtfully, gently, his eyes look to yours, exhaling deeply as he pulls out after only going into you halfway.

“I can feel you tense up, honey,” he says, and you feel embarrassed. Watching the cloud pass over your eyes and he soothes you, rubbing your side.

“It’s been a while….” You try to explain. But you are slightly perplexed, you’ve never had a guy pause, they’ve always just shoved their way in and after the first few thrusts it would be ok….

“Ain’t nothin wrong with a tight little puss, I just need to go find a shoe horn or something….”

You belt out another laugh.

“I don’t know how I should feel with you making jokes about my pussy as you fuck me….”

“Huhhh, I’m kidding round…. just needs some attention s’all….” And he grins, a wicked grin, and you gasp as you cannot believe what Elvis is doing. Your last boyfriend never did this, and the one before that made it very clear what a chore it was…

You push up on you elbows as you watch him kiss your nipples and work his way down to the bottom of your belly, planting a kiss on the top of that hairy patch guarding your entrance. Elvis parts your cunt, biting his lip, looking back up at you as you take in the largess of his tan body, the slight paunch at his center and watch as his arm shakes a little when he rests down on his elbow . He licks your clit softly with his tongue, slowly, looking up at you as he does, letting his spit work down to your opening. You shudder with each fervent lap, it is almost too intense, and your hips buck forth reflexively as you relish and embrace each flick, calling out to the ceiling as he uses his fingers to work you open. Elvis moves closer, worshiping you with his tongue, his head rocks up and down, his breathing heavy, you feel a tingling around your core as you become slippery. As your desire builds, you grip his hair and pull him up you.

“Bed,” you are able to breath out, “let’s go to the bed.”

Elvis nods, standing above you and pulling you up, letting you lead him to the soft, satin sheets that have been waiting patiently for you while foolishly got carpet burn on your ass. He jumps ahead of you on to the bed, rolling over and positioning himself against the headboard and grinning a dumb, goofy sex smile.

“Get up here and let a man catch his breath.”

You slap his shoulder, lifting your knee as you straddle over him, guiding his cock into you, watching him closely as you bear down slowly and use his shoulders to steady your movement. A low sigh escapes his mouth as you hit down on his hips, completely enveloping him into you.

“Oh Gawd almighty…..”

You smile, and thrust your self back and forth, rocking into him, your mouth breathing into his forehead as his arms grip the sides of your waist, pulling you up, then moving to your breasts, cupping over them as they bounce up and down with your movements. The sensation is heady, intimate, his brow becomes sweaty and his lips purse into a diamond shape as his breath is measured and quick. You plunge down, burying him deep inside your soft cunt, his eyes begging you to continue,

“Oh god baby, gawd…fuck”  

Looking into his eyes an intensity builds as you almost breath in tandem with each other. His fingers hold onto you, firm, rough, possessing you, he grunts as he speeds up the pace with his hands on your handles.

You start to feel an overpowering flame erupt in your core, tears forming at the side of your eyes unbidden. A sob bursts forth. Elvis stops moving, his lip is still curled in intense passion but his eyes are questioning.

“You ok, honey?”

You nod your head, and keep going, riding the waves of your orgasm as you bounce up and down on him, burying your head into him, wiping the tears on his hairy shoulders, grabbing his neck and pulling your self closer.You laugh, sob, then laugh again, sitting back in the saddle of his lap, holding the thick handles at his waist and wiping your eyes. He slows his upward thrusts, soothing your face with the back of his hand.

“I’m ok, I’ve just never cum during sex before… I didn’t think I could…. I dunno why I am crying, its just … ugh… so silly…” and you laugh again.

He holds you at your shoulders, feeling you tremble, leaning up to kiss you.

“Ain’t nothin more natural, honey, s’fucking hot is what it is… ”

You pick up your pace, smiling, letting him draw you in closer as he pushes his face between your breasts, then holds you still.

“I’m close, I gotta get on top,” he announces, and you fall back, as he moves onto you from above, rolling into you slowly, gently looking in your eyes to make sure you are ok. You grab him to you, your legs wrapping around him as you move your hips up to meet his thrusts and he plunges in more vigorously, grunting and heaving and breathing out quickly. The close hum of your bodies anchored together is so heady, you feel like you are merging, like you are breaking each other apart and becoming something new together. The view of him over you, gasping, sweaty, his hair hanging down over you, is intoxicating.

“Goddammit…. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, “ he yells, as he pulls out of you and explodes on your belly, jerking him self with a few final tugs of his wrist, and you sigh and lean up to watch. He then collapses back, your heads now point in opposite directions, your limbs intertwined in a sweaty, heaving mess. You don’t care about the sticky liquid that drips off you onto the bed, you just need to catch your breath.

“Goddamn, goddamn….” He mutters under his breath, moving his head to look over at you. He pushes himself off the bed with a bit of strain and a sharp exhale, walking to the bathroom and returning with a towel.

“Such a gentlemen,” you murmur and he chuckles, as you wipe your self off, watching him stroll over to one of his travel cases and pull out medicine vials. He brings them back, and sits next to you on the edge of the bed, unfastening them and tossing back a few pills without needing any water. He looks over at you.

“Want some… they help me sleep…”

You shake your head

“Get in here, s’bedtime” He says, again, its not so much a request as a command. A tenderly voiced command as Elvis lies back, and pulls you into him and you nestle your chin on his chest.

“Gawd, honey, I don’t know what ta say… I haven’t rassled like that in a good long while…”

He sees you lift your eyebrow.

“Hey, you don’t have ta believe me. Maybe I’m not old, but I’m not young neither… I’m forty…. forrrteeee……and I feel it. I feel it…. I love preforming, but it takes the wind out of me…  just wanna pass out more nights after a show on the road than not.”

“Huh….. same.”

“Ha…”

“I never do this, on a weeknight?” I tell him. “Between work and life, I’m fit to pass out by 10.” You think of Ruth, how much you love her, how much you wouldn’t go back and change anything, but also how the last 10 years seem to have sped by and you’ve almost time traveled to thirty and still haven’t figured out what you want to do with with your life or how you will do it because its hard enough to just get through each day... but why think about these things now, you left that behind for tonight...

Elvis pulls you in tighter, kissing the top of your forehead, and you are brought back to the moment, you want to stay in this as long as you can.

You talk for a bit, mumblings, as you tell him how you work two jobs, live with your aunt and uncle, work at their hardware store, grew up in Birmingham, he seems genuinely interested. You decide not to mention that you moved here after you got knocked up at 16, you decide not to tell him about Ruth, something in the back of your head warns you not to get too deep, share too much. Though you almost tell Elvis your real name, guilt tugs at your conscious. What you have shared feels intensely intimate, you’re here naked, lying in his arms, having experienced sex unlike any sex you’ve ever had. The word sex doesn’t even seem to really describe what this was. You usually find one night stands disappointing, selfish, focused on getting some asshole off who doesn’t know your body or care to find out.

After about ten minutes Elvis words start to run together, he kisses you absentmindedly on your head as he starts to slur nonsense, as if he were drunk or fucked up. Those must be some sleeping pills. In moments he is passed out completely. You lay next to him, tracing your finger along the ridge of his chest, down his belly to his hips and back. Looking at his face, trying to burn this moment into your mind forever, so you will always be able to conjure it up when you want to, when he is gone and you go back to the daily hustle. You turn and look at the clock. It’s 4 am. You lay back, staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep but you are nervous, adrenaline is still running through you, working against the post coital nod. By 4:45, Elvis is snoring, and you decide to just enjoy the feeling of being next to a man, next to this man. You play with the waddle under his chin, stroking it gently with your thumb.

At 5 am you slip yourself out of Elvis’ hold and get dressed, realizing you cannot look out of the windows to see how bright it is because they’re covered with aluminum foil behind the curtains. Glancing around, you suddenly feel the urge to take something. You grab that goddamn tricky belt with the sheriff star buckle, and put it in your purse. Then you help yourself to one of his rings, a large diamond star that fits on your ring finger, you throw that in your purse as well. Souvenirs to look at when you want to remember tonight. You sneak out of the bedroom, staggering back when you spot Joe sitting on the couch, his face lit by the embers of a cigarette he is smoking in the dark, contempt in his eyes as he watches you walk out.

“Hope you had fun…”

“Thanks, I did…”

He takes a drag of his cigarette, and blows it towards you.

“Congrats, you must be quite talented, I didn’t take you for a groupie…..but I also didn’t think the old boy could still get it up, he’s usually so stoned out of his gourd on those fucking pills……..”

Your eyes narrow as Joe continues.

“You know, he only screwed you to make me mad… it’s something he does, he likes to play games with us, his friends, his employees…. fuck with our heads, show us whose boss…never, ever, in a million years would he have fucked a thick, ugly bitch like you if I hadn’t been talking to you first.”

You turn to leave, feeling something, anger, self hatred, insecurity, a mixture of all three bubble up in your stomach. Joe is clearly jealous, fuck him, you’ll be fucked if you let this asshole get the last word.

“Well, then Joe, I owe you a thanks, I think I just had the best lay of my life. “ You make a mock bow towards him, then strut out the door without another look back. You put the belt on in the elevator, a sense of pride washing over you as you think about Elvis all the way through the lobby, into a cab and home, when you get back into time get Ruth off to school and collapse in your bed for a few hours before you have to go open the store. You did not get to shower, and it’s day three for your hair. Fuck. It was worth it.

———

Here you are, leaning against the wall of storage room at work, trying to will the wall to open up and transport you somewhere else. A tight, anxious ball has formed in the pit of your stomach.You hear the sharp sound of boots sauntering along the linoleum, and your heart drops as you realize Elvis followed you back here. He stops in the doorway, leaning into the frame.

“Goddamit, why are you so fucking difficult? I do not go ‘round begging stubborn, obstinate chicks to come out. They beg me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Presley to have to be the first person to ever tell you no, but you don’t always get what you want. I have a life, I have obligations….. I can’t come out tonight, I have to close up shop here,” you tell him.

Harriet’s voice rings out loudly from the hallway

“No she doesn’t!!!!”

Elvis laughs.

“I like her, maybe I can get her instead…”

You roll your eyes.

“Go right ahead…..I have other responsibilities after work too….. a life, you know? I have things I have to do…”

Elvis looks at the floor, looks up at you, as he places one hand on his hips and raises the other up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, his eyelids squeeze with anger. You can see him shake with a tremor of rage as he shifts in place and adjusts his sunglasses. With his large coat, he has expanded to fill the entire doorway, once again, overtaking your view of the world. For some reason the sheer expanse of his presence makes you want to jump onto his chest, wrap your legs around his waist and drag him down on to the cold, grimy storage room floor to have your way with him. Once again, you resist. Harriet’s stupid happy head bobs behind Elvis, as she leans over before heading out the back door.

“Hey, I’m heading out, don’t worry about anything, I’m heading over to my parents place and I’ll let them know you’ll be out….” she winks, a big, exaggerated wink, just to make sure you get the message she’s broadcasting.

“Just lock the front door on your way out.” She adds.

You hate her and you hope Harriet can feel the anger shooting from your eyes into the back of her skull. Elvis smiles as he watches her walk out the back door. Then he turns to you. Ugh, if you go to him now, he’ll have won, he’ll think he can get anything he wants. Like a spoiled, fucking child. Who needs to be put in his place.

“Right, ‘nuff bullshit, let’s go.”

You lean back.

“I’m not dressed right….…” you pull on your orange work vest, looking down at the old Destin tee underneath, the faded jeans, the converse shoes.

Elvis punches the door frame.

“I give exactly zero fucks whatcha wearing cuz I’m fixin’ to rip it off anyway, god fucking dammit. You’re not gonna need any clothes when I’m fucking done with you, goddamn brat!” He inhales and shakes out the rage, tries to be more calm as he announces, “I’m not leaving this goddamn room until you come with me.”

You look him dead in his eyes, crossing your arms, throwing down the gauntlet.

“Make me.”

Click here to read Chapter 2

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[swanimagines]

UNFOLDED | KAZ BREKKER

Summary: Your and Kaz's relationship gets exposed and you see something Kaz has tried to hide from you.

Character: Y/N (female), Kaz Brekker, Pekka Rollins and Inej Ghafa

A/N: Argh, I’m so nervous. Rowan and Lottie made pieces from this very scene but I swear I got this idea on my own (not requested) in like May and I have proof of it from the start of June (because I told a friend about it). Stuff just got in the way. I ended up editing this quite roughly from its original form and the POV switches between Kaz and Y/N because of that, also because I wanted to bring out both aspects because there's so much going on but I think that now it's kinda messy. But I hope it's still ok and you'll enjoy it!

Warnings: violence, panic attack, PTSD, mentions of death, threatening, angst (hurt/comfort) also cheese and soft!Kaz in the end.

Word count: 2.4k

“Maybe I’m not here when you get back.” Inej snapped and started storming out Kaz’s office. Kaz’s steps quickly followed her.

“Inej!” Kaz called after The Wraith as he appeared to the doorway, but he just saw you, sitting by the opened window, a book on your lap. You shook your head at your boyfriend slightly, which made Kaz groan.

“Y/N, I don’t want to listen to any lectures right now. It was wrong of me to shout at Inej.”

“Yeah. I know you know that. That’s why I’m not lecturing you.” you nodded and put your book aside. “You know, your brains would work better if you allowed yourself to rest for just a moment. You haven't slept properly for days. You would also be less of a dick if you just rested for a moment.”

“I can’t rest. It’s a million kruge, Y/N.” Kaz took in a deep sigh and returned to his worktable. “But I can’t figure it out on time. Sunrise is in six hours.”

“I know. And I’ll help you.” you sighed and followed him to his worktable, sitting down across from him, slowly starting to go through his scribbles for possible plans. “I guess I just would want to make up an excuse to keep you here with me for longer, but I know that this job is important to you, and the Crow Club." you sighed and lifted your gaze to Kaz, who tapped his quill to yet another blank paper.

He nodded slightly. "That's why I need the plan as quickly as possible."

You closed your eyes for a moment, before opening them and blurting out, "It’s just that… every time you go on your missions, I’m afraid that you won’t return. That I'd receive a word that they finally got you, and you're imprisoned or dead.”

Kaz paused to look at you. His eyes softened a little, just enough for you to notice. “I’m always coming back for you.”

“I know, at least when Inej is with you.” you glanced at the direction of the window, and Kaz leaned back on his chair and ran his hand through his hair.

“I don’t know where she is. The Wraith is good at disappearing, and she can't be away for too long, we need her to make this heist.” Kaz muttered as he stood up and opened the secret observation hatch where he could peek through at the Crow Club.

“She couldn’t have gone far. She probably takes a short walk to calm her nerves and then comes back. I can-”

Creak.

You looked at each other, the same assumption in mind, and you smiled softly, nodding towards the doorway. “Go on.”

Kaz nodded, closing the observation hatch and making his way towards the door. “Inej, listen, I-”

You were planning to go to another room to let Kaz and Inej speak without you staring at them, but you were stopped when you saw large shadows coming to the office. Your breath hitched, it definitely wasn’t Inej.

Three men came to the office, surrounding Kaz. You looked around for an object to use to fight if needed, but the most dangerous thing near you was a quill, and you were pretty sure you’d just snap it.

How did Inej teach self-defense again? You cursed the fact that you hadn’t practiced more, you didn’t remember much else but how to block attacks. Inej had only given you a few lessons as Kaz had only recently told her to teach you. Kaz took his cane and started fighting the two men while the third came towards you. And despite your hopes, you were no challenge for him as he took a hold of your hand before it made contact with his face and twisted it behind your back, making you cry out. He then took a hold of your hair to expose your neck. You heard how he took out something, you could see a piece of metal glinting against the light of the office and soon you felt a slight tingling on your throat as a sharp blade was pressed against it, drawing out just a tiny amount of blood. And just a little more pressure, and your throat could be sliced open.

You caught Kaz’s eyes as you both were detained, and he stopped fighting back on that instant.

“Don’t touch her!” he wanted to scream as he looked at that big guy taking a firm hold of your hair, yanking your hair back as he held a knife to your throat. But instead, he remained silent and forced himself to avert his eyes off you. He couldn’t let them know that you were his weak link, because then you could be used against Kaz, like a pawn in a sick game.

These times, he really wished that he was still that boy who hadn’t even met you. The boy who didn’t feel anything for anyone and would have been able to sacrifice everyone for his own profit. If he would still be that boy, you would be safe. You wouldn’t have been in his office to calm his nerves with angering Inej. You wouldn’t be held in place by some brute who could slit your throat with a flick of a wrist.

“Evening.” Pekka appeared to the doorway, and you swallowed thickly at the sight of him. You vaguely knew what Pekka had done to Kaz, and what could happen if he remembered those two boys who had been working for him. If this man behind you wouldn’t have a knife on your throat, you would have kicked his balls up to his throat so you could fight back, force Pekka out. But in the situation you were, that wasn’t an option. So you watched helplessly as Pekka slowly walked towards Kaz.

Don’t recognize him, please don’t recognize him.

Pekka showed no sign of surprise or recognition though as he sat in front of Kaz, and you let out a shaky sigh of relief. Suddenly, Pekka’s goon threw Kaz’s cane at Pekka and Kaz tried to get away from the man’s grasp, which caused the goon gripping him tighter. You heard Kaz’s breath becoming more ragged from pure rage, and you understood exactly why. On that moment, you wanted to kill Pekka too.

“Now, I know you saw Dreesen.” Pekka started. “You got the jump on whatever job he has… I don’t know the details, obviously, just that you have a little travel hazard ahead of you. So, here’s the deal… you can do nothing, walk away from it, and I’ll tell Dreesen I’m taking over for you. Then we’re even.”

“Not even close.” Kaz rasped out and you let out an agreeing huff from behind him.

“Hang on…” Pekka stuck Kaz’s cane against his neck. “The other option is, that I’ll cave your head in with your own cane and dump you and your girlfriend in the harbor.” Pekka smirked slightly as he glanced up at you, making Kaz feel a slight pang of terror when he realized that Pekka already knew that you were his weak link. Some Dime Lion rats must have seen you together before. Kaz cursed the fact that he must have laid fond glances at you, let his guard down on the wrong moment. Cursed how he had fallen for someone - for you, who wasn't much of a fighter. “That first option seems better now, don’t it?”

Pekka let go of Kaz’s neck and stood up. But Kaz just had to play with his life, and asked a question you had been fearing.

“Tell me, have we ever made a deal before?”

You let out a tiny whimper.

No no no, don’t recognize him…

“You and me? Nah… otherwise you’d know better. Or you’d be dead.”

With that, they left, and the man holding you pushed you to the floor. You coughed a few times as the pressure from your throat was gone, and you heard Pekka and his goonies leave the Club as the Club went silent when they strode across the main space. You rolled over to see Kaz, still crouched down, staring at the floor with ragged breaths. You immediately knew that something is wrong.

“What’s the matter?” you crawled in front of him and tried to catch his eyes, but he just lowered his head so you were unable to. “Kaz, talk to me, please.”

He didn’t, his breathing just quickened and he clenched his hands to fists against the rug, he was sweating and you caught a tear falling out of his eyes. You started to panic, he wasn’t okay, something was happening.

“Jordie…” he choked out and you frowned at his brother’s name. He sank lower, his face almost touching the rug and you swallowed, watching the scene.

“Are you hurting somewhere?” you asked, still clueless what was happening. He didn’t answer. “Kaz?”

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” he whispered, barely audible for you to hear. He shook and everything in him screamed that he wasn’t the Kaz you knew. He was something much smaller. Someone he would call weak.

After a moment, his shaking started to go away and you tried again.

“Kaz? Are you-”

He shook his head sharply, silencing you and you heard him trying to calm his breathing. It was still shaky and ragged, but he was attempting to take in long breaths, and that’s when you had a wave of relief. Whatever it was, it was passing. You could calm yourself down as Kaz did too, and he looked up again, still not meeting your eyes. You saw the bruise starting to form on the side of his face and your fingertips hovered over it as your brows furrowed in concern. You stood up and went to take a rag, which you dipped in cold water and returned to gently tap the bruise, careful not to let your fingers touch his skin. You knew Kaz didn’t want to talk right now, you had known him long enough to recognize it from his face and posture.

Kaz was embarrassed for having you see him like that, like a kicked puppy. Weak. He had never told you about his “episodes” and he had hoped he wouldn’t have to. He had vaguely told you about Jordie and his history with Pekka, but he had never told you the real reason why he didn’t want to be touched. That seeing Jordie dead wasn't the only thing that left him having nightmares. You didn't know that Kaz had also been thrown to Reaper's Barge, and that he had had to use Jordie as a float to get back to the shore. Maybe he was afraid you’d pity him. He didn't need pity. He needed revenge. And you were the last person he wanted to pity him.

He knew you wouldn't be like that though. You had been friends for years even when you hadn't been dating for very long, and Kaz wanted to tell you everything. But he was afraid. Afraid of living it all over again. Afraid that he would ruin your relationship by telling you something so brutal and the story of how he became Kaz Brekker. He had built his relationship with you as Kaz Brekker. He didn’t need Rietveld to come and mess it up.

He took his cane from you after you retreated from him, still not looking at you and left his office without another word. You knew better than to follow him, he needed time to recover on his own. Whatever it was that had happened. You gathered some of his papers from the floor that had been sent flying during the brawling and folded them neatly on the desk, and lifted the chair back up. You took in a deep sigh and made your way to the bedroom, sitting on your bed opposite from Kaz’s.

You knew your boyfriend wouldn’t come to bed tonight, and he’d be gone by the morning. He would find a way to cross the Fold, you knew he would, but in that state of distress, you weren’t sure if he would be able to come to say his usual goodbyes.

You took out your book again, returning to read it and determined to stay awake until sunrise. But sleep caught you and you succumbed to it.

---

“Y/N.” you heard Kaz’s voice call out. You groaned. “We found the way across the Fold.” That stirred you awake, and you opened your eyes, feeling like you had slept for just five minutes.

“That’s great.” you smiled tiredly and sadly. Kaz took in a deep sigh, suddenly in visible discomfort.

“Y/N, listen, I’m…”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me. And you don’t have to explain. Let’s do it when you’re ready.” you sat up a bit, your body screamed at you to sleep a little longer but you forced yourself to stay awake for Kaz. You wanted to be with him for these last moments before he would leave to Ravka for Saints know how long.

Kaz nodded briefly and took a few steps closer to you. He searched your face for a moment, before he placed his gloved hand on your cheek faintly and pressed his lips against your forehead. They were barely there, you didn't really feel his lips, only his breath fanning over your forehead, but still being so close to him felt intimate and tender. You knew it was yet another step for Kaz with showing affection, and it left your heart pounding louder than ever and a wide smile spread on your face when he pulled away.

“Thank you.” he muttered, his gloved hand briefly grazing your cheek.

Then he turned, slowly making his way out from his office. You looked after him until he closed the door, and you let yourself fall back on the bed.

That kiss, even when it was barely there, was Kaz’s promise to come back. And with that in mind, you could calm yourself and not worry so much.

He would come back to you. He would always come back to you.

---

Likes are ok but reblogs and feedback make me go WHEEEE 💓

[snowbellewells]

CS Heatwave Fic: “Melting for You”

This fic is meant to join the collection of fics prompted by the heatwave temperatures these last couple weeks. I’m no great pro with the steamy/smutty scenes, but this gets fairly close towards the end - and tosses some hints toward that line in the middle as well. Is there an almost-M (or T+) type rating?  Anyway, this is post season six timeframe - divergent, but not necessarily AU. There’s no reason it couldn’t have happened (if Emma and Killian were given two seconds of peace and privacy once they were married! ;p)  Hope you enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think!

Also, thanks a million to @zaharadessert and @winterbythesea for offering some feedback and suggestions on titles - and commiserating with me on how hard choosing a title can be! And thanks to the lovely fandom friends on the @captainswanmoviemarathon Discord who came up with the heatwave fics idea in the first place!

Can also be found on AO3

“Melting for You”

by: @snowbellewells

Even indoors the air was heavy and oppressive - especially for June - and Emma Swan gave herself a mental pat on the back for even being out of her recliner nearest the air conditioning vent in the old, high-ceiling house that could be expensive to sufficiently cool. She tended to covet a day like this - off from the station, Henry out with friends, no one needing anything from her, and a backlog of her favorite crime procedurals ready in her streaming queue - chuckling to herself about deserving some sort of Savior Above and Beyond medal for being in the kitchen tackling a sink of dirty dishes.

Normally, she’d just put them in the dishwasher, but the last clean load had never been taken back out and put away - one of Henry’s designated jobs - and her husband, loving and fond of her son as he was, was still a captain through and through, determined for each member of his crew to pull their weight. Emma, on the other hand, while not as worried about the degree of neatness Killian would prefer, was just stubborn enough not to do her kid’s chores for him. Henry had been busy lately; finals, college applications and other genuine responsibilities taking up the bulk of his time, but she trusted him to get to it when he could. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the real reason she didn’t put the clean dishes away was because she didn’t understand Killian’s precise method for storing all the various pots, pans, containers, and baking sheets; inevitably, when she tried to unload the dishwasher alone, she ended up with numerous things she couldn’t find a place for strewn across the kitchen’s center island and more of a mess than she’d started with.

It just wasn’t worth the hassle.

So, here she stood, sweating over a sink full of hot, soapy water, feeling loose tendrils of hair begin to curl around her face in the humidity, just trying to make sure they had enough clean spoons and to-go mugs for their coffee the next morning and cursing the 90 degree heat and the ceiling fan not doing an adequate job of getting the cooler air to her as her shirt began to feel stuck to her skin between her shoulder blades.

At least she had a good view. 

Emma smirked to herself, eyes lighting up once again as she refocused from the charred bits of pizza crust she’d slightly burnt onto a pan and back out the window over the sink. She wasn’t sure how her husband could stand it outside, and he’d been at it for at least a couple hours at this point, but as she took in the scene before her, Emma couldn’t help thinking that at this moment, his discomfort was a cross she was willing to bear.

Standing up straighter, running her forearm across her face, she dazedly allowed her hands to drip across the counter as she studied him more closely, almost forgetting where she was. Killian was wearing dark, stained denim jeans he often used when out of doors and not on his ship, along with a thin, gray T-shirt, stretched and faded with holes in places, but more than serviceable for working around the house and yard. She could see the muscles in his back and shoulders straining and bunching through the nearly threadbare material easily, and hardly realized she’d unconsciously licked her lips at the decadent sight.

As she continued to shamelessly spy on her fine pirate, Killian stretched his arms up overhead, clearly working out some of the kinks from his exertions, then to her eternal delight, raised the hem of his T-shirt to mop sweat from his brow. She could see a band of tanned, flushed skin on his lower back, unknowingly tantalizing her as she stared, unable to blink or look away. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, he slowly peeled the taut fabric up his torso and off over his head before tossing it to the side.

She knew her breath went a bit shallow at the sight of his whole back bared to her while Killian stood for several long moments catching his breath. At this point, her sudsy hands were clutching the edge of the sink while her knees went watery at the show he was putting on inadvertently. The expanse of his skin was marred in places by lines almost white from the time gone by since they had been inflicted, and high on his left shoulder a compass sat, bearing the name ‘Liam’ along its edge, while the dark tentacles of a kraken curled surreptitiously along his rib cage on his right side. The dark and light took not one iota from his swarthy perfection though, not to her eyes. In fact, if she had been overwarm before, she was burning up now; the sight of his whole torso practically glistening in the bright afternoon sun making her weak. She was seized with the almost uncontrollable desire to go out there and started licking the salty moisture from his skin with her tongue.

If she didn’t know better, she would think he was purposely trying to tempt her. 

Wait… did she know better? Emma paused, tilted her head to one side in thought. She’d told him when he’d gone outside that she was kicking back to watch some tv. But Killian could be scarily prescient of everyone around him, alert without even trying. Did he know she was watching; and, if so, was he teasing her?

Eyes narrowing, she thought for a second, feeling more than a bit devious as she considered her rapscallion husband and just what mischief he might have on his mind. She could almost picture him scoffing about getting her riled up; his brow arched just so, tongue poking against the inside of his lower lip, practically leering at her, knowing she couldn’t resist him at the best of times, and absolutely using it to his advantage. What she needed, Emma decided, a twinkle coming into her eye as the perfect plan of attack took shape in her mind, was to get him back, while appearing completely innocent. Get him flustered and as hot and bothered as he was making her. Turning off the tap and quickly drying her hands on a towel nearby, she grabbed a large glass from the cabinet to her left, then opened the freezer for ice - and her chosen secret weapon.

Strolling outside, Emma tried her best to school her expression, knowing a twitch of mischievous humor or devilish twinkle would give her away. Her pirate still read her like a book - knew her every feature more minutely than anyone else had ever bothered to try - even more so after years together. He’d catch any slip and be on the alert.

Killian turned to look at her, just as she drew up beside him. Reaching out to trail the hand holding an ice cold glass of water down his damp, overheated bicep, she fought to hold in the smirk as her husband let his head fall backwards, nearly growling in pleasure. The unrelenting heat had the glass already covered in condensation, and the warmth radiating from Killian as well after working so long in the sun, meant the cool moisture had to feel heavenly.

Eyeing her with both adoration and curiosity, her captain made Emma’s own inner thermostat raise a tick as well when he licked the perspiration from his upper lip. “May I assume that’s for me, Love?”

“Yep,” she replied, letting the ‘p’ pop distinctly, just as he often did when alluring her with his speech. “I thought it was time to bring you some water. Can’t have my True Love getting dehydrated, after all.”

He raised a brow, as if wondering why she seemed so enthusiastic, but he took the glass from her eagerly, seemingly deciding just to accept the gesture with thanks. Of course, as his Adam's apple bobbed with his greedy swallows of the cool, refreshing liquid, it was Emma who found her throat working desperately to gain more air.

For a second, she almost forgot her plan in the wake of the tantalizing distraction he made, before she regained focus and hurried to unwrap what she held in her other hand.

While Killian’s eyes were still closed savoring the last of his drink, Emma quickly stuffed the wrapper of an ice cream bar in her cutoff jean pockets and began to lick the chocolate coating, enjoying the sweet taste, but also waiting for the moment she would feel the sizzle of his eyes on her once more.

“Here you go, Love,” Killian’s voice spoke up as she felt him turn toward her, just as she enveloped the whole tip of the ice cream bar between her lips. “That truly hit the sp - “

His words died on his tongue as he got an eyeful of what she was doing, though Emma avoided looking back just yet, knowing the glee she was feeling would give her away. ‘Gotcha, Pirate!’ she couldn’t help gloating in her mind.

Humming slightly as if she was only focused on how delicious her frozen treat tasted, Emma was inwardly high fiving herself after shooting a quick sidelong glance at her husband to see him looking as though he had swallowed his own tongue. The empty glass he’d moved to hand back to her fell to the ground from his suddenly lax fingers, and when she heard him speak again, his words were a hoarse whisper. “Gods above, Swan, are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not,” she chirped happily, winking at him with what she hoped was breezy nonchalance. “Just enjoying some refreshment myself.” She then popped the treat back into her mouth, pointedly hollowing her cheeks a bit, then pulling it back out while letting her tongue trail along the rapidly melting chocolate coating.

‘And now the final touch,’ she thought, turning her head back toward the porch and deliberately putting more swing in her hips than normal. “Bring that glass with you when you come back in, okay Babe?” she tossed over her shoulder, with one brief backward glance that she hoped managed to be sultry.

Congratulating herself, even as just the short amount of time she’d been outside was beginning to make her sweat too and the vanilla insides of her ice cream began to drip down her hand, Emma had nearly reached the outdoor water spigot and attached hose by the porch steps, which seemed a good place to finish her dessert and wash off the stickiness, when she heard heavy steps coming up behind her rapidly. ‘Right on cue,’ her mind practically crowed.

In the next moment, Killian’s strong, muscled arm snaked around her stomach and jerked her back firmly against the front of his body. Holding her tightly, his teeth nipped her earlobe before he purred a seductive warning against her neck. “It’s cruel to tease a man like that, Minx - not if you don’t intend to share a taste.”

Impishly, Emma held up the rapidly shrinking bit of ice cream left on the stick, as if in offering. However, when he dove in to swipe his tongue up the side of her hand and engulf both the melting treat and the tips of her fingers in the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, she willingly let go. His eyes were pure blue flames that wouldn’t allow her to blink, turning her bones and sinew to liquid more than the heat outside could have ever managed.

Emma was leaning into him breathlessly, mind going blank at the way he pulled his lips back off her fingers, laving her skin playfully as he leaned away, the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes along with the heat telling her all too well that he knew what he was doing. Winking devilishly, he stepped away slightly, making her nearly stumble as her body strained to follow, a soft whine leaving her throat completely against her will. 

“Hmm…” he purred, baiting her now, sensing victory no doubt. “Just as I thought - delicious.”

Emma’s misfiring synapses crackled back to life as he stood there, just out of reach, clearly waiting for his wife’s next move, and almost certainly counting on her being unable to resist.

Her chest heaved, trying to get a full breath and bring herself under control. She’d had the upper hand! She was so sure she’d have him begging - just this once. But she was flushed and sweating every bit as much as Killian now. That sinful way he was tracing her bare legs with his gaze, and the feel of his mouth on her, however briefly, had been all it had taken to send her temperature soaring beyond all reason.

“You don’t play fair, Captain,” she chided, her voice low and her own teasing smile finally returning to her as it just tilted the corner of her lips.

Killian’s dark brow arched devastatingly in challenge, not about to be outdone. “Oh, and I suppose you think waltzing out here in those shorts that barely cover your knickers and shamelessly teasing me was fair play?”

There was no good comeback, and Emma knew it. She’d been messing with him from the start, and neither of them had any doubts on that score. However, it was just then she remembered the hose and spigot right behind her. Using an innocent shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her blond hair she knew could often distract him - pirate indeed, her golden hair had always drawn his touch, he’d been brushing it over her shoulder since they had first climbed the beanstalk together - she managed to move back enough to reach behind her and turn on the water without him catching onto her actions. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” she sniffed, feigning insult. “I only brought you a cold drink. You looked like you needed…” she fumbled to grasp the hose quickly and pull it up into her hands “...to cool off!”

Without further warning, she pointed the nozzle at him, squeezed the handle and let fly, startling him with a blast of water right to the chest. Luckily, she’d managed to crank up the power enough to have a steady stream leaving the hose at full blast, and they kept it coiled in the shade of the porch, so she knew the spray rapidly soaking her husband was as ice cold as the sun beating down on them from above was burning hot.

Spluttering and yelping at the sudden, frigid onslaught, Killian’s pleased smirk dissolved as he threw up both arms in a helpless attempt to block the spray. She couldn’t help throwing her head back with a triumphant laugh and an emphatic “Gotcha!” escaping her lips. No part of her husband was getting out of this unscathed, she decided, aiming to soak him from head to toe while she had the upper hand. 

Unfortunately for her, the victory was short-lived. Adaptable and quick-thinking as ever, Killian had steeled himself against the cold blast and was inching closer amidst laughter of his own and short exclamations at the bursts of chilled water hitting him.

Emma was about to relent in truth, the sight of Killian’s streams of eater running down his arms and sides and droplets clinging to his trim, well-defined chest and the enticing covering of matted dark hair across his taut chest muscles, was more than enough prize for her efforts. The handle actually faltered in her grip for a moment as her mouth fell open with her gawking.

 It was all the opening her pirate needed. 

Killian bounded forward, closing the slight distance left between them and deftly plucking the hose from her grip. The squelch of his feet on the wet grass and the slap of soaked denim against his legs were Emma’s only other warnings before the sharp, freezing spray was turned on her full blast in retaliation.

“Ahhh! Killian!” she screeched helplessly, the shock of the cold making her gasp, despite knowing she wasn’t going to get any more mercy than she herself had been willing to grant moments ago. Instead, she floundered forward, grabbing for the hand aiming the spray at her. They scuffled briefly, both only getting wetter and more winded, until - ridiculously tangled up with each other and the hose - they tumbled to the sodden grass in a heap of wriggling limbs.

At this point, both of them were laughing, hands rapidly smoothing over wet skin in delicious slides. The hose fell from Killian’s grip, easily forgotten, and the water splashed them both in a wild arc until it fell to the ground and stopped. The damage was long done anyway as they rolled together on the marshy ground, legs entwined and bodies beginning to move against each other deliciously, almost without thought in a deliciously familiar next move.

Unable to resist any longer, and far past teasing or trying to win their game, Emma’s hands stole to trace up his panting side, thrilling at the feel of his stomach muscles trembling where her fingertips swept over them. 

Killian was not idle as she worked feverishly, a low groan of pleasure escaping him as she stroked along the planes of his torso.  In the next moment, he dove in, pulling down the vee of her own shirt further and baring her breast before closing his mouth over the tight, alert bud warming and tormenting in equal measure with swipes of his wicked tongue.

She bucked up into him, keening and whimpering and wordlessly desperate to urge him on. After that, there was no time for words, merely pants of exertion, the occasional clacking of teeth, the slapping of damp skin on skin, and the smack of the rest of their soaking clothing frantically shed on the swampy ground around them. Soon they were moving in unison, Killian pushing forward, and her opening to pull him in, then clinging to him tightly for all she was worth.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, as the evening shadows fell, a light breeze moved in, cooling the heavy air of the day. Emma’s eyes trailed languidly over the nude lines of her husband’s hip and side as he returned to her with water and slid back under the light blanket they had draped over their bodies as they snuggled skin to skin on the back porch. It hadn’t seemed worth bothering to get dressed again when they’d only adjourned as far as the porch before their kisses and touches and mischievous smiles led to them going again at an achingly slower, more luxurious pace on the porch glider while the sun had slowly dipped closer to the horizon. As Killian curled back around her and brought her hand up to kiss each one of her knuckles reverently, humming as he somehow found a sweet bit of leftover ice cream, Emma could only think it was lucky their porch faced nothing but the rocky coastline and the harbor beyond it. Not that she was ashamed of how quickly she had melted at his whim, but she didn’t need anyone else to get an eyeful.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @kday426 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87  @wefoundloveunderthelight @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @xsajx @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda @cosette141 @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @caught-in-the-filter @apiratewhopines 

[reidscanehand]

Rather Ardently

Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader

Category: Angsty Fluff

TW: Cursing, marital problems, mentions of cheating (it’s not really, actually happening, Reader just thinks it is), mentions of schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s

Based on a request from @whale-of-a-time : Hey there! I love your writing, you are so talented! I have a request for a Spencer x fem!bau!reader where she and Spencer are married and then he starts having his headaches so he seeks out help from Maeve. She doesn't die or anything but they become friends and reader starts to feel insecure about herself because of how much Maeve and Spencer has in common and then Spencer realises but her reassures that he loves her? Is that okay? Hope you're safe and healthy during everything.

This was taken from a request and then mixed with a very loose concept I’d had rolling around in my brain for a while. I’m a big reader (duh, aren’t we all?) and a massive Jane Austen fan. If you haven’t seen the film Austenland and are an Austen fan, I highly recommend, but this is based a bit on that as well, except set in the United States, and not in the UK. This might seem super silly as a framing device, but the second I got this request I knew I could combine the ideas and I got so very excited. This is also the first time I get to be super specific about which season Spencer Reid this is, which I’ve never done before, but this is Season 7-Season 8 Spencer. Reader and Spencer met/started dating around Season 2 and got engaged in Season 5. This is set near the beginning of Season 8, and they finally got married ten months prior during Season 7, making this set during their first year of marriage (you’ll see, hopefully that makes sense - this timeline was partially written for my own benefit). Also, if you are a Maeve fan (as I am), this is kind of anti-Maeve (I speak of her in an extremely passive way, but the Reader is not a fan; I also might somewhat imply that she likes Spencer more than he likes her). Thank you so much for the request @whale-of-a-time - I hope you enjoy it! Also, shout out to @homoose​ for helping me with some of the dialogue in this! 

And to all of you: I love you whoever you are. While I was working on this, I passed 500 followers and, somehow, now have over 650, which is insane for my little mind. Thank you so very much for your support. Again, I love you all and hope you’re having an excellent season! xx

~ “I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.” - Jane Austen ~

Was it bad to wish that you kind of...weren’t as good at your job as you are? Because if you were less good at your job, the two of you wouldn’t be sitting, - rotting, really - in this abominable tension. The thought crosses Spencer’s mind for the second time in the hour as the two of you are driven to The Winchell House. They say the first year of marriage is the hardest, but, Spencer didn’t know who “they” were and he’s sure not even the omnipotent “they” could’ve imagined such an unusual predicament for him and his new wife. 

The Winchell House is a mock-Georgian mansion that sits in the middle of Maine, the rainy climate adding to the attempt at a British atmosphere as much as the summer long Jane Austen retreat the mansion has hosted every year for the past fifteen years. However, this summer, among the Austenites, there had been a series of two rather grisly murders over the course of two weeks. Both victims had been found, arms and legs strapped to a plinth, a small concrete slab, that sat in the middle of the pond at the back of the property. The cause of death was asphyxiation, caused by a wire strapping their necks to the plinth, the particular knot used causing the rope to tighten as the victim struggled. The murders were grisly, but completed quickly and meticulously, even when extra security had been added to the property. The retreat, which ran from the end of June to August, was the brainchild of a British-American immigrant named Evelyn McCleary, who’d contacted the FBI, desperate for help. And that is how you and Spencer came into the mix. 

Almost immediately Mrs. McCleary was redirected to Hotch, who agreed to take on the case. It was decided that the best course of action would be to send in two BAU agents undercover as latecomers on the Jane Austen retreat. And, to no one’s surprise, you and Spencer were chosen for the task. Actually, honestly, you were chosen for the task, Hotch just insisted Spencer accompany you. And if Hotch hadn’t insisted, Spencer would’ve, despite the recent issues the two of you have had. It had been awkward recently, sure, but Spencer wouldn’t let his wife go on an undercover operation alone. 

You were chosen primarily because of your bizarre skills with dialects. Honestly, Spencer had never seen its equal outside of, like, actors. It’s, frankly, bizarre how well you can do accents. The only one you can’t manage is a stereotypical New Yorker, but the others are absolutely incredible. The first time your “little talent” (your words, not Spencer’s) came to light was on your first case as part of the BAU. The team was on a case in Georgia and some diner owner wasn’t willing to cooperate as a witness. Hotch talked to him, so did Emily, even Rossi, but he wouldn’t agree to say anything. With a boldness that no one expected from you, you politely asked Hotch if you could try speaking to him. Hotch, desperate at this point, gave his consent, as long as Spencer went with you, watching from one of the booths. The two of you entered separately and, by the time Spencer had sat down, you’d struck up a conversation with the witness in a perfect, old-fashioned southern accent. You were so damn charming that the man immediately agreed to come to the station with you and, from the sound of it, would’ve likely signed over his worldly possessions if you’d so much as hinted at it. 

“You wanna tell me what that was?” Spencer had asked incredulously as the two of you watched Hotch interrogate the man from outside the interview room.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You still won’t admit it, but your tone was definitely coquettish because you were definitely flirting with Spencer at that point. 

“That...that voice you did? How did you...what did you-” he attempted to ask, barely able to stammer out the question. Because, by that point, even though he wouldn’t admit it either, he was already most definitely falling head over heels for you. 

“Oh,” you’d laughed, like you didn’t know. “My ‘little talent’...um, yeah.” You’d shrugged. 

“Little?” he’d almost screamed incredulously. Little talent, my ass. 

“I have an ear for accents,” you’d shrugged again. You didn’t tell anyone about it, and neither did Spencer, but after the third case where your ‘little talent’ proved helpful in forcing an uncooperative witness to talk, Hotch nearly forced you to tell him. And, ever since then, nearly six years ago now, you’d been the go-to girl for undercover operations, hostage negotiations, and even interrogations where your ‘little talent’ (which Spencer, just to tease you, called your ‘great big whopping talent’) came in handy. Aside from your ‘little talent’, you are also an absolute top notch profiler, the talent a mere party trick compared to your other abilities in the field. You’d been recruited to join the BAU shortly after your graduation from the FBI Academy, making you the youngest agent after Spencer. Early on, the two of you were paired up because of your closeness in age, and later you were paired up because you’d started dating and, as Hotch discovered, Spencer was borderline useless if he was worried about you on cases. The two of you dated for a long time. You saw Spencer through a lot of sorrows: Gideon leaving, Spencer’s abduction and subsequent addiction to dilaudid, his painful reintroduction to his father, and getting shot in the knee. The day he was shot in the knee was the day he’d proposed, actually. You’d rushed to the hospital, very concerned about the fact that your boyfriend of three years had somehow managed to get shot in the knee, and arrived to find Spencer sitting up in his hospital bed and eating Jell-o with a smile on his face, his left leg in a brace. 

“How the hell did you manage to do this?” you’d asked, looking at the x-rays in his file. 

“I managed nothing,” Spencer had joked, watching you carefully. “I was shot by the unsub.”

“And why did that happen?”

“Because I jumped in front of the victim-”

“Exactly, so somehow you did manage to get shot in the knee and dislocate it in almost seven different places,” you’d said, only a little snarky. 

“But, the victim was okay, and the unsub made it out alive, so that’s all good, right?” He was still watching you, knowing there was something else on your mind. “So, what’s the problem, love?”

“There’s no problem,” you’d huffed, putting down Spencer’s file and getting to your feet. “It’s just...just...never mind. I’ll go get us some more coffee-” 

“No, honey,” Spencer said, grabbing your hand. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” You turned to face him, but kept your eyes on your hands, which he held in his.

“I just really wish...I wish you’d stop devaluing your own life, Spence,” you’d whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “Because so many people care about you, and I wish you’d care as much. Your life isn’t any less valuable...and I know, I know, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get the unsub, but...why does it always have to be you?”

“Y/N, I-”

“No, Spencer, seriously,” you’d insisted, tears falling steadily now, “if anything ever happened to you...I couldn’t...I wouldn’t ever get over that.” As awkward as it was in a hospital bed, Spencer pulled you close, hugging you as tightly as he could and pressing a kiss into your hair. 

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, sweetheart,” he'd whispered into your ear, rubbing circles on your back. 

“I know I sound silly-” 

“I don’t think you sound silly,” Spencer had hummed, pressing a kiss to your nose as he’d cupped your face in his hands. “I think you’re the sweetest woman in the entire world and I adore you.” 

“I don’t want to get rid of you...ever, Spencer, that’s the point I’m trying to make,” you’d stated, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Ditto, my darling girl,” he’d chuckled, pulling you in closer. That’s when he’d decided. “In fact...um, can you hand me my satchel over there?” He’d pointed to his leather bag, sitting on a chair in the corner. You’d grabbed it and brought it back, setting it gingerly next to him. “Could you, like...cover your eyes for a minute?” 

“What’s...what are you doing, Spencer?”

“Please, Y/N, just close your eyes?” You’d smiled at him, adorably rolling your eyes, and turned around, your hands covering them. He had looked through his bag, finding the ring box, his hands shaking only a little. “Okay. Okay, Y/N, turn around.” You’d gasped sweetly, tears forming in your eyes for an entirely different reason as he’d presented the ring. “Now, this...this is not at all how I intended to do this. I’d definitely planned on being in nicer clothes than a hospital gown, and being able to get down on one knee, and I really didn’t want it to be involved with work at all, but, um, the thing is...when you look at the grand scheme of the universe...our lifetimes are such a tiny percentage of time that I don’t want to waste another second of it without you. Ever since I met you, you make every day things feel extraordinary. And you’re the first person to ever make me feel extraordinary...and if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make every day as extraordinary as I can because you deserve nothing less. Will you marry me?” You’d nodded and cried, allowing him to slip the ring onto your finger. 

Ten months ago the two of you were married. Rossi became a certified minister in order to perform the wedding, marrying the two of you at a historic site, Dumbarton House in D.C., surrounded by your teammates and family. It was, without question, the happiest day of Spencer’s entire life. He’d held onto you the whole time, not caring if he’d seemed clingy or over emotional. You were his and he was yours, finally and forever. You’d smiled up at him the whole day, even as the team was called away on a case - hiking your dress up to get on the jet, changing in the jet’s bathroom, spending what should’ve been your honeymoon in a motel in Kansas while solving a heinous crime - you’d smiled, the happiness rolling off the two of you in sheets despite the case and bad timing. Remarkable, really, your optimism and unerring sweetness. 

It was always like this with you. Easy, even when things were hard. Simple, even when things seemed complicated. You had a way of turning Spencer’s life around and allowing him to see the sun and smell the roses no matter what. 

But, as with most things in his life, happiness seemed to be followed by tragedy. And the sudden aggressive, blinding headaches were absolutely a tragedy. They’d started small, an occasional headache during a case. Hard to separate from the general exhaustion of work, easily written off with Excedrin and more coffee. Then the vomiting started. The violent reaction matching the growing intensity of the headaches. He’d awaken in the middle of the night, determined for you to sleep through it, only for you to find him, and rub circles into his back over the toilet or sink. You’d then sit with him, losing valuable sleep just to keep him company when the migraines were too ferocious to return to bed. It was wearing and debilitating for the both of you. And just as it pained him to have the headaches at all, it pained him even more to see you, just as fatigued, desperately trying to take care of him. Even more frustrating as a plethora of doctors and a myriad of tests proved unhelpful. 

Strangely enough - now, anyway-  it was you who suggested talking to a geneticist. Something some otherwise feckless doctor had mentioned got you thinking and you’d found Dr. Maeve Donovan, a geneticist working from home on sabbatical. You’d sent his MRIs to a local research university, only to then receive a phone call from Maeve, setting up an appointment for Spencer. 

Maeve’s situation was interesting, to say the least. The two of you were the only people who knew about it, and, despite wanting to utilize your FBI connections, Maeve refused help. She was being stalked, she believed by her ex-boyfriend, and hadn’t left her home in months, leaving her appointments with Spencer relegated to weekly phone conversations. Weekly phone conversations that, as Spencer had only recently discovered, you were not a fan of. You’d not said anything about it, but your attitude surrounding Maeve spoke volumes. Spencer wasn’t sure why, really, he was just relieved to have someone to talk to about his fears of schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s. You knew about these possibilities, of course. You’d met his mother, but...it wasn’t something he was just thrilled to discuss with you. It was a dark and scary possibility that one day Spencer’s mind, as vast and endless as it seemed to be...would be gone forever. To Alzheimer’s or schizophrenia or dementia...something could happen. He was thrilled to be able to finally stop worrying you with his health issues and just rant about them to Dr. Donovan.Trying to keep you from the pain of it potentially not working, or, more hopefully, being able to share in the joy if it did work. Thus far, the headaches were almost entirely gone. An occasional one here or there, much less violent than they had been, and usually only brought on by lack of sleep. He was tentatively optimistic...but it was only then that he’d noticed the sudden space in between you two. Your slight frown and worried eyes when Maeve would call on Sundays for their weekly appointment. He hadn’t even connected it to Maeve until she’d made him laugh last week and you’d suddenly decided to spend the night at Penelope’s. You’d made up something about Penelope needing help with her hair, too upset to control your microexpressions. Spencer knew it was a problem, but between work, and the efforts he was making towards fixing his headaches, there weren’t enough hours in the day. 

He looks to the front passenger seat where you’re sitting. Derek, thankfully, definitely recognized that there was tension in the air, but hadn’t said anything. You were staring out the car window, your fingers absentmindedly twisting your engagement and wedding bands. For a moment, as he watches the light hit you in spurts through the car window, the sun shining through your hair and eyes. You catch his eye in the rearview mirror, allowing your lips to curl in an ever so slight smile. God, but he loves you. He loves you so much...more than he ever thought he’d be able to love anyone. And you love him, just the same way. You two could get through this...right? 

Spencer sits up straighter in his seat, a new resolve settling in his system. He wasn’t due to speak to Maeve for another week, the two of you were at a Jane Austen retreat in the middle of Maine for at least a week or two. Surely, surely, he could get things back on track with you. Surely. 

~~~

No matter how long the two of you have been together, Spencer is still rather awestruck by how truly beautiful you are. One would think that, after dating each other for over three years and being engaged for two years after that before being married for nearly a year, Spencer would acclimate himself to it, but that is simply not the case. The moment the two of you are dropped off at the very impressive Winchell House, you’re ushered to Mrs. McCleary’s private wing and changed into Regency costumes. Most of the people here were cosplayers and had made their own or made them for novelty stores and events, but you and Spencer were lucky enough to have Mrs. McCleary set you up with enough costume ware to get you through the estimated maximum of two weeks undercover that you two would do. 

The clothes were another story altogether for Spencer. The pants were ridiculously tight. Like, truly, whoever thought this was a good idea? Probably those horny bastards in Elizabethan England, Spencer thinks to himself as he attempts, for the fourth time since putting them on, to adjust himself comfortably in his pants. He’s read the works of Jane Austen, obviously, they are classics for a reason. Pride and Prejudice is by far one of her best, but he has a soft spot in his heart for Emma, since she was a far more complex heroine than any of Austen’s others. He’s even seen some of the film adaptations, so he knew what he was getting into fashion-wise, at least from an aesthetic perspective, but no one had clued him in on exactly how uncomfortable these clothes would be. The collar is stiff, as is, shockingly, the cravat within it. The shirt is comfortable, only but it’s supposed to be (somehow) tucked into his tight pants, maintained with harsh suspender-like clasps, covered with a slightly stiff vest, and then forced into absurdly small jackets with tight shoulders in order to compel the wearer to better posture. There are knee high socks, which he doesn’t mind, then the shoes. The ones for indoor wear, anyway, are rather absurd. He doesn’t mind the slight heel so much as the incredible narrowness of the overall shoe. The boots are fine, but only really meant for outdoor wear, meaning he’ll have to, at some point - God forbid -  dance in the indoor shoes. 

As he finishes putting on the clothes, he looks himself over in the mirror. He doesn’t look as bad as he thought he might. A little silly, maybe, but not awful. And, at the very least, he doesn’t have to do this alone. However, as things always seem to go in your relationship, he’s incredibly unprepared to see you. And, as you bustle out of the changing room in a pale blue, empire waisted gown, with little flowers laced through your modest, slightly curly updo, Spencer thinks his heart might explode. As you lightly fret over your appearance in the mirror, you catch his eye, turning to stare at him.

“What?” you ask, nervously. “Did I...do I...um, what’s wrong?”

“Why would something be wrong?” he mumbles, feeling a little dumb. 

“You’re just staring at me with your mouth open,” you reply, looking a little bewildered. “Is something wrong?”

“No, oh n-no, God,” he stammers out, feeling less like a nearly thirty year old man and more like an absolute child. “Um, it’s just, uh, y-you look r-really pretty. Like, really beautiful.”

A light blush covers your cheeks and you turn back to the mirror, you lip caught between your teeth, “Oh, um...thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.” He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on the top of your head before placing his head on your shoulder. 

“I know that we have to find the unsub,” Spencer whispers into your hair, the resolve from earlier taking over. “But, it’s been a while since the two of us got to just be together, especially on the job, you know? And this is a rather...romantic location...” He nuzzles into your neck, pressing a trio of small kisses into the warm skin there. 

“You seem more delighted by this than I thought you’d be,” you breathe, your neck tilting to expose more of your flesh to his mouth. He nips at it before continuing. 

“I’m always delighted by you,” Spencer mumbles in between kisses. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Do you mean that?” you whisper, your eyes almost glassy. He turns you around to face him, his arms still on your waist. He allows himself, briefly, to profile you, his eyes scanning your face. Why the fuck wouldn’t he mean that? 

“Of course I do,” he insists, still searching your face. “You’re my wife, I love you.” Your eyes look so sad, he thinks you might cry.

“I love you too,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, “so very much.” The last part is said so softly, he’s not sure he’s meant to hear it. 

“Y/N, are you-”

“Mr. and Mrs. Percival?” Mrs. McCleary’s bright, jolly voice breaks the tension. You move to step away from Spencer, but he pulls you to his side with a firm hand on your waist. Neither of you answer and Mrs. McCleary looks at you brightly. “Those are your aliases, yes?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. McCleary,” you respond. She nods politely, assessing the two of you. 

“Right,” she chuckles, softly, “you look lovely, the both of you, really. What a picturesque duo you are! Now, I must tell you, you will be our only married couple-”

“Is it unusual for married couples to do this?” you ask, suddenly. “Because we could pretend to not be married.” 

Spencer’s heart lurches at your offer. Um...no, “I am not comfortable with that-”

“No need for that, dear,” Mrs. McCleary interrupts. “The first married couple this summer left after the first dead body was found and the only other couple was Anna Helburn and her husband.”

“Oh, the first victim,” you nod, understanding. You look to Spencer, but he determinedly looks away from you, still mildly offended that you just offered to pretend not to be married. You look back to Mrs. McCleary, “Was Mr. Helburn questioned before he left?”

“Oh, he hasn’t left,” Mrs. McCleary replies, looking befuddled. 

“He didn’t leave when his wife was killed?” Spencer questions, completely in shock. “That’s....highly suspicious. Which is Mr. Helburn?” With his free hand he gestures to the file in Mrs. McCleary’s hands. 

“Oh, yes,” she says, handing him the file. He releases your waist as he opens it, finding a photo of Grant Helburn easily. 

“He fits the preliminary profile,” Spencer muses, showing you the photo. “White male, late thirties to early forties, agile, athletic, tall...he no longer has a service job, but he grew up working on a farm, which could explain the knowledge of ropes and knots...”

“He’s been,” Mrs. McCleary starts, uneasily, “a tad on edge since his wife was killed, but...we assumed it was because of that. We also assumed he wouldn’t stay, though, so...”

“Did he give a reason for staying?” you query, looking away from your study of the file. 

“He said that his wife had always wanted to do this and they’d finally saved up enough for it and he wanted to finish it for her. It’s odd, though, I mean...we had plenty of people leave after the murders. There’s just you two, Mr. Helburn, and three others left. We had twelve when the retreat started.”

“Who’s left?” Spencer asks, not looking up from the file, memorizing as much as he possibly can about everyone, especially Grant Helburn. 

“Ashley Morrow, she’s a regular, comes every year or so. She’s in her late thirties-”

“Not the unsub’s type, then,” Spencer interrupts. “Please, continue.”

“Yes, then there’s Alex Foster, he’s our only minor. He’s seventeen, but starting college in the fall. He’s double majoring in British Literature and History and this is his graduation present,” Evelyn continues. “Then there’s Josefina Delgado. She’s been once before, maybe four years ago. Big Austen fan- are you, by the way?” she asks abruptly. 

“What?” Spencer replies, his head snapping up from the file. 

“Are you two Austen fans?” she asks again. 

“Oh, yes,” you answer. “Lifelong fan. And Spence, here, has read them all at least twice and can probably recite a good portion of Emma and Pride and Prejudice.”

“And Sense and Sensibility,” he adds, only sort of joking. He nods his chin to you, “That’s her favorite.” You smile at that, the first mildly genuine smile he’s seen from you in ages. He allows himself to watch you again as you continue to look over the file. Your hand has migrated to the small of his back, mostly out of convenience in order to share the file, but there was something comforting about the ease and casualness with which you did this action that calmed Spencer. The two of you will be okay...right? 

“Good to know,” Mrs. McCleary claps her hands. “Now, I do believe I’m due to teach the two of you some dances.” 

Spencer sends a concerned look your way and you giggle a little, pulling him to the makeshift dance floor Mrs. McCleary leads you to. He sighs, resigning himself to this ridiculous task in his absurd shoes. At least he gets to watch your pretty figure dance around for a little while. 

~~~

No one on the Jane Austen retreat is meant to have their cell phones. This had, obviously, been a rule that the both of you were allowed to overlook, as you are federal agents and need your phones to get in contact with your team. Yours, actually, conveniently fit in the small space between your chemise and corset. Spencer’s had to go in the inside pocket of his ridiculously structured jacket. You’re at the dinner table when it happens, his phone buzzing against his chest. It actually hits right beneath his armpit, causing him to embarrassingly giggle rather intensely.

“I do apologize,” he says, standing, still chuckling as the very subtle vibration tickled the tender flesh. “I’m a tad overcome. If you will excuse me for a moment.” He stands, giving an awkward bow (he’s not quite gotten hold of the bows, yet) and exiting the room, finding a far more private side hallway before taking out his phone. He was, frankly, rather relieved to leave the table. The British accent required for the retreat was...a struggle to say the least. Not for Mrs. McCleary, who was actually British, or you, who could easily fool anyone with your ‘little talent’. Alex Foster, the young man on the retreat, had a pretty decent accent at times, only struggling here and there with a few words. Spencer’s attempt at the accent is abismal. He assumed accents would be like learning a language, his mouth easily memorizing the space and tongue positioning required for the different sounds, but no such luck. Josefina Delgado is from Puerto Rico, struggling valiantly to work around her own accent in order to speak English, which she actually did beautifully, but the attempt at a British accent left a bit to be desired. Ashley Morrow didn’t even attempt one, nor did Grant Helburn, but Mrs. McCleary didn’t seem to enforce this rule with them. To be fair, she had much more to worry about. 

“Dr. Reid,” Spencer whispers, picking up his phone. 

“Reid,” Hotch says on the other end, “any leads yet?”

“Not much to go on as of yet,” he answers, “though I think we should do a full background check into Grant Helburn, he seems most likely to be the unsub of the guests, anyway. Y/N and I are looking into staff starting tomorrow.”

“Anna Helburn’s husband?” Hotch asks, confused. 

“Yes,” Spencer replies, taking off his jacket, maneuvering the phone as he does so. “He said he stayed on to honor her legacy, but I doubt it.”

“We’ll have Garcia look him up and send it to you,” Hotch agrees. “Anything else we should know?”

“Yeah,” Spencer breathes, allowing his anxiety to take hold. “Um, the only person here who fits his previous victimology is Y/N.”

“Uh-huh,” Hotch concurs. 

“So, either the unsub is going to escalate, or we’re sending Y/N to the wolves,” Spencer continues.

“What are you saying, Reid?” Hotch challenges.

“Well, sir, it’s just that, frankly, I’m not very comfortable with either-”

“Reid. I know, I know this is difficult. But, you are there with your wife. That is the safest we can possibly keep her. We need you two for this. Are you okay to do this, agent?” 

Spencer sucks in a breath, knowing Hotch is right, knowing he’s being difficult, but also knowing that he’s still not thrilled with this situation.  “Yes, of course. Sorry, Hotch. I’ll call you if there are any updates.”

“Good; thank you, Reid. Oh, and Reid?” Hotch adds. “You’re aware you and Y/N are meant to do three tours of the estate as part of a night watch, correct?”

Spencer agrees and says goodbye as you enter, clearly looking for him. “Alright, I’ll talk to you soon. Yeah, goodbye.” He holds his hand out to you, signalling you to cross to him, but you remain near the door, arms crossed over your chest as he says goodbye. He returns his arm to his side, “That was Hotch.”

“Oh,” you sigh, a relieved sounding breath leaving your body. “What did he say?” You’ve dropped the British accent for the time being and Spencer is relieved for the continued break. 

“Nothing much,” he says, curiosity peaked by your sigh of relief. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you deflect, crossing to the halfway point between you two. “Just, um, dinner’s almost done. We’re due in the parlor with the others.”

“Okay,” Spencer mutters, distractedly, closing the distance between you two with a couple of easy strides. “Are you okay?” He cups your face in his hands and you stare up at him, eyes slightly glassy. “Hey...hey, honey, seriously, what’s going-”

“It’s nothing, Spence,” you urge, placing your hands atop his over your cheeks. “Just, um...just...nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Sweetheart,” Spencer contests, moving one hand to your chin, easing it upward slightly to keep you from looking away. “If it’s making you this upset-”

“I’m not upset,” you insist, wrenching out of his grasp and turning to the door. “We’re expected in the parlor-” 

He catches your hand, pulling you back to his chest. “Y/N, why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I could ask you the same question, Spencer,” you remark, quietly, not looking at him. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, inwardly cringing at how overly defensive he sounds.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “Nothing at all. I’m just...I thought...ugh! It’s not Sunday yet and I thought you might-”

“You thought I left the table to talk to Maeve?” Spencer questions pointedly.

“Maybe,” you mumble, crossing your arms as he lets go of you. 

“It isn’t Sunday, why would I-”

“I don’t know, Spence,” you retaliate, a sharper energy imposing itself upon your typically cool and collected tone, “I thought...maybe you were...bored and needed to talk to your new genius friend.” 

“Y/N,” he says, taken aback, “I don’t really call Maeve recreationally.”

“That’s not really what it sounds like,” you counter, quietly. 

“Well,” Spencer starts, “I can assure you that-”

“Spencer, please,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know she’s your friend, I just wish that it didn’t feel like-” You allow a few tears to fall, cutting yourself off. 

“Please, don’t cry, honey,” Spencer urges. “Just tell me what’s on your mind-”

Evelyn McCleary’s head pops through the open doorway, her eyes wide. “Have you seen Josefina?” 

“What?” you cry, whipping around to face Evelyn. 

“Everyone adjourned from the dinner table after you left, Mrs. Percival, but Alex was the only one that showed up to the parlor. I was able to find Grant and Ashley, and now I’ve found the two of you, but I can’t find Josefina,” Evelyn nearly screams, terrified. The two of you look at eachother, you discreetly and quickly wipe away any remaining tears. Time to work; life would have to wait. 

The two of you follow Evelyn, keeping the rest of the guests in the parlor with a security guard (the charade is maintained by the security guard telling the other guests that you two had already retired to your room, now being watched by another security guard), as the three of you search the premises. When you get outside and walk toward the grand pond, you can already see her lifeless body, strapped to the plinth as the three of you cross the wooded area to the pond. The team is called, as is the crime scene unit and Josefina is officially the third victim of this serial killer. Evelyn, shaken terribly by the most recent murder, is sent to her office with Emily and a local police officer. The rest of you debrief with Hotch in the gazebo. 

“He’s escalating,” Spencer states, plainly. “Josefina was a Puerto Rican immigrant in her late thirties, up til now he’s only killed young American women in their mid-twenties.”

“That’s true,” Hotch eyes you carefully before continuing. “But, I think Y/N might be his next target.”

“What?” you cry. “Why?” Spencer wraps his arm around you protectively and, despite the argument of the hour or so before, you don’t pull away. 

“This unsub is insanely meticulous,” Derek replies. “Like, everything in these murders has been down to the letter. He only had about twenty minutes to do this before Evelyn noticed Josefina was gone. She was able to find everyone else-”

“We can’t rule anyone out yet,” JJ asserts. “This unsub works fast. I think this Grant Helburn still seems like the most likely unsub.” 

“Exactly,” Derek agrees. “I bet he only killed Josefina because he couldn’t find Y/N.”

You swallow harshly, but Spencer is the only one that could possibly notice. He’s impossibly proud of you as you clear your throat and add to the profile, “You’re right. He’s a meticulously obsessive sexual sadist, so killing is the only thing to get him off. Once he’d made up his mind to kill today, he would’ve had to follow through with it...even if he couldn’t find his actual target.” Spencer attempts to tighten his hold on you, but you scoot out of it slightly. 

“Okay,” you breathe intensely, determinedly avoiding looking at Spencer. He sighs as quietly as possible, trying to focus on anything but the conversation he’s worried might be waiting for the two of you during night watch. “If you will get the completed profile out to the local officers, Spencer and I will get back into the house. We have our first night watch in 45 minutes.” The team breaks, Derek and Hotch deciding to stakeout on the grounds in case the two of you need back up. You and Spencer head back to the house, pulling your guns and flashlights out of their hiding places as you start your rounds. 

Spencer’s exhausted, so are you. This neverending day, another victim...all of it take over your senses. It isn’t until you finish the assigned three tours of the property and the two of you are heading to your room that Spencer realizes neither of you have spoken in almost four hours. 

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively as he helps you out of your corset. 

“Mmm?” you hum, half asleep as you stand in front of him. You sound so very tired that he decides not to press the issue. 

“Never mind,” he whispers. He finishes undoing your corset and briefly pulls you to him, kissing the back of your neck. Much to his delight, you lean into him, whether from exhaustion or an actual lessening of tension from earlier, he doesn’t care, he thrilled to get to hold you for a moment. “You ready for bed, darling?”

“Never more ready,” you breathe. You’re swaying as the two of you brush your teeth, nearly collapsing by the time you get to your bed. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Spencer mumbles, propping up onto his arm as he watches you fall asleep. “You know I love you, right?” You don’t answer, already asleep. He sighs, the argument from earlier still replaying in his mind. His eyes begin to droop and he’s almost asleep when he feels your head nuzzling into his side. He wraps his arms around you, sighing as he falls asleep, trying to allow the hope your closeness gives him to dissipate his fears.

~~~

He really shouldn’t have left the table at all. Sunday roast dinners were sacred in this household and as part of the retreat. Technically, it was a pretty conspicuous move as well, to excuse himself from the table, but it was time for his weekly appointment with Dr. Donovan, so, at 5:30 on the dot, Spencer stood, excused himself, and exited the table citing the need to “pen a letter”, which was the only excuse he could think of for leaving a Regency dinner table. He didn’t make eye contact with you as he left the table, but he could feel you staring daggers into his back. Things had been more than tense in the week following the murder of Josefina Delgado. If anything, it’d been a week of nothing, both of you were more sure now than ever that the killer was Grant Helburn, but you couldn’t find any solid evidence to back it up. As Spencer started his weekly call with Maeve, he wondered if this would the breaking point. And sure enough, twenty minutes later, he hears the footsteps behind him, and he can feel the fight boiling. 

“Hey, Maeve, I’ll have to call you back later, okay?” Spencer says looking at you standing at the other end of the small hallway. Maeve is saying goodbye and tacking on something about a book, but he can’t be bothered to listen as he stares at you. You had your arms crossed and you weren’t looking at him...and he knew he was in trouble. “Yeah, okay. Bye.” There’s an extremely unpleasant silence. Spencer can almost feel your brain moving. You say that about him all the time, actually, and he always thought you were joking, but he can almost feel the cogs turning, feel the words forming in your mind. 

“So,” he clears his throat, awkwardly, cringing inwardly at the idea of being uncomfortable with his wife. “How was the fish course?”

“Fine,” you bite out, still not looking at him. “How...how is Dr. Donovan?”

“She’s fine,” he replies quietly. He stares at you, mentally begging you to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“It’s not very...um...it’s kind of noticeable for you to leave the table like that,” you whisper, clearly holding back. 

“You left too,” he snaps back. 

“Only to come and find you,” you grit out. “We’re supposed to be...” you look around you, shutting the door behind you and crossing the few feet in between you two. He tries, he really does, to focus on the fact that the two of you are fighting. After your rounds of night watch, the two of you typically collapse into bed in sweats and pajamas. He’s not really had the opportunity, since the dance lesson, at least, to properly observe you in your Jane Austen attire. And you look as stunning as ever. He takes a deep breath to focus as you continue. 

“We’re supposed to be blending in,” you whisper, looking up at him, nostrils slightly flaring. Spencer looks down at his ridiculously uncomfortable attire, his Adam’s apple bobbing over the harsh edge of his tie. He looks back up at you, a slight chuckle huffing out over his lips. 

“How are we not ‘blending in’?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you rasp sarcastically, “maybe because my husband keeps leaving the room to answer his cell phone-”

“It’s for a medical appointment-”

“It’s so you can talk to Maeve! You wouldn’t do this for anyone else!” you nearly scream. Your eyes go wide and you look back at the door. You take a deep breath and look back at him, your voice softening. “Are the headaches back?”

“What? No, you’d know if they-” 

“Oh, would I? Would I get to know? How very novel!” you whisper harshly and  caustically into his face, nearly on your tiptoes with anger. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Spencer is so very confused. You’re angry, but now he knows it isn’t just because he’s being mildly conspicuous. He’s trying to read you, trying desperately to profile you, despite his promises not to. He still doesn’t understand. “Tell me what’s wrong-”

“Why should I tell you what’s wrong with me when you’ve refused to tell me anything for nearly a month!” You’re being loud now, but Spencer doubts you care. You step away from him, pacing, shaking, worrying your hands in front of you. “Do you realize that you haven’t told me anything about this in ages? You only talk to Maeve about this-”

“Now, Y/N, that’s not fair. She’s my doctor. I only tell her that stuff because-”

“Because what?” you scream, exasperated. “Because she’s a genius and I’m not?” 

Spencer is silent, completely dumbfounded. And then you start to cry, huge sobs racking your entire body. He steps toward you, reaching out to comfort you, but you back away. 

“Y/N,” he starts, quietly. “Y/N that’s not-”

“Look,” you rasp, your voice quiet, thick with emotion and exhausted. “It’s no secret that we’re not exactly intellectual equals.”

“Y/N, that has nothing to do with-”

“Please,” you say, finally looking at him, raising a hand in between you to silence him. “Just let me...just let me say this. I’ll only be able to get it out the one time.”

He nods at you, swallowing as lump forms in his throat. His panicking won’t help anything. He’s trying to stay calm, trying not to cry, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. His rolling through conversations with you and Maeve, trying to think around the headaches and the worry. He watches you carefully. It’s taking every bone in his body to give you the space you’ve asked for. He wants to hug you, to correct you, but you clearly want and need to say this to him. You’re taking deep breaths, trying not to cry. You look away from him, your eyes on the floor in front of you. 

“I’m no genius and I know that. I have no hang ups regarding my intelligence, really, I don’t...I thought you didn’t either but...” you turn away, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath again. “I know...I know it must get...boring for you...to live with somebody who isn’t as smart as you are. Tedious, I guess. But, we love each other, right? And...And I really thought...I really thought it didn’t matter?” You look back at him wistfully. “I should say, I really hoped it didn’t matter....because....because you’re it for me, Spencer. And I thought I was...for you, too. But...I’m sure it’s a relief to...have finally found someone who can match you as perfectly as she does.” You let out a huge sigh, a tight smile on your lips, as though determined to remain pleasant. “When we get home...I’ll just...I’ll just stay with Penelope for a while? Or something.”

“Y/N, please, listen to me...that’s not-” Spencer tries to interrupt, but you step back again, sobs still shaking your body. “Y/N, please.”

“No,” you beg, your voice breaking, “no, Spencer, I need to-I need to go talk to someone who isn’t you right now...I just...I need to be alone.” You sniffle and wipe your eyes almost violently, running away, turning the corner before stalking down the next hallway, your footsteps disappearing in the night. 

Spencer stands there completely in shock. Tears are pouring down his face and he doesn’t know when they began to fall. His mind is racing: Who could ever be bored of you? How did I fuck this up so very badly? He suddenly realizes he’s standing in the hallway, not chasing after you like he should be. He braces himself and begins to run, jogging down the hall, hoping his long legs will finally do him some good and that he’ll catch up to you. He rounds the corner, the large Georgian windows casting moonlight into the hallway. He’s halfway down the hall before he realizes...you’re not there. It’s a long hallway, very long, in fact, taking up most of this side of the house, a door at the end leading to the back garden with trails to the gazebo, pond, and greenhouse. 

“Y/N?” he calls, his voice trembling. “Y/N, I’m sorry - I know that...” his voice trails off, an eerie feeling growing in his gut. He steps forward, pulling out his gun and turning on the flashlight, his steps cautious. He follows the hall, his mind desperately trying not to panic. Where is she? The blueprint of the house is clear as day in his mind until his foot steps into something, even through his shoe he can sense the change in texture. He looks down, his heart dropping as the moon allows the viscous liquid to shine red. Blood. 

And he’s taking off, running down the hall. The door at the end is ajar. He should never have left the dinner table. Should never have answered his phone. Shouldn’t even have had his phone with him. The unsub knew he was gone from the table and had found you vulnerable and alone. His phone is out and at his ear, his mind only recognizing that he’s called Derek when his voice is asking him what’s wrong. 

“What’s up, Pretty Boy?” Derek asks. Spencer’s panting so hard he can’t answer. “Reid? Reid? Reid, what’s wrong?”

“He got her,” Spencer manages to choke out, tears he wasn’t aware of still flowing out of him. “Y/N...she’s...something’s wrong. There’s blood and the door’s open and...and-”

“Okay, okay, Reid, we’re here okay. We’ll be there in-”

“I’m going to find her, she’ll be at the plinth,” he rattles off, knowing, hating how right he is. If the unsub is following the pattern, which - God knows - the meticulous bastard will be, Spencer’s going to find his wife being murdered on a plinth in the middle of the grand pond. 

“Reid, don’t go alone, we are literally-”

“I’m not going to let this bastard kill my wife, Morgan!” He hangs up, running out the door, taking the middle trail towards the pond. 

He’s running out of time. This guy works fast. Meaning you don’t have much time. Meaning Spencer doesn’t have much time to get to you. He hears something, a muffled cracking sound, far in the distance. He prays, for the first time in his life, he prays it’s a bird, a bear, anything, anything but you. His heart is plummeting, gone for good, he’s sure of it. He’s running, the pond never seeming so far away, the dappled moonlight through the trees making him feel exposed and awkward instead of comforted by the light. There’s drips of blood on the paved road, a dragged bit running toward the grass towards the pond. 

Spencer darts through the trees in the little wooded area, not caring or thinking much of subtlety, all his FBI training borderline being thrown out the window. Then he hears it: footsteps. A staggered, panting breathing that isn’t his own. A cold, calculated feeling drips through his veins. Spencer pauses, darting behind a tree, as Grant Helburn’s shadowed figure comes into view. 

“FBI!” Spencer shouts, pointing his gun and flashlight at the man. Spencer is suddenly thankful for his FBI training - Grant is covered in blood. And he doesn’t look scared, or caught. He’s smiling. The bastard is smiling. And you’re nowhere to be seen. 

“How’s the missus?” Grant asks, hands up, the smug grin curling cruelly on his lips. 

“Better than you’ll ever be,” Spencer practically spits at him. He’s trying, desperately, to maintain some sense of professionalism. It’s barely working. He can feel the anger growing inside him, but it isn’t boiling, as all the books said it would be. It’s cold and dark. For the first time in his life, Spencer would be thrilled to kill this man. Thrilled to see him writhe on the ground in pain as he breathed his last and bled out into nothing. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Grant replies, quietly, but loud enough for Spencer to hear it. “She’s got quite a mouth on her, I’ll give you that. Didn’t think you’d be one to go for the feisty type. Big waste of air, if you ask me. She’ll run out soon if she isn’t careful.” 

Something’s bothering Spencer. It’s eating away at the back of his mind, gnawing at his control. Why would Grant leave the scene? As a sadist...he watches torture to get off...he wouldn’t leave...unless...unless you were already dead. Spencer’s finger ghosts over the trigger, almost getting the nerve. There’s no reason to shoot him. Grant has no weapon, he isn’t approaching Spencer, or even threatening him- 

As if on cue, Derek Morgan practically jumps out from behind Grant, knocking him to the ground and straddling his back, pulling him into handcuffs in almost one move. 

“Go get your girl, Reid!” Derek yells over Grant’s muffled grunts. And Spencer’s off again, running faster than he knew he could. Everything is motion. Everything is movement and speed. He’s running and panting, running to the plinth and...

You’re dead. For sure, you’re dead. 

“No...no....no, no, no, no,” Spencer rasps, ripping painfully tight wires from your wrists and one from your neck with his bare hands. His fingers are bloody, but he doesn’t care. You’re not moving, not breathing from what he can tell. You’re almost blue. He presses his fingers to your pulse. It’s faint. So faint it could go away at any moment, but there is one. You’re so cold it’s scary. “Baby, baby...please...” You don’t move. There’s blood running down the side of your face and bruises all over your wrists and neck. Your knuckles are red from where you’d fought back. He calls into his intercom, “Medic, get a medic now! She has a pulse get me a damn medic.” He’s crying, so much so he can barely see. He presses a kiss into your forehead and it’s so very cold that another sob wrenches from his throat. “Help, somebody! PLEASE!” 

~~~

The hospital is cold. Absolutely freezing, really. It has to be for Spencer to be as entirely numb as he feels. He’s been staring at the carpet square in front of him for exactly forty seven minutes and thirty two seconds. He’s counted the triangles in the pattern eighty four times. There are forty nine of them. He’s questioned why there’s an uneven number, running concepts of it through his brain, coming up with at least sixteen reasons the carpet designer would’ve made such a strange choice. He’s only thought once about moving to a different carpet square, but the second he tried that, his mind switched to thoughts of you. So, no, he has to stay on this one in front of him. So that he doesn’t think of you. Doesn’t focus on how you looked, head still bleeding, arms covered in scratches, wrists nearly bloody from where you’d been tied down, neck bruised from the rope that had restrained you. He has to focus on this so that he doesn’t remember how cold you felt, how blue your skin looked. How hard it was for you to breathe. How...how very near death you looked. 

He hadn’t been allowed to ride in the ambulance with you. Hotch had borderline insisted, actually, that he not go with you, and the paramedics insisted there wasn’t room. Hotch drove him, not speaking, but speeding as quickly and as safely as he could to the hospital. Once they got there, you were already hooked up to oh so many machines. The moment he’d walked in the door of your room, Spencer had nearly collapsed, overwhelmed by the sheer bleakness of it all. You were still out. Still asleep. The doctors said you were fine, you’d make a full recovery, but you were still asleep. Hotch greeted the rest of the team when they arrived, most of them were in the cafeteria, while JJ and Emily had gone back to the station to wrap things up. 

“Here.” A coffee cup is being held in front of his face, the fingers holding the cup featuring the bright pink nail polish of Penelope Garcia. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking the cup. He doesn’t drink it. He’s worried he might vomit if he does. 

“She’s okay, you know? She’s strong, Y/N...” Penelope says, clearly trying not to cry herself. 

“Yeah...yeah she is,” Spencer rasps, his voice gravelly from lack of use since screaming and crying over your injured body only a few hours before. “She...um...we’re...” His voice trails off as his eyes fill with tears again. 

“It’s okay, kid,” Derek’s voice interrupts. He finally looks up. Garcia is sitting across from him in another one of the plastic waiting room chairs. Derek goes and sits next to her. Both of them are staring at him, eyes filled with worry and concern. His phone buzzes in his pocket. A continuous buzz meaning it’s a phone call. Numbly, he pulls his phone out, not even looking at the name on the caller ID. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he answers, his voice barely registering with his body. 

“Spencer?” Maeve’s voice says through the line. “Are you okay?”

“H-Hi, Maeve,” Spencer breathes. “Um...I’m...I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh my God, are you alright?” Maeve panicks on the other end. 

“Yeah, I’m-I’m fine...I mean...no. Um, Y/N....she, uh....” He looks up, only to see Penelope practically stabbing him with her eyes and Derek looking at him, mildly confused and digusted. His conversation with you is replaying in his mind so loudly that he can’t focus. The panic in Maeve’s voice for him...she...she knows they’re just friends...right? Suddenly, he feels dirty. He feels sick. “I can’t talk right now, Maeve, I’ll...um...I think we shouldn’t...uh, I have to go. Bye.” He hangs up without getting a response from Maeve. There’s an awkward pause following the click of his phone, the sound almost ringing in the air. 

“So,” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, “that’s Maeve.” She says her name like it’s an illness. 

“What do you know about Maeve?” Spencer asks, trying not to sound offended. 

“I know that Y/N came into my office two weeks ago crying about the fact that her husband is cheating on her,” Penelope whisper yells. 

“What the fuck, Pretty Boy?” Derek chokes on his coffee. “Do we need to take this outside?”

“No! No, oh my God! I would never...is that what Y/N thinks is happening?” Spencer’s eyes are wide and his heart is racing now. You think he’s cheating on you. You could’ve died and you think he’s cheating on you. He’s desperately trying to keep his anxiety at bay, trying not to spiral.

“Maybe not cheating physically,” Penelope relents, still staring daggers at him. “But, maybe...emotionally? I don’t know, all I know is that Y/N said she feels like you’re not communicating with her anymore; that you’re pouring your heart out to this Maeve woman over the phone every Sunday-”

“I tell Y/N everything,” Spencer rasps, his mind combing through the conversations he’s had with Maeve, trying to pick apart the social intricacies he knows he doesn’t quite fully understand, the things he could’ve missed. 

“Then why didn’t she know about the...the um, shoot,” Penelope briefly falters. “It’s a ‘sporadic shot’ of um-”

“Oh, I take a sporadic shot of B2 in addition to the other supplements Maeve prescribed,” Spencer finishes. “Did I not tell Y/N about that?”

“Apparently not,” Penelope snaps. 

“I mean,” Spencer tries to reason, both with Penelope and himself, “I mean it’s just an extra supplement-”

“But you didn’t tell your wife?” Derek asks, rejoining the conversation for the first time. “Who is this Maeve woman anyway?”

“She’s...she’s a geneticist,” Spencer replies, quietly. “She’s like...my doctor? I guess. She had to help me with...something.” He’s reluctant to talk about his medical struggles, even with Derek and Penelope. But, he’s a bit mortified. How did he not realize that you were so upset about this? How had he not realized that he was telling Maeve about this and cutting you out of it? 

“Something Y/N knows about?” Derek asks, eyebrow still raised.

“Well, yeah,” Spencer defends, “but...I don’t know, I guess once I started talking to Maeve about it-”

“You cut Y/N off entirely?” Penelope snarks. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Well, you did, genius,” Penelope huffs, “and now she’s terrified that you’re going to leave her.”

“I would never, ever leave my wife,” Spencer begins, trying not to cry, “I wouldn’t be leaving my wife for my geneticist if that’s what you’re implying,” he answers, the spite in his voice burning the lump in his throat. 

“But?” Penelope pushes.

“But what?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, 187,” Penelope replies with more malice than Spencer thought she could manage. “If you’re going to hurt Y/N, you’d better have a damn good reason and it better not be another woman because I swear on every unicorn in my batcave that will kill you myself.” 

Spencer swallows, taken aback at the seriousness of her tone. He shifts in his seat awkwardly, picking at a loose string on the FBI jacket he’s pulled on over his regency garb. Jacket and cravat long disposed of, the tight pants, boots, and large, open collared white shirt don’t exactly scream FBI, but he couldn’t be bothered less. “Maeve has almost nothing to do with this.” 

“She’s got something to do with it,” Penelope jabs, folding her arms and looking away in a huff.

“She’s my doctor, Garcia,” Spencer attempts to reason, cringing when his voice sounds as pathetic as his argument.

“It’s not entirely ridiculous for your wife to be concerned about weekly phone calls with another woman, Reid,” Morgan jumps in. “What do you guys talk about anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer sighs, combing a hand through his hair. “Treatments, support, status, improvements, declines...that kind of stuff.”

“There’s gotta be more than that, kid,” Derek pushes. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks, knowing what the answer is. 

“It’s enough for Y/N to tell me that she might have to come and stay with me,” Garcia answers, not looking at him, clearly still peeved. 

“What? When did she tell you that?” Spencer asks, his eyes widening.

“About a week ago,” Garcia challenges, “so let’s just stop pretending that you and Maeve are just swapping medical facts, okay? Something’s got to be going on for Y/N to give up on you.”

“I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Spencer blurts before he can stop himself. There’s a painful silence. 

“What do you mean, Reid?” Derek finally asks, cutting the tension. 

“I started talking to Maeve because...I was having these headaches. Migraines, really. They’ve stopped for the most part now. They were painful and insane, I could barely open my eyes some days. I went to loads of doctors, got scans done, the lot of it, and no one could tell me anything. I actually snapped at a doctor because he suggested...he suggested it was because of the schizophrenia running in the family and...yeah. Anyway, it was actually...it was actually Y/N who suggested talking to a geneticist. She found Maeve and sent her my scans and...then Maeve called to talk about them. That’s it, that’s all, I swear!” He looks up to both Derek and Penelope staring at him, an unreadeable expression on Derek’s face and a still-angry one on Penelope’s.

“That doesn’t explain why Y/N would be upset,” Penelope insists, staring him down. “So, stop lying and tell us what you really talk about with Maeve.” 

“I mean...I mean...we’re friendly,” Spencer argues. “We greet each other and talk about books we’re reading. She read one of my papers, actually, and asked some questions and-”

“I see,” Derek says, quietly. “So, she flattered you?”

“I mean,” Spencer thinks about it, “I guess so. But, nothing...I don’t have feelings for Maeve. At all. Like, she’s barely a friend, I don’t know her. I’ve never even seen her. We only talk on the phone.”

“Then why would you ever break up with Y/N?” asks an absolutely exasperated Penelope. 

“I don’t want to break up with Y/N,” Spencer sighs, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I don’t want to. I love her...more than anything, but what if...what if...” he wipes off his cheek and looks up at the two of them. “What if I get Alzheimer’s? What if I have schizophrenia? What if I can’t take care of myself? What if, one day, I wake up and I can’t...I can’t remember...anything?”

“Y/N wouldn’t...that girl would love you even if you forgot her name-”

“I might,” Spencer bites out. “I might forget her, Derek, I might forget everybody. And you-you don’t...none of you have any idea how that feels-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, you absolute idiot!” Garcia screams, standing and staring him down. He recoils a bit, alarmed at how angry she looks. “Do you not think Y/N is aware of that? She knows exactly what she signed up for.”

“Knowing my mom has schizophrenia and dealing with the fact that I might have it are very different things-”

“Oh my God, Reid! For a genius you can really be the dumbest person sometimes! Y/N loves you. Like, really loves you. So, yeah, she knows all about the schizophrenia. She knows about the Alzheimer’s. She also knows about the former drug addiction, and the rambling, and the insomnia, and the askew ties, and the slight germophobia and you know what? She still loves you! What part of ‘in sickness and in health’ isn’t clicking in that big brain of yours? It wouldn’t matter if you turned into a human vegetable, that girl would still love you. She loves you like...it’s...do you even...” She looks away, clearly trying not to cry. “The kind of love that you two have? It’s like...the kind of love people dream about. And, look, I know...I know that your mom...the conditions that run in your family, hell, the kind of mind you possess isn’t exactly something we can all relate to, but, son of a bitch, Spencer.” She looks at him again, tears running her mascara. “Don’t ruin the best thing that ever happened to you over something so trivial as an ‘if’. I’ll most certainly never forgive you, but you won’t be able to forgive yourself, either.” 

And with that bombshell, Garcia turns on her spiky pink heel and exits towards the cafeteria. The silence following her heels is deafeaning. Spencer can feel the lump in his throat and, as much as he attempts to swallow around it, he can feel the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

“She’s right, you know-”

“Yes, thank you, Derek. I know,” Spencer mumbles. Finally standing, he looks towards Derek, not able to make eye contact, “I’m gonna...I’m gonna go sit with Y/N. I don’t know when she’ll wake up, but I...I wanna be there.” Derek nods and Spencer crosses to your hospital room, still unable to look directly at Derek. He sighs as he enters, looking at your sleeping form. You look almost peaceful, a little bit of life coming back into your face. He sits in the chair next to your bed, taking one of your hands in his own. 

“Hey...” Spencer whispers, cringing a little bit at his awkward greeting. “That was a stupid way to start this conversation, wasn’t it? At least that’s what you’d say...probably.” He stares at you, wishing you were awake, wishing you could say something, or laugh at him or tease him or anything. “Please wake up, baby, please. There are so many things I want to tell you. There are so many things we haven’t done yet. And the first thing I have to do is...say I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I promise, I swear Maeve means nothing to me. I’ve just...” He looks up at the ceiling the florescent lights burning. He lets it burn just a second longer than he usually would. Spencer closes his eyes, dropping his head and squeezing your hand between both of his. He keeps his eyes on your hands, pecking a kiss to your knuckles before continuing. “I love you...I love you so very much. And it...it’s...when the headaches started I-I got...I was just so scared. I’ve never...when schizophrenia hits, you’re supposed to have breakdowns in your mid-20s and...I thought I’d made it through that. I avoided that. But, when the headaches started...it was like...it found me. Like I couldn’t hide from it anymore. And just the idea of...my mind...my stupid brain getting in the way. I just...the idea that...that I could lose you...not because of our jobs, not because of a fight or something stupid I’d done, but because...because of my own mind, I...” He can barely see anymore as the tears start to fall. “I don’t want to live a life without you. Ever. And if I...if I forgot you...I didn’t want to talk to you about it again until it was fixed...until it was over b-because, I didn’t want you to know that I could lose you forever without ever leaving your side. I didn’t want to face the fact that I could lose you."

He’s fully sobbing now, laying his head on the edge of your hospital bed, allowing the tears to overwhelm him. Suddenly, his mind is clinging to everything he knows about you, as though desperate. Your scent, your smile, your voice. The rush is so intense that he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Your hands are cold,” you breathe, shifting ever so slightly, but keeping your eyes closed. “I know that’s what they say in the Pride and Prejudice movie, but your hands are actually cold.”

“Sweetheart,” Spencer gasps, “hey...hey.” He stands awkwardly, running a hand down the side of your face as though you’re the most fragile thing on the face of the earth. Like you could break at any moment, which he’s afraid to admit, but he’s worried you might. He tenderly presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll call the nurse.” He aims for the button to call and you lift your hand shakily, tenderly placing it on his arm. Spencer stops and looks down at you. Your eyes are open, though the light is clearly hurting them and you’re staring up at him in awe. 

“I didn’t think,” you whisper, your voice raw, “I’d make it this time. Can I just look at you...for a second?” His heart sinks in his chest because, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was worried you wouldn’t make it either. 

“I would never let that happen, ever,” he insists, pressing another kiss to your forehead. He sits back down on the edge of his seat, trying to calm down for you, his hands finding yours again. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut before opening them again, blinking into the light and looking at Spencer. He’s quite sure he’s never been happier to see a pair of eyes. “How are you?”

“Fine?” he chuckles breathily, “are you sure?”

“Well,” you groan, attempting to move, only for Spencer to halt your movements gently and adjust your bed slightly until you look more comfortable, so that you’re sitting up more. “As fine as I can be after being knocked out by a middle aged man twice and being strapped down to a piece of concrete in the middle of a pond.” You finally look at him again, taking a deep breath. “Also, I don’t know if you know this, but I got into a really stupid fight with my husband before all that happened.”

Spencer stares back at you, pursing his lips while a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I did know that.” He uses one of his hands to wipe away some of the remnants of the tears on his face. “How much did you hear of what I said?”

“Enough,” you whisper, your eyes glassy. “But, Spence- there’s no...there’s no denying that...” You cut off looking down at your hands.

“What is it, honey?” Spencer asks. “Talk to me.”

“I should say the same to you, Spencer,” you mutter pointedly, a mournful smile toying at the corners of your mouth.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he begins. “I should’ve-I should’ve talked to you...I should’ve...”

“I think it’s fairly obvious we both should’ve talked to each other,” you bite out, groaning a little bit. It takes him a millisecond to realize it’s from the pain not the discussion. He jumps into action, standing up next to you.

“Sweetheart, please, don’t over exert yourself.” He goes to hit the button for the nurse, but you keep hold of his hand.

“No, Spencer, I’m fine,” you insist. “Seriously.��� He sits back down, choosing to, gingerly, sit next to you on the bed. “It’s hard to watch your husband drifting away from you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. I trust you, I trust you implicitly, really, and I doubt you’re cheating on me or anything like that, but it’s hard...it’s hard to watch your husband grow closer to someone who seems made for him. There’s no denying that...I’m not as smart as you-”

“Y/N,” Spencer says, releasing your hands to take a hold of your face. You stare up at him, your eyes so very sad that he can hardly continue. He leans his forehead against yours, oh so gently. “Aside from the fact that I believe you’re absolutely brilliant all on your own, it wouldn’t matter if you weren’t. I love you. I love you for who you are. I love you because...because you make the world feel peaceful when it’s chaotic and easy when it’s complicated. And no one else makes me feel that way.”

“Then why did you stop talking to me about the headaches?” you push, staring up at him, your eyes searching his.

“You know how you were worried you’re not smart enough for me?” he breathes. “I’m terrified that, at any moment, I could lose you too. And I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case treatments with Maeve didn’t work...and I was more relieved than I should’ve been to have an outlet for my fears. And I am so, so sorry.” With that finally off of his chest, he feels lighter than he has in months. He looks down at you again, a small smile playing on your mouth as you reach up a shaky hand and caress the side of his neck gently. 

“Honey,” you begin in a hushed whisper, more intimacy than pain now, “I know. I know what could happen and I worry about it too, but...no one can know what will happen. And, what’s that thing you said when you proposed? Our lifetime is such a tiny percentage of time that-”

“We shouldn’t waste it,” Spencer finishes, looking down at you in awe. You smile back at him, eyes glassy. 

“Please, please don’t push me away again,” you plead softly. “I don’t want to live a life without you either. And I mean all of it. Every single bit. Even if it’s bad or scary. We have to do this together.” 

Spencer runs his thumb along your jaw, his forehead still pressed against yours, “I love you. I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, a tear falling down your cheek. “And I’m sorry, too.” Another tear falls and Spencer pulls away from your forehead, keeping his hands on your face. 

“Hey,” Spencer chuckles lightly, wiping your cheek. “Hey. No more tears in this household. I’m placing a moratorium on crying until at least next week.”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle airily, reaching up to wipe off a tear he didn’t even know was there.

“You see?” he teases, again sitting on the side of your bed in the crook of your hip. “I think we were made for each other.” 

You smile at him, the first real smile you’ve smiled in months. There’s a strange romance to this moment. The two of you sitting in the fluorescent quiet of the hospital, finally understanding each other fully and truly. Spencer sighs happily, taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles before saying, “I do love you rather ardently, you know?”

You giggle and lean forward, kissing him deeply. Spencer pulls back a moment later, only a tad confused with himself. 

“It’s ‘most ardently’, isn’t it? That’s the line,” he corrects himself.

“I kind of prefer your way of saying it,” you amend, pulling Spencer back in for another kiss. 

~ “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” - Jane Austen ~