#thanks so much to everybody who reached out to send me a kind message today 💕 i really needed it and it helped me keep the anxiety control

[curioscurio]

OKAY I was finally able to get my depression meds refilled after 4 days of horrible withdrawal symptoms. if you can help it do not ever fucking miss more than 2 doses of effexor. that shit had me personally pissed off at a piece of paper falling from the fridge like it did it on purpose and then triggered a meltdown crying for being so mean to the paper . 5 mins later im convinced my cruel and aggressive reaction to the paper making a mistake means im a toxic person and all my friends hate me.

and then the paper falls off the fridge AGAIN because I used the shitty magnet instead of the good one. cue sobbing. such is life

[kirishimaswife2819]

Emergency Request: Hi Danielle :/ First, I just want to apologize for sending in an emergency request. I honestly thought that I’d never need to send one in. I know how many requests you already have piling up and now you’re going to have even more with your new prompts. I also know you’re having a hard time finding the motivation to write requests so sorry for giving you more work. I’m honestly just feeling really horrible at the moment. It’s my birthday today and only one of my friends remembered. (Idk maybe I’m just weird about this but receiving that 12am message from friends just makes me so happy and makes me feel important and appreciated) but this year only one of my friends remembered and I’m just feeling really unimportant—if that makes sense. Also my aunt who was like a mother to me passed away last month and it’s on days like these when I really just remember her and miss her so much. I’ve been crying for the past few hours and the tears just WONT STOP. MY GOSH. anyway, I was wondering if you could write something for me with Bakugou regarding this? Comfort and fluff please. It’s okay if you can’t tho! I completely understand, you’re busy and everything. I won’t be mad 🥺💖 I just thought I’d give it a try. As rude and loud Bakugou is, he’s my comfort character so I thought maybe he could help me 💖.

How They Comfort Their S/o When Their Friends Forget Their Birthday || Bakugou

Masterlist 1 || Masterlist 2

↠Author’s Note: Don’t apologize, it’s alright! Happy (probably late) birthday!! I’m sorry that happened :( I hope you feel better soon/now! Ty for requesting! I hope these help!! -Danielle <3

↠Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

↠Summary: Katsuki’s reaction when he walks in on you crying, on your birthday, because your friends forgot

↠Genre: Comfort/fluff

↠Word Count: 900

↠Warnings: Kinda toxic friends, ig?

↠Notes: None

This man is going to be absolutely pissed that everybody besides him, some of the 1-A students, and like one of your other friends forgot your birthday

Most of the students of the class didn’t know it was your birthday, only a few that paid good attention did and they all wished you a happy birthday and then everybody else did as well, since they heard the others doing it

But you had school that day, so Bakugou couldn’t really take you anywhere special, but he did buy you a gift and take you out for dinner that night

Yet, when you came home, you came to the realization that barely anybody remembered your birthday, including your friends outside of U.A., and you knew that you shouldn’t really care, considering how the members of class 1-A remembered

But it still kind of hurt when you came to realization that only one of your friends remembered

The same friend stopped by early in the morning to give you a gift, since they also had to get to school, but they promised that they’d hang out with you when they got the chance to

It also didn’t help that you had remembered all of your friends birthdays, but they hadn’t remembered yours

For about ten minutes, you sat there, trying to convince yourself that they just had a bad memory, or that they just didn’t look at the date that day, but the more you thought about it, the more convinced you got that they simply didn’t care

For example, if you couldn’t remember a birthday of someone you cared about, then you put it in your phone and put a reminder a few days ahead so you would remember to get them a gift (I do this, it took my friends about ten times of telling me their birthdays before I finally remembered them but even then I don’t pay attention to dates so I put them in my phone)

Anyway, so when Bakugou came into the room to give you a late birthday gift, and you were sobbing while hugging your stuffed animal, at first he was super concerned but after you told him the reason why you were upset he was concerned and absolutely pissed

Like it took every bone in his body for him not to get up to go yell at (and beat up) some dumb ‘extras’ for upsetting you on your birthday

And then when you explained that you were extra upset because of your aunt passing about a month ago, he got even more pissed off at them for forgetting

He still remembered the day that your aunt passed away (and the days that followed), you didn’t want to leave your room and you didn’t want to let anybody in, until finally Bakugou convinced you to let him in so that he could help you, and then he spent the rest of that night comforting you and making sure that you felt better

Anyway, back to the main subject, he literally had to take a minute to step out of your room so he didn’t blow up on you, when he was supposed to be comforting you

He took a few minutes to calm himself, before stepping back into the room and approaching you again

He didn’t say anything and instead pulled you into his arms, letting you sob into his chest until you got it all out, while either gently rubbing your arms, back, or head

Finally, after you cried it all out, he started talking

He hadn’t wanted to talk while you were crying because 1. If you started to say something, he didn’t want to talk over you, and 2. He wanted to give you all the time that you needed to cry, before he gave you his opinion and thoughts on the situation

“Look, babe, they’re just a bunch of dumb, useless extras,” Katsuki started

“Katsuki, don’t talk about them like that, they-”

“Don’t interrupt me, it’s true. Anybody who doesn’t care enough to remember the day that you were born is a useless extra,” Bakugou said, “And don’t you dare go and beat yourself up because they’re a bunch of jerks.”

You didn’t reply, and Katsuki didn’t say anymore and instead a comfortable silence filled the room and you allowed Katsuki to continue holding you

But the silence was broken about ten minutes later, by Katsuki

“I got you a gift,” he said, and you sat up, starting at him, waiting for him to give it to you

He gestured forward, and then you noticed the nearly flat, but tall and wide item that was wrapped in blue paper

You reached forward, and felt the paper, and you could tell that it was obviously a photo frame

After tearing the paper off, you got a good look at the photo, it was actually from the two of you that same day, when you two were eating dessert at the restaurant he took you to

“Thank you,” you said, smiling and setting it on your nightstand, so that you could hang it up tomorrow. Then you threw yourself back into his arms, cuddling into his chest, “Love you, Katsu.”

“Love you too, baby,” he replied, as you started to fall asleep, “Happy birthday.”

[suneatersupportsquad]

red handed; colby brock

request:  im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons​

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.” 

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

.x

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 13:

Gif credit: @hqtchner

A/N: I toyed with several ideas for this one, but I wanted the reader to be strong in her own right which is why this takes the direction it does.

Warnings: Strong depictions of violence, assault, blood, vomiting. Graphic injury, choking, gun violence.

———

“What you remember saves you.” - W.S Merwin

———

“You don’t like what I’ve done with the place?” 

“Jordan.” You breathe. “What did you do?” 

His jaw sets. His expression goes from glee to fury and he’s next to you in a flash, nose to nose, dragging your head back by the hair on the nape of your neck. A wince escapes your mouth when the pulling sends a sting up your scalp. 

“What do you mean, what did I do? Isn’t it obvious?” He sneers, punctuating his words with another pull of your hair. 

You cry out in pain, your neck straining. The rabid look in his eyes and his bared teeth send shivers down your spine.

He continues, “I made sure you were going to stay all...mine.” He whispers, releasing his grip, smoothing the top of your head. “Isn’t it sweet? I did it all so I could have you all to myself… and instead of thanking me, you’re acting like you’re above me. Like you always do. Maybe I need to teach you how to be grateful-” 

“I’ll be grateful.” You offer in a quick breath. “I mean- I am. I am grateful. I was just so…” You swallow thickly, tearing your eyes away from the pictures, “Surprised that you did all this. For me.” You fight the tears pricking your eyes. 

“You mean that?” 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “Yes. I do.” 

“Good. Y’know all I ever wanted was us to be together? When you broke up with me, I admit, I was angry. I thought you were fucking somebody else.” He paces the length of the room and that’s when your gaze falls to the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “But I realised you couldn’t possibly.”

You brace yourself when his gaze falls to his handiwork on the walls. 

“But then…” He inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I saw you with him.” His volume rises steadily. “I send you gifts, I send you letters, I give you clues, I even draw blood for you and you repay me by parading around another man?!” 

You cry out when he delivers a blow to the left side of your face, a crack resounding in the room. Your skin blisters red hot where he strikes you, you swear he’s torn open some skin on your cheek. It sends your head spinning, you figure you’re already nursing a concussion, this just makes it worse. 

“That’s not-”

“Don’t you interrupt me.” He spits, his face close enough for you to smell the bourbon on his breath. “You had him come to my house today, try to scare me? He thinks he’s a big powerful man, FBI… that badge doesn’t mean shit, he doesn’t know who I am.” 

“Jordan-”

“What was it about him anyway? You could’ve had me, you know, we could’ve been a dynasty.” He’s grandstanding. Always did have a problem with his fragile ego. He turns his back to you, scanning the pictures on the wall. “He’ll get what’s coming to him. I’m having it taken care of.” He mutters.

Your blood runs cold. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re not stupid, you couldn’t possible have thought that I’d let him live?” 

Your heart skips. The ‘other guy’ that was to be taken care of - Hotch.

“Jordan, no. It wasn’t like that, I swear.” He turns slowly, rage behind his eyes that’s only thinly veiled by a psychotic smile. “There’s nothing between us! Please don’t do this. I’m begging you, don’t do this.” You plead.

“Why do you care?”

“-What?”

“Why… do you… care?” His eyes are fanatical, nostrils flared. “If nothing happened between you, why do you care what happens to him?” 

You know why now.

“Because I don’t want anyone to die! Him, Emily, anybody! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You stutter through your sobs. “Please don’t do this.” 

“You don’t want him to die? How stupid do you think I am?” He grabs the back of your head and directs you to a picture of you and Hotch on the gazebo - the day you’d met. “You look at him like that because he’s a friend?” He spits. 

He’s right, though - that’s the thing. 

You don’t know how you didn’t realise sooner, how you didn’t see it sooner. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t see your own face when you were around him, but the way you look at him, your smile. 

You don’t think you’ve looked at anybody like that before. 

Tears roll down your cheeks now, eyes welling over. 

He smooths over your hair, straightening out his own shirt. “I will make it quick though. Humane. I owe him that much.” 

“What?” 

“I owe him. How do you think you got here?” When you can’t formulate the words he continues, “Hm, let me spell it out for you.” He continues his rapid pacing, fingers compulsively scratching his neck. “We break up, you betray me, so I leave the country. I come back, try to get you back, you betray me, again. FBI man comes into the picture, his girlfriend feels neglected, said girlfriend then conveniently runs into me at a bar after an argument, confides in me and starts sleeping with me. She’s a real peach, though. Total Type-A, wouldn’t let me fuck her raw.” He adds, rolling his eyes. 

You feel nauseous. 

You wonder if Hotch knows. 

He goes on, “I fuck her, she tells me everything I want to know. Including the fact that she thought he was cheating on her.” He laughs bitterly. “I thought we might have had something when you called me a few months ago, remember that? That was a good time.” Your stomach turns when you think back to the worst mistake you’d ever made. “But then you stopped taking my calls, I put two together from there, figured you were fucking him. I knew then that he had to die.” He rolls his eyes. 

His smile reveals a row of eerily straight teeth but there’s nothing behind his eyes except a sick kind of glee. 

“It wasn’t like that, I swear to you, he never touched me.” You plead with him, desperately. You reckon with the fact that if you couldn’t regain control of this situation, Hotch would die. “Look, I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” 

“I swear. Anything. Just call it off, please.” He considers your statement for a moment, kneeling down between your knees again. He makes a point to flash you his gun, the silver glinting, before reaching for a switchblade that’s tucked into his back pocket. You flinch when he brings it purposely closer to you but he cuts you free. 

“I’m going to test you. Stay here with me. You run, I kill him.” He lays the knife flat against your bruised cheek, “Then I kill you.” He whispers. You wince when the sharp edge breaks a thin layer of skin and you feel a warm trail of blood on your cheek. 

You nod desperately, agreeing. “I swear. I’ll do anything, just call it off.” 

Just as he finishes cutting you free, his phone vibrates against the wooden table under the window. He excuses himself, face lighting up for a moment. You try your best to hear, but the voice on the other end is indistinguishable. 

Jordan’s responses are short. 

“Fitz.”

“Hello?” He presses the phone closer to his ear. “Lawrence? It’s done?” He smiles at the response from the other side. 

“30 minutes.” He hangs up and rattles off a quick text message before setting the phone down again. 

He sighs, concealing his unhinged glee when he turns to look at you. “Bad news babe.” He says tutting, knowingly with a disturbing smile. “I know I said I’d call it off but,” he waves the phone in the air, “it’s already done. Your friend, Aaron?”

Oh please, no. Don’t say it. 

“He’s dead.” 

———

Once the first bang reverberates in the nurses’ station, time seems to move in slow motion. McCall yells for everybody to get down, cocking his gun. Panic erupts for a moment before everybody falls to the ground, the first shot already fired. 

Where it comes from, who fires first, it isn’t clear, the whole thing in reality is over in a matter of seconds but time still seems to stop. 

Now, McCall kneels over a dead body, hyper-aware of eyes on him, “He’s gone.” He whispers. 

A hand grips his shoulder from behind as he stares down at the corpse in front of him laying in a pool of blood, three bullet holes in the chest. 

His ears still ring. 

“Hey. Emily’s fine. I had two cops posted outside her door.” He turns to find Hotch, who can’t tear his eyes away from Officer Lawrence’s dead body in front of them. 

They’re about to let medical personnel clear out the area and wheel him away in a body bag when Hotch spots something in Lawrence’s scrub pockets. 

“Wait! Hold it a sec?” He asks, retrieving a piece of paper and cellphone from Lawrence. They make their way back to Emily’s hospital room in unison.

McCall looks at him, puzzled. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, why?”

“That was the first person you ever shot, right? He’s dead. You’re allowed to not be okay.” 

“I’m fine - I need to focus. I need to get her back.” He’d be lying if he said his hands weren’t trembling but he has more pressing matters on his hand. The need to get you back safe and sound outweighs any personal conflict for him. He unfolds the piece of paper, muttering aloud a series of numbers. “It’s a phone number. What’d you wanna bet it’s Jordan?” He does a double take when he sees his own name written in capital letters on the other side of the paper, passing it to McCall. 

“Some vendetta, hm? He was sent to kill you.” McCall takes the phone from Hotch and starts to dial when Hotch places a stalling arm on his. 

“Wait.”

He dials Garcia’s number deftly, asks her to search for a location on the number before they call it, but to his disappointment, it’s a prepaid. He then has Garcia set up a track and trace before he lets McCall dial the number.

“Ready, Garcia?” 

The phone rings three times before it’s answered, Jordan’s voice curt and straight to the point, assuming it’s Lawrence. Hotch can hear Garcia’s typing and beeping but when McCall doesn’t say anything, Jordan takes matters into his own hands. 

“It’s done?” Jordan asks outright. 

“Yes.” McCall replies with little inflection, keeping his voice even so as to not arouse suspicion. Jordan gives McCall a time - 30 minutes, before snapping the phone shut. 

McCall tries the number again, but it’s dead. Destroyed. 

“Garcia, anything?” Hotch asks desperately. 

“No, sir, it was barely long enough to triangulate the call, I’m sorry.” 

“Keep searching, Garcia, we need this address. Look for something in isolation, out of the way. It’s gotta mean something to him.”

“Yes, sir. Typing as we speak.”

Hotch rubs an exasperated hand over his beard, “Y’know the media can’t get wind of this, if he has access to a TV or radio and sees I’m alive? He’ll kill her.” He shudders as the words leave his mouth, making way for the possibility that he does not want to reckon with. 

You might already be dead. 

He dials quickly “Chief Barnes? I need a favour.”

———

He’s been pacing the length of Emily’s hospital room for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Chief Barnes to call in every favour he can to keep the media at bay so they can keep up the charade. He increases the TV volume opposite Emily’s bed when he sees a news report flash across the scene. 

“Good evening, everybody. We come to you live tonight with some breaking news.” 

He braces himself. Did Barnes manage to cover the hit on him?

“The daughters of two US Ambassadors have reportedly been involved in what appears to be a multi-car collision in the Virginia countryside, earlier tonight.” 

Two pictures appear side by side of you and Emily. 

“The daughter of Ambassador Prentiss was rushed to hospital earlier tonight and remains in critical condition at Bridgepoint Hospital after sustaining multiple injuries. The daughter of the US Ambassador to France however, is reported to be missing. The Ambassador himself is reportedly unaware of his daughter’s condition, presumed to be en-route to Paris tonight. Three people were pronounced dead at the scene, including Metro PD officers Evan Matthews and Howard Denton.”

He waits anxiously for any mention of his own name or Jordan, Lawrence, but the anchor passes over to the correspondent.

He sighs in relief, just as his phone rings. 

“Garcia?”

“I think I finally have a location on Fitzgerald. I checked for any and all properties under Senator Fitzgerald’s name, his second and third wives, his spawn’s name, even the Fitzgerald Family Trust. Nada.” She pauses for breath. “So. I dug down deeper. I searched instead for any properties under Sloan Marie Fitzgerald - still nothing. But then I chanced a search under her maiden name, Hamilton, and wouldn’t you know - the Hamilton family had a cabin between Rock Creek Park and Montgomery County. The late Mrs. Fitzgerald would take him to said cabin most summers before she died.”

“Alright, good work. Send us-��

“I'm not even going to let you finish that sentence, because it’s quite frankly insulting. Coordinates are on their way to you now, Sirs.”

Hotch huffs a laugh, it’s the most he can muster right now. He knows he owes Garcia a massive bouquet of flowers after all this is over. 

He grabs McCall by his jacket. “Suit up. We’ve got an address.” 

———

‘He’s dead.’ 

The onset of shock and unmistakable rise of nausea had caused you to retch violently and empty the contents of your stomach into the nearest toilet. 

Your legs had given out then, and you’re now planted on a dusty armchair, finding yourself staring into nothingness, your body still stinging with the shock and injuries you’d sustained. 

It’s all you’ve done for the past fourty something minutes. The blood stays rushing in your ears, and the pounding in your head is unrelenting. You haven’t said a word since, your body’s energy drained. You’re almost catatonic, unable to even shed a few tears for Hotch’s death. 

He’s dead. He’s dead because of you. 

You think back to the first time you met, he’d been so bright eyed and optimistic. Disarming. You think about the way he’d told you about his hopes and dreams, his plans for the future as a profiler. He’d had so much to live for. All of that had been ripped away from him because he’d gotten involved in your case. It was your fault he was dead. 

And you didn’t know how you were going to make it out of this. Your limbs feel like concrete - fatigue, shock and grief make it hard to formulate any kind of rational thought. Jordan’s hand comes to smooth the top of your head once again, but the gesture is far from comforting or loving. 

“It’s okay. You’ll see in time, this was for the best. This way, there aren’t any distractions.” He whispers. He’s been pacing the length of the cabin, repeatedly checking his second burner as though he’s awaiting some news. 

He resumes his pacing when you finally break your silence, your voice hoarse. 

“You killed a man.” You whisper. 

“What’s that?” 

“You killed a man.” You sob quietly. “You had someone killed, that doesn’t mean anything to you?” 

“Oh I did more than just have your little lover killed. I made sure your father and that Prentiss bitch were taken care of too.” 

Your vision tunnels, a high-pitched whine penetrating your skull. You feel like the ground has just been ripped from under you, like you’re falling. You can feel your heart shatter, the splintering fragments of your life piercing your skin. 

“My father? He’s not here. He’s-”

He glances at his watch. “-On his way to Paris?” You feel the bile rising again. “I know. Like I said, I’m having it all taken care of. They’re all dead, babe - or will be, soon.” He brings a hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your cut. “Don’t you see? I did it so I could have you all to myself.” 

The glee in his voice provokes something in you, a rage you’ve never felt before. You figure you have nothing else to lose, everything and everyone you ever loved is dead, you’d either fight and die quicker, or you’d stay and die slowly. 

In a move that stuns even you, you spit on Jordan’s face and bring your hand up to strike him notwithstanding the piercing pain in your ribs. The flat of your palm makes sharp contact with his bearded cheek. The sound echoes in the room, and your own hand stings from the force, but a minute satisfaction settles into your bones. 

He takes a minute to steady himself, but when he turns to look at you, his eyes flash with something you’ve never seen in a person before. In one fell swoop, he drags you to stand by your hair, pushing you into a glass frame against the wall. 

The glass shatters, puncturing the skin on your cheek and forearm where you bear the brunt of the impact. He lands two blows to your stomach, causing you to keel over, winding you. The pain blooms to your already bruised ribs, your breaths ragged. He grabs you then by the throat, pinning you against the wall, your breaths coming short and constricted. 

He shakes you against the wall, his hand tight around your throat, cutting off your air. “You ever pull something like that again, I’ll kill you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.” He growls in a low voice. “Do you understand me?” You can feel the blood pumping in your face, your eyes starting to bulge. 

You drive your knee into his crotch with all the force you can muster, exactly like Hotch had taught you. You then go for his shin that only gives you mere seconds to grab your breath when he lets you go in pain. 

You fall with him, knees giving out when you gasp for breath, and when you see him charging towards you again, you reach to your right for a dusty glass vase that sits on a single table. You manage to get yourself back on your feet right as he’s about to make contact with you again, the butt of the vase smashing into his skull. 

He cries out in pain as he falls to the ground again on all fours, blood streaming down his face. A gash on his forehead seeps blood and several pieces of glass are embedded in his face. 

You’re still trying to catch your own breath when you spot the silver glint of his 9mm catch the light in his back pocket. 

This is your chance.

You half-crawl, half-run to him, landing a violent kick to his stomach to strike him down. You grab the gun from his back pocket, stumbling a little from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your hands trembling. You check the magazine and load it as fast as your hands will allow.

You grip the Beretta just as Hotch had taught you, wrapping your dominant hand around the magazine, your index finger parallel to the chamber. Your other hand wraps around your dominant, as you stand over him.

“Get up.” You snarl. “Get up, NOW!” You order him through your coughs. 

He turns around slowly, slipping twice on his way up, groaning with the exertion. His face mirrors your own, a gash on his lip and forehead, blood streaming down his cheek. 

He chuckles darkly, revealing a set of shark-like teeth that are covered in his blood. “Oh… you think you’re hot shit. You even know how to use that thing? Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Your body aches feverishly and you swear you could pass out at any minute, vision blurry. You can feel your grip loosening and you’re trying to centre yourself when Jordan takes advantage of your momentary slip. 

He lunges for you in a flash, knife in hand. 

———

“We’re about a mile out, I want sirens and lights off. He can’t know we’re coming.” Hotch says into his radio. He’s watching the road ahead as they get deeper into the woods, the off-road terrain making it hard to keep control of the SUV. 

They’re backed up at rear by three MPD police cars, Chief Fuller’s attempt at making nice with Hotch after their earlier altercation.

He swallows thickly, his mouth like cotton. He knows he can’t afford one wrong move, not here. Not with you. He needs to get you back. He made a promise to Emily. 

He’ll die trying. 

He keeps a firm grip on your chain, rubbing it one last time for steady luck before tucking it into his shirt pocket. 

A clearing of trees reveals another path to them. It leads off into the distance, to a small wooden cabin around 80 feet away. It’s illuminated by amber light emanating from a single window. 

“Alright, guys. Nice and slow, headlights off, we’re gonna dismount now. Everybody out.” He whispers into the comms once they clear another 50 feet. 

Leaves rustle underneath their feet as they stealthily approach the cabin, guns cocked. Hotch has three cops flanking him and McCall brings up the rear, covering the back exit. 

They’re almost at the entrance when a loud bang resounds from inside, and Hotch short circuits, his knuckles white around his glock. 

Inside the cabin, you send Jordan flying with a shot to his shoulder, the smell of gun smoke burning your nostrils. Your hands tremble violently, your mind temporarily blanking - you feel like you’re swimming. Your ears ring from the noise, a high-pitched whine piercing your brain. 

There’s another bang almost immediately after Jordan stumbles backwards but you’re sure you only fired one shot. 

Jordan’s body in front of you is your only focal point, so much so that it’s only when you see McCall and two cops approach him writhing on the floor that you come back into your body. 

You realise the second bang had been them kicking down the front door. Your hands on the Beretta loosen just slightly and you let out a deep exhale. The voices in the room are still swimming as your brain slowly catches up. 

“Grab her.” McCall’s voice calls out. He shouts into the comms that he needs medics, and suddenly there’s a distinct feeling of a hand on your wrist and a body next to you. You reassure yourself that Jordan is on the ground so you let your hands fall limp, dropping the gun and it falls to the ground with a sharp clack. Your eyes are still trained on McCall pressing on Jordan’s wound. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” The voice cuts through your still-ringing ears. 

You know that voice. 

You’d know that voice anywhere. 

Your heart thunders, and your lips start to tremble as you try to reconcile everything you thought was reality with what’s really in front of you. 

You turn slowly to find an achingly familiar pair of warm hazel eyes. 

He’s alive. 

“Aaron?” You sob. You reach out for him but he catches you before you can stumble, his arms steady around your waist. He whispers into your hair, bringing a protective hand up to cradle your head as you sob into his chest. 

“It’s okay. I got you. I told you I’d come for you.” 

His voice is the last thing you hear before you black out, your body finally offering you some well-earned reprieve.

———

Tags:​ @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy​ @archiveofadragon​ @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu​ @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams @slxtherinchxser

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[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ KIDNAPPED ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY @supervalcsi: Yayyyyy requests are open!!! Can I pretty please get random prompt #13 with my man Kevin Atwater? Thank you, so much love!!! 💕❤💕💕

❚❙ Prompts: “You could have gotten yourself killed!” “But… I didn't?”

❚❙ KEVIN ATWATER MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.2k

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to the author.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13 @mcgreads @graniairish. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

When you woke up this morning and noticed how cold was the other side of your bed, you knew something was wrong. The lack of texts or a call from Kevin was the confirmation. You have been dating for the last three months, but you already know him better than anyone. Whenever he's not working or having a break at Molly's, he is with you. He told you he had to go to see a friend and after that, he would drive to your house. But he never came. That's what took you to the twenty-first District. You didn't know anyone there, beyond what you had heard from your boyfriend, but you were aware of who you were to look for.

Walking to the desk, you waited patiently for the old woman to attend to you. Platt. Kevin had talked about her a lot of times and, in your opinion, she didn't look that grumpy.

“How can I help you?” She asked, putting down her glasses.

“I… I need to… talk with Adam Ruzek”.

She raised an eyebrow with curiosity, quickly noticing your nerves and the way your eyes became crystal, at the edge of the tears. Her gesture turned abruptly, nodding with parted lips before stepping out from the desk to guide you upstairs through a fence. You were almost shaking when you reached the top floor. Recognizing Kevin's best friend instantly, after seeing some pictures together, you ran towards him to wrap your arms around him. You broke into bitter crying, while your boyfriend's partners looked at Platt waiting for an explanation.

“Huh… you okay?” The man asked confused, stroking your back in an attempt to calm you.

Hardly sniffing, barely breathing, you pulled yourself away trying to form a phrase with sense to explain your paranoia. A brunette girl offered you a kleenex, as a blonde one helped you to sit on a chair. Burgess and Upton. You were very sure. The other men at the other extreme of the place were Dawson, Olinsky, and Voight.

“I am… Kevin's girlfr—girlfriend. I think he's missing”.

You cleaned the tears wetting your cheek, while Kim squatted close to you. Everybody was confounded and disconcerted because of your affirmation. Because of both.

“He texted me telling me he'd go to see a friend and the—then... he'd come to my house. But he didn't come. He didn't text me or anything. I… I know how it sounds. I know it sounds crazy, but… he never shut his phone off…”

“What hour was when you talked to him for the last time?” Ruzek whispered thoughtfully.

“Eight o'clock”.

“Hm…”

Your eyes went straight to the sergeant, to his boss. He saw the desperation in your eyes. He saw you were telling the truth and, for him, it was strange that Kevin hadn't come to work yet. It was almost ten in the morning.

“Burgess, stay with her and give her something warm to drink. Everyone else; I want Atwater's phone and car signal. Let's find him”.

Soon, the whole department was patrolling the city, even looking under the stones. Officers walked from one place to another making phone calls, checking security cameras, triangulating every move Kevin could do last night… Anything to locate him and bring him back. Apparently, all his friends agreed with your paranoia, turning it into reality when Adam received a call on his undercover phone. But Burgess didn't let you hear it, closing the door after abandoning the small kitchen separated from the work zone.

You were a bundle of nerves not being able to stop sobbing, feeling a strong headache growing in the center of your forehead. Just by thinking that something had happened to him, the pressure within your chest contracted your lungs and closed your throat. No one noticed before you did. What if you hadn't given it any importance? Sitting on the sofa and nailing your elbows on your lap, you covered your face with both hands. You couldn't hold the furious and frustrated tears for any longer. Even if you didn't have a reason to, you were feeling guilty.

The incertitude was driving you crazy as the hours continued passing away without any news about Kevin. You could see his Unit working through the large window, trying to read lips to figure out what was happening. But nothing. You were good at serving drinks, not being a detective. The sensation of being useless was killing you. The only thing you wanted to do was to help, but Kevin's boss asked you to wait there for them before leaving the building.

It's almost noon when you hear voices and steps again coming closer, going upstairs. You can't help but jump from your seat to open the door of the kitchen, trying to recognize Kevin's voice, but you don't. Their partners appear on the scene with satisfied smiles on their faces and you don't know what it means until they open the way for your boyfriend, walking behind them. He looks exhausted, but he isn't hurt. Your lips start to tremble about to cry when he raises his eyes towards you and you can't feel your heart stopping for a second.

Taking some steps closer, you don't question why their friends leave you alone continuing their way through another door at the right of the stairs. You want to say sorry for coming to the District because maybe a call would be enough, but you couldn't wait. Even so, you're aware that if it hadn't been for you, he probably would be missing yet.

“I was worried”. You babble rubbing your hands and biting your bottom lip.

But Kevin doesn't reply, going straight to you to place his arms around your body, embracing you with the strength he has left after all that has happened. You break into a soft cry, a happy one for finally having him back. Safe and sound.

“It's okay, baby… It's okay”. He whispers trying to comfort you, tilting his head to place some kisses on your temple. “I got you really spoiled, uh…? I don't text you and you think I've been kidnapped”.

Gulping a loud laugh, you nod pulling yourself away a little. Luckily, you weren't wrong and his friends didn't think you were crazy.

“Why did you go alone? You could have gotten yourself killed…”

“But I didn't”. He jokes drawing a funny gesture, turning it after in a brief smile. “You were protecting me, weren't you?”

“Kev… I just…”

“You did the right thing coming here, okay? I'm not angry, or upset”.

Your boyfriend cups your cheeks onto his palms, leaning forward to press his lips on yours, pecking them once and once before spreading kisses all around your face.

“Lemme take you home, alright? You've earned all my attention for today”.

“I will take care of you today”. Shaking your head as you sniff, you hug him again as much tightly as you can, not wanting him to be separated from you another time. “I… I love you, Kev”.

“I love you too, (Y/N). You can't really imagine how much. What you've done today… I'm sure other girls would've thought I just ghosted them. But you came here and put my friends to work”.

“I'm more like the psychotic kind of girlfriends”.

“Yeah, you have mobilized more than eighty cops to find me. Should I be scared?” The jokingly on his voice, while he raises both eyebrows, makes you laugh cleaning your tears with the fist of your sleeves.

“Maybe just a little…”

[nocturnaldivinationsfallingstars]

A Stray Bullet Part 2

Fandom: Gotham Characters: Victor Zsasz, female!reader, James Gordon. Warnings: Mentions of blood, swearing. Summary: The reader is James Gordon’s sister and works for the GCPD and is dating Victor Zsasz. The reader has kept it a secret from her brother, until one day when she takes a bullet that was meant for him. Victor then shows up at James’ place to see the reader. Word count: 3,513 A/N: I apologise for this chapter taking me a while to edit! I hope you all enjoy it.

A deafening silence seemed to fall heavily upon the bullpens on the lower level as everyone stood stiffly in place. The files they once held in their hand were now forgotten and scattered over their desks or the floor. Their arrestee's was also forgotten about, quietly waiting with bated breath for the inevitable to happen. Each officer and detective stared at the intimidating man before them with unblinking eyes, almost transfixed waiting for him to speak and tell them why he's in the department. Standing off to the side by the entrance stood the two Zsaszettes, one of which took the cap off of a male officer and placed it on her own head with a smile. While the other leaned into his personal space, ruffling his short thin hair with a grin.

The officer looked uncomfortable with the attention from the two women, his cheeks red while he kept jerking his head away from the woman's reach. The sigh of discontent and annoyance that escaped him was audible in the quietness. You couldn't blame him, if it were you in that situation, you'd feel uncomfortable as well.

With a deep and somewhat shaky sigh of anticipation, you managed to avert your stare of mild disinterest from the scene of the poor officer that was being terrorised by Victor's 'friends'. You trailed your eyes over to your boyfriend and pressed your lips together into a thin line.

Victor turned swiftly on the heels of his feet with so much ease it almost seemed like a natural movement. He proceeded to move away from the desk he had rapped his knuckles against just a few moments ago. He crossed the small space from the desk to the wooden bench, which could seat three arrestees waiting to be processed, that was pressed flush against another desk. You watched quietly as your heart beat steadily in your chest for the time being, as a dark feeling bubbled its way up in the pit of your stomach. Victor stepped on the bench, his confidence never wavering as he hauled himself onto the surface of the desk with minimal effort, like he had done this plenty of times before. He most likely had, you told yourself as you remembered his profession. 

He scanned the crowd of people who stood before him, most of whom were still staring in his direction with a blank, almost unreadable expression on their faces. A blush appeared on your cheeks as you looked up at Victor, burning like a bright red beacon as you emitted a low whining noise that rose from your throat. You shrank into your chair as your shoulders shot upwards and pressed against your neck and earlobes harshly. You used the collar of your ivory coloured blouse to try to hide from his gaze, like you are trying to make yourself small and unnoticeable. However, his dark, cold eyes fell on you upon hearing the low whining sound. Some kind of emotion that you couldn't quite place flashed across his eyes for a mere moment. Victor stared at you huddled in your chair, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

This wasn't a part of what Victor had planned out meticulously around your work schedule, which you had pinned to the front of your old, dented fridge with a circular magnet. You were supposed to be at home for the day relaxing, or even out shopping, at the very least doing something away from the GCPD. This was so that you weren't involved in any kind of capacity, however, he would take care of that if the need were to ever arise. He would simply have to wing it.

You watched him as his hands went to the lapels of his black jacket, rubbing his thumbs carefully over the fabric. Victor spoke in a loud, crystal-clear voice, gaining the attention of any other officers that may have otherwise ignored the assassin. You, however, unlike your co-workers, almost flinched as he spoke. Breaking the quiet stillness that you had got used to.

“Hello everyone, my name is Victor Zsasz. I'm sent here personally by Don Carmine Falcone himself on a matter of deep concern to him, so please be respectful.” he introduced himself charismatically to the room. At least his eyes were no longer on you. A frown creased your brow as you listened to what he had to say. If what Victor is saying turns out to be true; that Falcone, the current criminal kingpin of Gotham City, sent his personal and most trusted hitman here for an officer of the GCPD, then it must be to send the rest of the officers, including yourself, a message to never cross him.

Your tongue darted from between your dry lips to moisten them and your hands twitched nervously on the arms of your chair. It was all you could do to keep yourself from worrying that maybe Victor wasn't there for an officer, but instead for you on the orders of Falcone. After all it wouldn't be an unreasonable idea to why Victor is at your place of work.

Falcone had been one of the many reasons as to why you and Victor decided to keep your relationship a secret. Well, Falcone and your brother were just a few of the reasons as to why it is a secret. There was no telling what Falcone would do, or even get someone to do something unpleasant to you, if he knew.

“I'm here for Jim Gordon,” Victor continued as he removed his hands from the lapels of his jacket and held them out in front of himself, his elbows bent as he made a slight hand gesture. Your mouth parted, eyes darting towards the Captain’s office. What the fuck did he do now, you thought to yourself anxiously. The dark feeling that bubbled in the pit of your stomach threatened to crawl up your throat and spill past your lips like some kind of poisonous bile, nervously glancing from the office’s closed door and over to Victor. “Only him. Everybody else mind your own business, and we're cool.” He added, finally dropping his hands to his sides.

Looking around at the people near you, still watching him intently as he spoke in his calm voice. No one seemed phased, and it made you wonder just how often this kind of thing happened at the GCPD for no one to be bothered by the threat to your own brother’s life. Most officers here really did have questionable morals.

“So, where's Jim man?” Victor asked the large crowd as he leaned forwards ever so slightly, raising his brows expectantly. For a moment no one made a move to tell him, but just as his pale lips opened, a couple of people turned their heads towards the closed door of Captain Sarah Essen's office. Even though you already knew where your brother was, you still copied Victor and followed their gaze to the glass, swallowing hard.

From where you sat you could make out two silhouettes. The taller of the two of course being James's, the shorter being the Captain’s.

Did you need to think of a foolproof escape plan for James? Or did he already have one? After all he usually had some sort of plan for something like this. If he didn't then he'd often make one up on the spot. Why would now be any different from any other time? He had to have a plan, he had to think of a plan.

“What the fucking hell did you do, Jim?” You muttered, shifting in the chair which creaked under your weight. Your stomach lurched and your throat felt as if someone was squeezing it tightly. A lump formed in your throat. The realisation that he had got himself into something that he basically had no way out of dawned on you, making your stomach lurch once more. Your fingers curled around the arm rests of your chair, keeping you in place. 

“Thank you,” Victor said in a hushed tone of voice. Pressing the tips of his fingers against his chest, his dark eyes broke away from the door for a brief moment before instantly returning. 

“Hey Jim!” he called out loud enough. Your eyes darted from Victor and over to the door, where your brother turned his head to the sound of his name. Victor dropped his hands back to his side once more, tearing your eyes from the door and over to Victor.

“Jim -” Victor drew out teasingly, his gaze never moving from the silhouettes. Barely a few seconds later you heard the unmistakable sound of the Captain's door opening, and then two sets of footsteps that echoed around you. Of course this drew your attention from your boyfriend to find James and the Captain stood in front of the wooden railing. The door closed behind them with a loud click.

“Don't say something stupid. Please don't say something stupid.” You whispered to yourself, trying to will James to not make things worse. This earned a few curious glances from those stood closest to you. Paying no attention to them, you continued to hope for him to keep his mouth shut.

“Hi Jim.” Victor said with the tiniest hint of a smile on his face and the smallest trace of happiness hidden in his voice could be heard. He raised a hand and gave James a small wave before dropping his hand back to his side, flexing his fingers. “Relax, we're supposed to take you in alive. Don Falcone wants to talk.” Silence filled the room for a brief moment before James started to talk.

“Tell Falcone we'll talk,” you let out a breath of air you had been holding as his gruff voice bounced around the quiet room. He was being civil. Perhaps he won't get maimed and killed after all, “but not today” he added. And there goes any chance of James coming out of this alive and unharmed by Victor today, you thought bitterly to yourself.

“Don't… be that way.” Victor managed to seethe out through clenched teeth, clamping his jaw together, his hands tightening into fists.

“Alive is a very broad category; a man with no hands can still be alive.” Victor spoke in a cold, slow voice which sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard him talk that way before, and you didn't know if you found it attractive or really, really terrifying. However, with your current conflicting feeling at this very moment it may as well be a bit of both.

“There are 50 cops in here. Try something.” James said, his voice low and held a dangerously daring tone to it.

“Everybody out.” Victor stated simply, a hint of malice dripping like poison in his voice, not once did the hitman take his eyes from James. Not one of the officers made a move to leave, not even you. A couple of officers shifted on their feet as they looked between the two men locked in a staring competition. 

“Please!” Victor yelled angrily. This caused you to jump in your chair, your shoulders knocking your jacket off and onto the wooden floor beneath your feet with a thud. No one batted an eyelash at the noise that came from your direction, all of them scrambling to leave as quickly as they possibly could. The doors slammed shut behind them when the last person exited. You almost laughed at the thought of the confused facial expressions of the civilians on the streets watching all fifty officers leave the department at once. 

“Go boss, get out of here.”

“Jim,” Sarah whispered, unmoving.

“Go, I’m gonna handle this. Take [Y/N] with you.” Nodding his head towards the doors. 

You shot up almost automatically from your chair, throwing your hands in the air as you did so before dropping them to your side. The palms of your hands slapping against your thighs loudly. You saw Captain Essen move out of your peripheral vision, she reached your desk in a matter of seconds, reaching a still hand out for you. You couldn't help but wonder why she was so calm about this whole situation, much like the others.

“I am not leaving you here Jim! This is completely fucking insane, even for you. You'll get yourself killed.” You told your brother, waving off the Captain who took that as a sign to leave you and left, the door swinging closed behind her.

“He's right. You should leave. I'd hate to hurt someone as beautiful as you.” Victor told you, his head now turned in your direction with a look of curiosity on his features. His words making a blush rise to your cheeks once more. You were silently cursing the fact that he could make a blush appear with a few simple words and soft, dark eyes pleading for you to listen and not to be stubborn for once. 

“I am not leaving,” you told the two men stubbornly. You could see Victor's fingers twitching, letting his irritation towards your words known. You had to avert your eyes from him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to tell his girls not to hurt you, since the two of you needed to keep asking as if neither one of you knew each other. Of course this was only to keep yourselves from raising any suspicions. Victor rolled his shoulders turning his attention back to your brother, his brows raised. 

You knew that leaving your brother to take care of Victor and his girls along would absolutely guarantee his death. Whereas staying behind to help him made you feel as if he had a chance, a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. Although, you did feel as if staying behind was some sort of death wish more than anything. But you couldn't exactly let him die here, and it's not like you'd be shooting at Victor per se. You'd leave that part to your dear brother after all and aim in the general direction of Victor's girls. You reasoned with yourself.

“Well now Jim,” Victor drawled out, his hands already inching towards the gun on his hip at a slow pace. Anxiety twisted your stomach in knots as you watched somewhat patiently for what’s to happen next.

James moved his hand, brushing aside his blazer and popping the button on his holster he drew his gun with quickly and with ease. Dropping behind your desk to one of your knees, you made a silent prayer to whoever was listening that you had your gun on yourself as you followed his lead. It wasn't long after James drew his weapon did he start firing at Victor who did a backflip off of the metal table he had been standing on. The bullet ricocheted off of its surface and landed somewhere on the floor with a gentle clink. 

“You know I can take care of this. Just go!” James called back to you from his hiding place. You made a face as you turned around on the balls of your feet and shot a couple of rounds at the two women behind you before ducking behind cover, rather liking the fact that you are alive.

“Mhm…” You hummed out, pretending to think about it, “nope. Still staying.” You responded. 

James ducked behind Harvey’s desk as Victor fired round, after round, after round at James relentlessly. Victor clambered onto a desk he walked along the metal surface with purpose, pulling the trigger of the gun in hand a couple of times. 

A bullet penetrated the glass doors in front of James and shattered to the floor in a million pieces. For a brief moment, James huddled himself together, his arms going to the top of his head to shield himself from the falling shards of glass, scrambling to move from his compromised hiding place. You pushed yourself up from behind the desk with a grunt and started to move towards the green-ish grey door that led to the back stairwell and the GCPD's parking lot. It was a more feasible exit than trying to make a run for the front doors, so that's where you guessed James was heading to, clearly having some kind of escape plan in mind. 

James pushed the metal desk over once he turned the corner to create another hiding space from the flurry of bullets that rained down in his direction. He grabbed at the metal trash can that's sitting beside the desk. His eyes darted to the woman with her dark hair styled into a quiff and threw it at her hand to keep her from shooting at you, letting you use this opportunity to dive behind cover and started shooting in the direction of the other female from where you knelt behind cover.

This drew her attention away from your brother as the two of you hurriedly made your way to the open doorway, James getting there before you however. You came skidding to a stop next to the trio of dark green filing cabinets, pressing your lips together into a thin line you raised  your hand, and sent a few more rounds flying towards both women

Just as one of them fired at you, Victor pulled the trigger of his own gun a couple of times. You hoped he had emptied the clip and chamber in those few shots, but knew it was unlikely that he did. The bullets he sent flying through the air were clearly meant for James. You hadn't exactly done anything to warrant a hail of bullets in your directions, this was more for the illusion after all. However, as you turned to run and join James, you turned your body in the direct line of fire of oncoming bullets.

The first of the bullets embedded itself deeply into your side, causing you to throw your free arm around yourself, making it all the easier for you to press your hand against your side where the sharp pain ripped through you. You doubled over, feeling the wet sticky substance of blood seeping through your once perfectly clean blouse. Trying to straighten yourself out just as the second bullet straight through your shoulder, causing you to drop to your knees on the floor, a pained look twisted across your features.

A loud pained-filled scream tore from you and filled the room, mixing with the echoes of bullets ricocheting off of the metal filing cabinets and the heavy foot falls of the three advancing people. 

“What the fuck?” You squealed out in a high-pitched voice from the pain that seared through your shoulder. Your words aimed towards your boyfriend, who muttered out a string of profanities as he dropped from the desk with a heavy thud when his feet touched the floor. You dropped your gun and reached up with your hand to press it firmly against your shoulder. James, however, ran to you, took a hold of your upper arm, and proceeded to pull you across the floor. Once he was sure that you were out of the way, he pushed a filing cabinet over to block the exit that you and he were about to take. Hoping it would give him a bit of extra time to get you to your car that was parked out back.

James yanked you up from the floor and to your feet with a grunt of effort, flinging your arm around his shoulder and gripping your wrist in a vice-like grip. You grit your teeth at the sudden surge of white-hot pain blooming through your shoulder and side, leaning into your brother for support as he pulled you towards the stairwell. He pushed the door open with a loud clang that rattled through the barren room as the handle hit against the brick wall. His hand moved to your side instantly, muttering out an apology as he placed his hand over yours tightly, pulling you up once more to keep you from falling to the floor.

“God-fucking-damn it, that hurts like hell.” You hissed out in a shaky voice. Even walking sent a burning pain shooting through your entire side and sent a shiver down your spine.

“There's just a couple flights of stairs to go down, and then we can get out of here.” James told you in that soft and soothing voice he would often use when you were little after doing something that you most certainly shouldn't have done. 

Your lips curled into a faint smile as a small humourless laugh escaped your lips, you cast your eyes to the red droplets that had fallen to the pristine white floor. “I'm so glad that's all there is. A couple,” you muttered in response, willing your feet to move. James could always leave you on the stairwell and get out of there. You were sure Victor would send his girls after your brother while he stayed behind to 'take care' of you, but you knew that if you even so much as suggested the idea James would never agree.

Taglist; @moonlitcrystals, @nheirei, @the-ramblings

[lykegenia]

Trust, But Verify

Convinced that Unit Bravo isn't everything they seem to be, Detective Leah Kingston decides to return to the warehouse that she knows plays some part in the mystery of Wayhaven's first murder in years, this time with Tina as backup. But sometimes, what is said on patrol doesn't stay on patrol, which isn't great when the subject of conversation is a certain new arrival with a dazzling smile and warm brown eyes.

Read on AO3

--

The air in the office holds a studied silence, from the members of Unit Bravo who have arranged themselves around the room like they’re on a photoshoot, and from me ignoring them so I can finish updating the board with information about the case. There’s precious little to go on so far. Adam called it a waste of time, but working as a teammeans everybody needs to be on the same page, and now I can feel a certain amount of spite creeping into the thoroughness of my notes.

I can’t afford to let it. Getting bull-headed means things get missed.

“What information can you give me about the other victims?” I ask.

“Nothing that will help us here.”

Nate passes a guilty glance between me and his glowering leader, but all it does is get me even angrier. Folding my arms, I turn to Adam, temper finally frayed enough to let my professional veneer slip.

“Did my mother send you to sabotage my case?” I demand. I shouldn’t, but today has not been a good day.

Adam glares. Somehow, the silence in the room deepens.

“I’m only asking because so far you seem to be trying your hardest to seem incompetent and uncaring about the fact that a woman has been murdered. If you can’t show even basic respect for that then you can get the hell out of my office and not come back.”

“Detective…”

“Are you here to help or not?” I’ve dealt with Saturday night drunks and middle managers angry at getting parking tickets – hell, I’ve had to face the mayor’s bluster more than once – and though Adam looks like he knows more ways to break someone’s bones than any of those guys, I’m willing to bet he’s on a much shorter leash.

Finally, the muscles working in that square jaw unclench just enough for him to loose a strained breath through his teeth. “We’re at your disposal.”

“Glad to hear it.” My shoulders relax a little. “The better we work together, the faster we’ll solve this, and unfortunately all the legwork has to come first.”

Nate steps forward, visibly relieved that we haven’t come to blows. “What do you want us to do?”

“We need to trace the victim’s last steps,” I say. Coming up with a plan gives me something to focus on. “Bank records, phone records, CCTV. If we can find out where and when she met the killer, hopefully we can follow the thread back to them. Someone should ask Verda if there’s any way to track down the equipment the killer needed for the transfusion, too,” I add.

“Anything else?” Mason drawls from his corner. He’s started on another cigarette.

“Nate very kindly said you’d all go and check out the Farris warehouse later. We think it might be the murder site.” I don’t miss the look Adam shoots across the room, but it’s not important. “Be careful when you do, when I was there yesterday I ran into some unsavoury characters.”

“Really?” Felix asks, grinning. “If we see them I’m sure we could take them.”

Nate rolls his eyes and Adam grinds his teeth again, and neither of them are doing anything to soothe the off vibes I’ve been getting all morning.

“Glad to hear it,” I reply, turning to grab my coat off the peg. “While you’re on that, there’s something else I want to chase up.”

“What something else?” Adam asks, his eyes narrowing as if he can hear the uneasy tick of my pulse.

I shrug, already half out the door. “I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

“One of us should go with you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Tina and I will be fine – Tina! Fieldtrip!”

She looks up from the papers on her desk and gestures to the steaming mug in her hand. “But I just –”

“Now. We can stop off at Haley’s later.”

There’s a pause as she glances behind me, assessing, no doubt lining up a bunch of questions to ask me as soon as we’re out of earshot. “Sure thing, Detective.” She pulls on coat and scarf and sidles closer. “Day one and the power’s already gone to your head, I see.”

I stifle a smile and turn back to Unit Bravo, who are all leaning around the door of my office in various attitudes of surprise. “I almost forgot, while I’m out I’d be grateful if you could add the information on the other victims to the board. It should help.”

“We’ll see to it,” Nate promises when his colleague only flexes his biceps in response.

“I appreciate it.”

I’m almost to the door when I catch Felix sigh and mutter I don’t think she likes us very much, but I straighten my shoulders and step into the already darkening winter day, not allowing the prickle of guilt to take hold. They’re not here for me to like them, they’re here for a job – and I need to figure out what that job really is.

--

Tina shoots me a dubious look as I pull up outside the Farris warehouse and cut the engine. There’s still some light left, though the thick growth of trees crowds most of it out, and aside from a few harsh alarm calls from birds flitting between the trunks, the place is lifeless. Silent. The moon watches us from just above the top branches, hanging in the sky like a spider in the corner of its web.

“You changed your mind about letting Unit Boyband have this one?” she asks.

I reach behind me for my flashlight and check the safety on my gun is locked before kicking open the door. “There’s something not adding up about them, and I want to know what it is. Nate practically contorted himself trying to think of reasons for me to stay away.”

“And so here we are.” She sighs and follows. “Just like the good old days. As your friend, I think you’re being a bit paranoid.”

“Shady government agencies bring that out in me.”

“Just as long as you’re not expecting to split up in there.”

I toss her a grin. “Not even for a Scooby Snack?” I chuckle at her flat look. “Don’t worry, after those guys put that dent in Nessie last night, I’m not taking chances.”

With a wary look around, she unholsters her own gun and takes position on my left. “That dent looks like it was made with a sledgehammer.”

“Yup.”

We fall silent as we cross the threshold, crumbs of rubble cracking under our boots. The wind blows in from behind us, rustling the ivy reclaiming the walls, distorting sound, but unless someone is keeping very still, there’s nobody else here.

“Sooooo… it’s ‘Nate’ is it?” Tina ventures as we climb the stairs to the first floor. The artistic endeavours of Wayhaven’s teenagers scroll the walls, the empty cans and bottles from last summer’s illicit parties still scattered in the far corners.

“That’s what he asked me to call him,” I reply carefully. “It’s what the rest of them call him too.”

“Uh-huh.” She peers down at something. “Cigarette butt.”

“Recent?” I catch a shadow to my left, but when I chase it with my flashlight, it turns out just to be pigeons again, scattering for some reason of their own.

“There’s still ash on it, so I’d say so.”

“Bag it.”

While she kneels and starts the usual procedure for getting evidence into one of the bags we both carry with us, I pace the rest of the floor, peering around rusted heavy machinery and into the dustier corners in case of footprints. With so many people passing through, though, it’s unlikely we’ll find enough to connect anything to the murder – at least not anything that would stick in court.

“You have seen him eyeing you up though, right?”

“What?” I glance over, startled by the suddenness of Tina’s voice. “Who?”

Her tut would have made any disapproving grandma proud. “Nate.”

“Tina, I met him this morning.” One last glance around. “This floor’s clear.”

“So?”

“So when has he even had an opportunity to ‘eye me up’?”

“Oh, that’s right,” she sing-songs, “you were too busy doing your best to make the grumpy one quake in his combat boots, but I see everything. His mouth was hanging open and everything. And that was after your cosy little trip down to the morgue. I’m telling you, babe, you have a shot.”

We go one at a time down the stairs, which means she can’t see me roll my eyes, but as we turn to take our first proper look at the ground floor, the idea wiggles in to distract my better judgement. Nate has certainly made a better first impression than most of his team, but that’s not exactly hard, and his face looks like one that’s used to smiling, to smoothing ruffled feathers. If I maybe noticed the warmth of his hand when I shook it earlier, or caught the faint scent of whatever aftershave he uses when we were walking down to see Verda, then it’s still not something to lose my head over. It’s not something that matters.

“As your friend, I’m duty-bound to say that I think you’re delusional,” I say, deliberately light.

“Over here.”

Tina’s flashlight rounds on the transient’s camp I found yesterday, a loose pile of tattered blankets and a few rusted oil drums converted into fire barrels, only now with more light, there seems to be little evidence of recent occupation. No trash, no scuff marks beyond what could be explained by the passage of my own feet and the strangers who ran into me, and no odour of an unwashed body.

And yet…

Still crouched, I glance at the walls, try to imagine them blurred as I hold up my phone screen with the photos copied from Janet Greenland’s. She had known she was going to die, with enough advance warning to try and leave some kind of message, and then hidden them where her killer would be unlikely to look.

Tina breaks the concentrated silence. “What’s so delusional about someone finding you attractive?” It helps, the distraction from the grisly reason we’re here.

“Nothing in particular,” I reply. “People have wanted to sleep with me before. It’s just not something that would work.”

“Why not?”

I stand and walk slowly, still with my phone up in front of me. “One, this is a temporary assignment. Once we catch the killer, Unit Bravo will be whisked away to somewhere far more exotic than Wayhaven with far more interesting people.” I stop. “Two, he’s technically a colleague, which is never something that ends well. And three…”

The last of Janet Greenland’s photos line up with the view ahead of me, minus the difference in our height.

“Three?” Tina presses.

“I’m not interested.” It’s a ready answer, but she scoffs all the same.

“Oh come on, you mean you don’t think he’s sexy as hell?”

From somewhere behind us, there’s a loud crash as a piece of masonry collapses. We wheel, ready for something to come at us, but after a long moment, nothing else moves. Probably a rat, or a piece of the ceiling that was ready to go anyway. Even so, Tina keeps her back to mine as I return to my snooping.

“That’s not a no,” she wheedles after a few more minutes of silence.

“He’s –” The right description eludes me for a moment. “He’s good-looking. He seems nice, for what it’s worth. But that doesn’t mean he’d stay, and it doesn’t mean he’d be interested in anything… beyond casual. I have more worthwhile uses for my time than trying to guess a stranger’s motives for noticing me.” The bitterness isn’t something I meant to slip out, but thankfully there’s no comment on it. Tina knows enough about the fiasco with Bobby to leave that particular sleeping Rottweiler lie.

Besides, I’ve found where Janet stumbled into the warehouse – or tried to get out. By one of the broken windows some of the stones have tumbled and turned the mossy sides underneath, and a few threads of material are snagged on the jagged edge of the glass that are the same colour as the jacket she was wearing. There’s just enough light left to photograph it, but without any evidence of the killer or any kind of struggle, there isn’t much else to be done. Wayhaven doesn’t have the resources to dust an entire warehouse for prints.

“I remember being told at the academy that we should try to collect all the evidence we can,” Tina says, when I make no move to reach for a bag.

“That’s what I’m doing,” I reply. “Sometimes it doesn’t all look the same, that’s all.”

She eyes me with a frown, though the corner of her mouth is fighting a smile. “What did I tell you? Paranoid.”

--

Sitting in the Facility cafeteria barely a week later, a plate of unappetising mince and mashed potato in front of me, it’s hard to believe how much a life can change. Hunting for petty clues, looking through bank records and phone calls as if any of it would have turned up anything useful – not even the vindication of knowing I was right about my mother’s team does much to lessen the lurch the world has taken since learning that the man I was hunting is not only a vampire, but that he’s hunting me, too. The thought puts me off eating. Or maybe it’s the tests, or just that the food itself isn’t very good.

I’m in the middle of drawing a passable mixed media landscape with my fork when a shadow falls across my plate. Nate smiles at me, genuine if somewhat nervous, one hand holding a mug of tea and the other on the back of the chair opposite mine.

“May I sit?” he asks.

I’ve barely seen him since the first night I was here, between all the debriefings and the sessions with the scientists, and even those brief glimpses have been accidental, moments of stumbling into each other in the corridors of Unit Bravo’s section of the Facility. To have him seek me out, in a place that reeks of leftovers, stirs an unfamiliar flutter behind my ribs that turns into a smile to answer his.

“Please do.” I gesture, and his smile grows wider, and I cast about for something that will avoid me floundering in awkward silence. “I didn’t think I’d see you here – not because you don’t need to eat!” I add hastily. “The smell of stale coffee is almost too much for me with just human senses.”

He doesn’t seem too offended, and just shrugs. “I like the ambience. People here are just being people, no matter what species.” As he speaks his eyes cast over the nearly empty room, and the pockets of agents and supernaturals at other tables buried in conversation. A person could visit a thousand parallel universes and a cafeteria would look the same in every one.

“The more things change…” I mutter, following the line of his gaze.

A smile touches his lips. “You have no idea.”

I really don’t. Not compared with someone who’s lived so long and seen so much. In the pause that follows, I turn my attention back to my plate, and the interrupted tree I was trying to capture in the foreground with an overcooked slice of carrot.

“You’re quite the artist – I mean it!” he adds, holding up his hands at the sharp glance I throw his way.

“This is the part where you say you met some famous painter or other, isn’t it?” I grumble, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Van Gogh did sell me a painting once – not one of his own, I’m afraid.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say the statement was meant to impress me, and that the sip he takes of his tea is more to hide a smirk than because he’s thirsty. Still, his eyes grow serious as he taps the mug back on the table, and the measured way he looks me over makes me want to twist my fingers in my lap.

“What?”

“You seem to be handling the revelation of all this rather well,” he replies, muted, with a flicker of a softer smile. “We should have trusted you with it sooner.”

For a moment I don’t answer, both startled by the admission and caught up in an echo of the resentment that’s characterised so much of my time with Unit Bravo so far. It’s not a comfortable feeling, not now I know the reason behind the secrecy, but the morning after my second visit to the warehouse is still fresh in my mind, Adam’s flat ‘no’ when I asked if they’d found anything, and the way Nate glared at the floor, arms folded and shaking his head in tacit disagreement as the others waited for my reaction, as if they knew I wouldn’t believe them.

“I’ll admit, ‘new co-workers are secretly vampires hunting down a vampire serial killer who’s picked me as his next target’ wouldn’t have been my first guess for what was going on,” I try with a shrug. “I assume it’s not something everyone responds well to.”

“Most people who find out don’t have to deal with the serial killer part.”

Sometimes, in the face of such absurdity, you just have to laugh. Nate seems pleased that I haven’t run screaming, amusement warming the sympathetic way his gaze lingers.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you,” I say, after another moment of silence.

“For what?”

I shrug. “For wanting to tell me – trying to tell me, even though you had orders. Not everyone would do that.” My mother springs to mind as a prime example.

“It was clear you were going to find out anyway. You’re pretty incredible that way.” His gaze on mine is heavy, soft and intense but tinged with regret as well, and he looks away. “But after you went to the warehouse, it was also clear you didn’t trust us. It’s not a great combination for trying to keep someone safe.”

“How did you know I was at the warehouse?”

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, not meeting my eye. “I followed you. One of us had to, just in case Murphy came back.”

He seems… embarrassed more than anything, as if following me was somehow something more shameful than lying to my face, and it’s not what I expect. And then I remember my conversation with Tina while we hunted through the ruined building. Damn. My fork sets against the edge of my plate with a faint clink.

“You were in the warehouse – when I was in the warehouse,” I check, just in case there’s no real reason for the sudden flood of heat into my face.

“I was.”

“And you heard everything me and Tina were saying with your hypersenses, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t exactly need –” He stops, smiles an apology. “Yes, I heard everything.”

I roll my lips together, chasing something to say. My fingertips drum on the table. “There’s no chance you could just… forget all of that, is there?”

And now the smile curls into something smoother, sleek like a cat. And guess who’s the canary.

“I would rather not.” He purrs it, and my insides squirm. “But since we’re on the subject of… things you said, I feel the same way. About matters of the heart. They’re too precious to be treated casually.”

I stare. There’s more in the words than I really want to acknowledge, certainly more than I can respond to in the middle of a public place full of creatures I thought were myths for most of my life. His brown eyes search my face, patient, until I can’t stand it anymore and drop my gaze to the table, and he covers by taking another sip of his tea.

“That’s an elegant way to put it,” I manage, after what feels like an eternity. He’ll still be leaving once we’ve caught Murphy, and now that we’ve got a solid set of leads on him, that won’t be long at all.

“I hoped you would think so.”

“It must be hard to have any kind of relationship with… all of this.” I wave my hand around the room. “The secrecy and the travelling, I mean.”

His head tilts, the smile returns. “You don’t think it’s the vampire thing that would put people off?”

“No.” I don’t miss the way his mouth twitches upwards at that. “Vampires have become fashionable in the last few years, so I hear. Even if you don’t sparkle.”

“I’d hope my wit does, at least.”

I can’t help it, I break into a laugh at that. It’s so easy to feel comfortable around him, to want to be closer and spend hours just talking. When I knew he was lying, it was an easier feeling to ignore.

“You could always find another vampire,” I point out. “That would solve it if you thought it was a problem.”

It confuses him. His brows furrow as if it was something he hadn’t considered, as if the conversation has taken a turn he didn’t expect, and I use the distraction to look at the clock, high on the wall where clocks always are in cafeterias.

“I need to go. It’s stab-Leah-with-needles o’clock.”

“So soon?” he asks.

It’s not entirely untrue, but I’ll have to walk slowly not to be early, because god forbid they think I’m eager for more tests. My heart skips a little, and he can probably tell, but this whole conversation has veered far too close to gates I locked a long time ago, and do not want open again. I shrug.

“The sooner I get through everything they can think up, the sooner I can go back to catching Murphy.”

“The sooner this whole case is finished.” He watches me, the unspoken half of the sentence left hanging.

“The sooner Wayhaven is safe again.”

In the end, that’s what matters. I can’t lose sight of it.

[jasontoddiefor]

MTTT AU ft. Padmé in PJs eating take out aka Chapter 7: A Connection - Padmé

Padmé had known from the first moment on that a secret relationship wouldn’t be easy to manage, no matter how used she was to keeping quiet and handling too many duties at once.

All Anakin and she had were stolen moments in the shadows, here and there a few hours in her apartment, and maybe, if she got a little reckless again and had a stroke of luck, a shared mission.

Padmé missed her husband, she did, but they had chosen this fate themselves and now they had to carry its burden. Maybe once the war was over, something would change. They hadn’t talked about it yet, not really, there had never been the time for it. Not to mention, who wanted to think of the hassle that was people’s expectations of them when they could instead make the best they were given at the present. She dared to imagine soft afternoons on Naboo at times, when she was still in bed, sleep chasing her, but that was about it.

Maybe Anakin would leave the Order for her, maybe Padmé would… She didn’t even know what she could do. She just knew that it couldn’t go on like this, not until the end of time. She wanted to show Anakin off to her family, tell them what an amazing husband she had and she wanted to go dancing with him, have a meal at a fancy restaurant, and return to Naboo with him for at least the High Holy Days to watch the fireworks and put candles on the lakes.

But not right now, nothing was possible right now. They were at war and Padmé shouldn’t indulge in such flimsy dreams. Unfortunately, when she was close to Anakin, it was so easy to get lost in dreams.

Anakin wasn’t here right now, but weeks away, somewhere in the Outer Rim, fighting yet another endless battle whose victory never seemed to matter too much in the long run.

The more war reports she read and the more she fought in the Senate, the more convinced did Padmé become that they were sending the Jedi out to fight for nothing. The thought of losing Anakin to this senseless war made her stomach turn. Padmé worried about him constantly. She knew he was strong, the Republic hadn’t dubbed him its Hero with no Fear for nothing after all, but she knew better.

Anakin was afraid all the time, sometimes so much that it stopped him from speaking, left him haunted by nightmares he couldn’t shake.

When she asked about it, he quickly switched the topic.  Padmé knew that she ought to do better and get Anakin to talk to her, but she was only human and a relationship always required two people doing their best.

And it required that they actually had time to talk.

Padmé glanced at her datapad. Its screen was still dark, taunting her. It had been a month since Anakin’s last message. They tried to message each other as often as possible, exchanging I love yous coded into descriptions of flowers and ship parts. They had to be careful, could never say a word too much that could be used against them at a later date. Nobody was to discover their secrets and so Padmé spun lies upon lies to keep everybody unaware.

She wondered what lies Anakin told Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and every other member of his Order. When the war had just started, Padmé hadn’t been too kind to the Jedi, thinking of their rules as strict and their prohibitions as arbitrary, but more and more she was coming to understand that there was a reason for it all.

You could not be a devout Jedi and pour everything into serving the Republic and then still give everything you have for a family outside of the Order. While it had taken her a while to realize it, Padmé could empathize with the sentiment. It was very much the same with her and her family. Each time they asked her to come home, Padmé still picked the Senate over them. She had a duty to the galaxy and if the price for it was this isolation from them, then she could bear it. She had her allies and friends here on Coruscant, her sisters in all but blood, and she had Anakin.

When he was there.

And actually replied to her message.

She hadn’t heard any great news about him or the 501st at large. As far as she was aware, they were still operating as always, running their missions and following orders. Anakin couldn’t be dead, the Republic would be in an uproar.

The thought was a bittersweet relief at least. She couldn’t even count the times she had thought Anakin dead on two hands anymore. He was always in so much danger – she constantly feared that today would be the day he wouldn’t return to her anymore.

If he died tomorrow, what were the last words they exchanged? The last kiss they had shared? Padmé didn’t want to think of herself as fair Veré, who thought of herself as the widow of Set who had gone to live amongst the stars long before her dear husband actually had.

She shook her head. She shouldn’t think so negatively. She had thousands of other things to worry about. New bills, the assassin that was after her and had somehow managed to poison her favorite dessert – she couldn’t spare more than one moment’s thought on the state of her husband.

She was never just Anakin Skywalker’s wife.

She didn’t want to be.

Padmé had always been a greedy child, though her parents had liked to call her ambitious instead. Padmé had wanted to do good and she had wanted to do it herself. She was unsure whether it was that she didn’t trust others enough for it or if a lothcat just couldn’t change its spots, but even when she let herself be distracted by sweet kisses, half her mind was somewhere else.

One of these days it was going to be too much.

Padmé stood up from her sofa, throwing another glance at her traitorous datapad before sighing, then she walked into the kitchen, searching for something edible after a long day. There she went to open her fridge, trying to find something good and fresh to eat, only to be severely disappointed. Her fridge was a sad and desolate space, stocked with only one take-out container and two fruits that were already starting to look moldy. Padmé vaguely recalled how well-stocked her fridge had been with delicacies from Naboo when she had started her term as a Senator. Imports from her homeworld had become extremely expensive.

Padmé was almost a little ashamed to admit she wouldn’t mind accepting one of Palpatine’s dinner proposals only to get her hands on one of the parfaits she used to stuff her mouth with as a kid.

Once Anakin was back, she’d get him to cook something for her. She hadn’t expected him to be good at it, but he was a surprisingly great cook. On the few days they had had on Naboo together after Geonosis, he had pretty much taken over the kitchen within minutes of seeing her attempt at cutting an onion. He had still required her presence and aid at times, unused to his new prosthetic, but even then he had given her instructions on how to properly cut vegetables and fruits. Padmé had never been someone for cooking, it was a trouble and she had never had the time to learn. Perhaps she should start to, people did say that stress baking helped, though she wouldn’t know where to fit a cooking class into her busy schedule.

In the end, Padmé grabbed the take-out box from Dex’s – her new favorite place to order food at – and warmed it up. After it was done, she considered putting the contents of the box on a plate to make it look like she had put at least some effort into the meal. Demotivated she looked at the white container. If she grabbed a plate, she’d just have to clean that as well and there was no point to it if it was really just her. Padmé fished a fork out of her drawer and walked back to her living room. She didn’t even bother sitting down at her dinner table and instead got comfortable on her couch. What a mighty picture she made, former Queen of Naboo, slouching on her sofa, eating takeout in her PJs like an overworked university student.

Not that Padmé really knew what university life was like. Her handmaidens and she had been educated by private tutors who had given them an extensive overview in whatever subjects they needed or desired. As Padmé dug into her food, she considered whether the time she had needed to read up on archeology digs on Archeron Prime 2 in five minutes because nobody else had wanted to deal with ancient sites conversation and so had dumped it on her, had been similar enough to the common student experience.

Padmé was contemplating turning on a holomovie when finally, after weeks, her datapad chimed with a light ringtone, one she had assigned only to one person.

As quickly as possible, she shoved her food off her legs and reached for datapad. She hadn’t even swallowed her food completely when she hit the accept for the incoming call. Finally, Anakin had had the time to call her. She had so much she wanted to tell him-

“Senator Amidala?”

Padmé stared at the small blue hologram that very much did not depict her husband, but instead his young and small Padawan, looking as exhausted as Padmé felt.

Suddenly, Padmé became all too aware of her looks.

She took pride in her dresses, it was part of Naboo custom and one’s appearance in the public sphere was immensely important. She didn’t exactly look like a dedicated politician right now.

“Padawan Tano,” Padmé greeted Ahsoka, hoping her formal tone could save the situation at least a little. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

Inwardly, Padmé cringed. Great, of course, she had to imply that she had thought she could answer Anakin’s call dressed like this. The day was just getting better and better. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.

If Ahsoka had anything to say about the way Padmé dressed, she didn’t let it show.

“I know, I’m sorry for calling you at this hour from my Master’s device, I wanted to talk to you and I didn’t have your number,” the youngling sounded like she was honestly sorry about it.

Padmé’s face softened. “There’s nothing to forgive, Ahsoka. Tell me, why are you calling me? You know I will never mind a call from you.”

“I- thank you. I’m calling about my Master.”

Ahsoka bit her lip and Padmé’s heartbeat sped up.

Oh no. Had Anakin said something? Had Ahsoka discovered their relationship? A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. This was the precise reason they were keeping it a secret still. Padmé couldn’t afford a scandal, Anakin needed to fight and they couldn’t put their friends between their duties and keeping their secret.

Well, Padmé should have known even their luck had to run out sometime.

“Ahsoka, look-“

“Did my master say anything to you before our battle on Temetha last month?” Asoka suddenly blurted out. “Anything strange? Weird? Bad?”

Their battle on-

Yes, Padmé remembered it. She had kept a keen eye on that one. It had been bound to be a difficult one according to the reports and it had also been the last major battle that Anakin had actively fought in as far as the news had been concerned. Ever since he had been on radio silence between her and Anakin. Nothing new of course, but she had still felt like something was going on behind the scenes.

“No,” Padmé said. “Nothing. Anakin and I had just talked about…”

Padmé grimaced. She was almost embarrassed to say that they had chatted about cheap romance novels and even worse holomovies. It had been such a dumb and random topic, childish almost, but it had occurred to her that she had no idea what kind of stories Anakin liked and enjoyed in his free time. They had decided to do a movie marathon the next time he was back on Coruscant, despite the fact that he desperately needed the time to recover and sleep, not spend hours awake with her.

“We talked about nothing really, just hobbies,” Padmé said. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ahsoka’s expression darkened.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she started slowly.

Padmé contemplated stopping Ahsoka right then and there. The poor teenager was going through enough, Padmé shouldn’t use her distress to her own gain, but where else was she going to get information about Anakin?

“Did something happen to Anakin?”

Ahsoka hesitated, her eyes darted to somewhere in her room that Padmé couldn’t see.

“He was injured in the aftermath of the battle,” Ahsoka revealed. “And I don’t know how. The machines say he’s fine.”

The machines. What machines? Had it been vital? Was he comatose? Was that the reason she hadn’t heard a word from him, was the army keeping it under wraps as to not cause distress? What other secrets were they hiding-

Padmé’s growing panic must have shown on her face as Ahsoka reassured her quickly.

“He’s fine now! Or as fine as he can be at least. He won’t talk to me about anything anymore. Obi-Wan’s training me right now too because Anakin can’t.”

Padmé’s thoughts traveled to those days on Naboo in the aftermath of Geonosis. Anakin’s hadn’t been given the time he needed to recover properly and get used to his new prosthetic before he’d been sent out to fight in the front and yet, somehow, he was one of their strongest fighters. Had he lost another limb? How many weeks would they give him off this time if it had already been a month?

“I just thought you might know something,” Ahsoka finally finished. “Master Skywalker speaks very highly of you, you’re friends?”

“Very close friends, yes,” Pamdé told Ahsoka. “We met when we were just children. Anakin helped my planet considerably at the time.”

“Really?” Ahsoka asked, light returning to her eyes.

Perhaps Padmé would have to call Obi-Wan later, or see if she could get someone to tell her what was truly going on with the 501st.

Until then she had a Padawan to calm down.

“I can’t believe Anakin never shared this story with you. Let me tell you all about it,” Padmé said. “I was 14 and had been elected the Queen of Naboo…”

Padmé ended up talking for hours or so it felt like, much longer than she did with Anakin as he hardly had the time for it. When Padmé was done talking about her and Anakin’s first meeting and the consequent fight with the Trade Federation, she began regaling Ahsoka with more stories about her term as a queen. By the time the Padawan had to go again, Ahsoka was still bothered by her worry for her master, but at least she was smiling again.

Padmé ended the call and took a deep breath. She looked at her now cold dinner and the dark night sky.

Then she stood up and got to work.

[chibsytelford]

A Broken Heart

*** GIF CREDIT TO OWNER ***

Anonymous asked -  Hii, could you please break my heart? Jokes aside, angsty imagines about Chibs are seriously lacking, so it would be super cool if you wrote one. Maybe with the help of the prompts "41. “If you care about me you won’t do this.” "8. “This is a lot harder than it looks, I don’t think you realize that.” "23. “What you’re feeling right now is regret.”. I love your work btw! 

Authors Note - Thanks to whoever the Anon was that requested this - this was something completely different for me to write about, especially with Chibs - as my other fics are more funny and fluffy. So seriously, thankyou so much for requesting this - i really enjoyed going out of my comfort zone and writing some really angsty and heartbreaking stuff for Chibs. I hope you enjoy this and it’s what you were looking for!

Warnings - swearing, angst, heartbreak, pregnancy.

Taglist - @agirllovespasta​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @naytraydr​ @rebel-without-cause-x​ @whyisgmora​ @jadesamhart​ @talicat713​ @fangirlingaesthetics​ - if you would like added to my taglist just send me a message :)

You always thought when you met the love of your life, it would be a magical meeting. You had dreamed of being stranded at the side of the road, and your knight in shining armour would come and save you and you'd live happily ever after. That's not how you met Chibs. You met him through your mutual friend Unser. You met Unser when you reported your car stolen at the Charming Police Station 5 years ago. You hadn't set foot in a Police Station before and Unser was a kind older policeman who helped you to fill out a stolen vehicle report. Ever since then if you had any problems Wayne Unser was there to help you. He was like the father you always wanted. He introduced you to the Sons 4 years ago. You needed some work done on your new car and he took you to Teller Morrow to get it fixed. And that's when you met Chibs. You hit it off with him straight away and you've been dating ever since.

It was your 4 year anniversary with Chibs today, so you decided to make him lunch and take it to the clubhouse to surprise him. You made him his favourite cheese, pickle and beef sandwiches, with some shortbread and some coffee in a flask. Nothing special, but his favourite. He had been a bit more quieter than usual around you, and he sometimes didn't even come home anymore, or when he did he was always up and out before you were awake. You put it down to club business worrying him, and didn't ask him about it.

You arrived at Teller Morrow to find it eerily quiet. The bikes were all there, but nobody was outside. You headed over to the door but stopped when you heard your boyfriend talking. You peeked through the window and saw him sitting on a stool at a table with Jax, Opie, Juice and Happy. He looked torn.

"A don't know what to do brother, a don't think a love her anymore" you heard him tell the men. "Am trying to stay away from her as much as a can, hell I've been staying here most nights".

"You need to tell Y/N Chibs" it was Jax who spoke. "You've been together 4 years, what happened?"

"A wish a knew, it's just not the same as it was 4 years ago, hell, it hasn't felt right for me for months now, that's all a know" Chibs took a gulp of his beer. "Am going out for a cigarette, and ti clear ma head".

You couldn't move from the door fast enough and your boyfriend came charging out, stopping in his tracks when he saw you standing there.

"Fuck Y/N, how long have ye been standing there?" He asked you as he tried to reach for you.

"Long enough to hear that you don't love me anymore" you answered as you took a step back. You tried so hard not to cry but the tears were threatening to burst out any second. "Why didn't you tell me? What's wrong with me? Why don't you love me anymore?" The tears finally came and you were sobbing uncontrollably. Your family abandoned you years ago. They told you that you brought them shame and they couldn't stand to look at you anymore. And now here was your boyfriend of 4 years breaking up with you, and leaving you, just like everybody else did.

"Am sorry lass, ave been meaning to tell ye, it's not you it's me, a just don't feel the same way about ye anymore" he explained.

"If you care about me, you won't do this" the heartbreak was evident in your voice. "Please Chibs, I love you, these past 4 years have been the best of my life, I had nothing before you, and you gave me everything and more" you were now shaking and the tears were still flowing down your cheeks. "This seems so easy for you!" You spat at him. "You're not even bothered are you?"

"This is a lot harder than it looks, I don't think you realize that" Chibs said. "A feel like a dick breaking up with ye like this, in the parking lot of ma work, in the parking lot where we first met, but a can't help how a feel".

"I just wish you had told me this much sooner, before I fell so deeply in love with you. I don't think I can live without you". All you wanted to do was reach out and kiss him, reach out and run your hands through his hair which he used to love you doing, reach out and trace his scars on his cheeks. But you knew that could and would never happen again. "I won't make this any harder for you, goodbye Chibs" and you walked away. You walked away from the man who owned your whole heart, and then ripped it out.

Chibs headed back into the clubhouse with a look on his face.

'What you're feeling right now is regret" Juice spoke this time as he stood up to give Chibs a hug "We heard everything man, are you OK?"

"Nah brother, a don't feel regret, a feel sad obviously, but most of all a feel relieved, hopefully we can both move on with our lives now" Chibs returned Juice's hug.

That was not how you planned to spend your 4 year anniversary.  You expected Chibs to be happy to see you, and you would sit and eat lunch together. But that didn't happen. And it would never happen again. The whole drive home you kept asking yourself what was wrong with you that everyone you met wanted rid of you. You wish you had the answers, so you could change, and make everyone love you.

***2 weeks later***

You had been throwing up for the past few weeks, every morning without fail. You were eating more, and craving all types of weird food. You knew you needed to go to the store and buy a pregnancy test.

The drive there consisted of you thinking about how you would tell Chibs. He was obviously the dad, but you didn't want to tell him for the fact he might take pity and take you back. You only wanted him back if he meant it, which you were sure he wouldn't. Grabbing 3 pregnancy tests to make sure, you headed to the checkout to buy them and headed home to find out.

Your timer went off and you inhaled deeply. You always visioned Chibs being here with you, waiting with you in the bathroom while the timer ticked down to 0. But you were alone, and you knew he wasn't coming back. With a big heave, you stood up and picked up all 3 pregnancy tests. 2 lines on each of them. You were definitely pregnant. You were so happy, you have always wanted a baby. A mini you. And you knew the baby would be well loved by you.

You decided to tell Chibs sooner rather than later. You were secretly hoping there was a part of him that would just pull you into his arms and tell you he loved you and everything would be OK. Heading to Teller Morrow you felt like you could throw up any second, and it wasn't the pregnancy causing it this time.

You found him at the bar sipping beer. He turned around when he heard the door open and was surprised to see you.

"What are ye dain here?" He walked over to you curiously.

"I have something to tell you Chibs. I'm pregnant". You watched his face go from confusion, to anger as he tried to process the words.

"Aye nice try, a knew you'd try something like this". You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The once kind and loving and gentle man was being so cold and hard to you. You didn't deserve this. You handed him the pregnancy tests.

"It's true Filip, I'm pregnant, I'm going to make a doctors appointment to find out how far along, do you want to come?" You asked him.

Just then a woman you had never seen before emerged from the door which leads to the dorm rooms. She came straight over to Chibs, turned him around and pressed her lips against his. He was still holding the pregnancy tests, but he wrapped his arms around the woman and deepened the kiss right in front of you.

"You're a fucking dick do you know that Filip, I've came here to tell you I'm having your fucking baby, and you say I'm lying about it, then you decide to play tonsil tennis with that whore!" You were more angry than sad this time. You knew if Chibs could treat you like this after 4 years together, you had dodged a bullet. You grabbed the pregnancy tests from him and headed to the door to finally leave the clubhouse forever. You turned back one more time and saw Chibs looking at you.

"Don't come looking for us. You had your chance to step up and tell me you wanted this baby as much as me, but instead you showed you don't want me or the baby. I hope you'll be happy with your new girlfriend" you said softly. You had no more anger to give and as much as you tried to hate Chibs, you couldn't bring yourself to. Your main focus now was the baby growing inside you.

[hopelessromanticvirgo]

Number 134 [17]

Chapter 16

“I’m so sorry for calling you this late at night but I have so many problems and your voice is the only answer to all of them.”

When Robbe got woken up and saw the incoming call for Sander at four o’clock in the morning he got worried, took the phone in his hands with trembling fingers, imagining and waiting for the worst.

But fortunately, the boy just couldn’t sleep and wanted somebody to talk to, and after apologizing nonstop for minutes and Robbe saying it was alright and he was happy that Sander called and reached out, they started talking.

“What’s up?” Robbe really wasn’t mad for being awake, he also wanted to talk to Sander.

Somehow talking to him also became his only happy place but he was acting horrible to him in the past, he knew that, but couldn’t help but take everything out on him which wasn’t fair but he’s trying to change that now.

He sometimes would forget that he was talking to Sander because he was the only who needed help and communication at first but now, the situation turned over and it seemed like Sander became his therapist and not the other way around, what an irony.

And Robbe didn’t have a very good day and was so relived when he heard his voice again.

He’s getting close to him, it’s obvious and everyone around him has noticed, how he’s always on his phone wherever he is, and how he just says that he’s busy all day long every other day and the only answer he has to that is that, it’s his work.

People know what he does for a living, when he first got accepted, he was yelling it from the rooftops because his dream finally became reality, so when he would say that he was working, they would leave him alone. But after a while, everyone could see it was more than just a job, and more than just a person he talked to.

It was the strange gazes throwing on his way when he went outside to talk at first, then it was weird questions he got that were hinting on something more than it really was, and somehow the conversations changed from “I’m meeting my client today” from “I’m seeing my friend, don’t wait up.”

It was coming home late at night after Sander’d pick him up from the university to go somewhere together almost every single day now.

It was late night talks on the phone and constant laughter that could be heard coming from his room.

It was a little piece of drawings pinned on his walls and finding cute notes in his backpack.

And when he stopped sitting down with his laptop on Sunday mornings, with his email open in front of him, that’s when it became clear for everybody else, that he wasn’t doing this for his job anymore.

And it felt amazing, being with Sander, stuck in a little bubble, not having to worry about anything else, his phone on silent, just enjoying the moment but going back home was always the worst, not only he had to say goodbye to him but all this was making the situation terrible to manage. He knew that after hanging out with him, there was a very serious argument waiting for him from the person he hasn’t been spending time with nowadays. And he got tired of them so he wouldn’t even say where he was going or with who, but Robbe was sure that he knew, of course he did. Which would make them argue more, yell and fight for that night but the next morning always would come and they would calm down and start this endless process all over again and again but for how long, none of them knew.

“Nothing much. I was just thinking about you.” Sander said from the other line and Robbe smiled, looked at the time.

“You were thinking about me at 04:34?” It was crazy how much attention Sander would pay to little things, everything Robbe would even lightly mention with him, Sander remembered it instantly, surprising Robbe when he’d say something about it, shocked that he remembered it. And Sander would do this kind of things often, text him or send him something with a caption “this made me think of you” and Robbe would get the biggest smile on his face and there were no point in trying to hide it, sometimes he would be sitting on a lecture, not even listening, his mind drifting back to his phone where he knows, new messages are waiting to be opened. It’s different from any relationship he has had in his whole life, filled with excitement, happiness, campiness and most importantly love. He has never felt this peace before like he does, while being with him or talking to him, like he knew, this person would move the sun, would do everything for him and would protect him and shield him in his angel wings. His heart wasn’t beating from the adrenaline or stress or nervousness, it was beating fast because Sander really did pay attention to him, made him feel special and important. And Robbe has never felt this way before.

“Uh-huh.” Robbe was wide awake now, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep and he wasn’t mad about it. Right now, being awake was the best thing he could be doing if it meant talking to Sander.

“I don’t believe that.” He relaxed, laying on his back with his right hand holding his phone by his ear, the device that was able to make him hear Sander’s voice whenever he wanted and he has never been this thankful for somebody who created the phones.

“Oh trust me it’s the truth. You’re all I think about.” When he says stuff like that, Robbe can’t help but get embarrassed, blush. It’s too much for him to even acknowledge that somebody can be going on with their day and the thought of Robbe just pops in their heads, specially somebody like Sander.

“There must have been something specific in your mind.” He got somewhat used to Sander talking like this and dares to ask for more, which Sander picked on very fast and easily and never fails to tease him about it.

“Are you fishing for compliments?” Robbe could literally hear the smirk in his voice and shook his head.

“No, I just want to know the exact thing that made you think of me at this time.”

And he wasn’t lying. He really wanted to know.

“I was thinking.”

“Yeah? What were you thinking about, other than me, of course?” Robbe teased with a smile on his face and heard that he made Sander laugh, which made him proud of his self.

The boy stayed silent for a while and Robbe waited for him, gave him the time he needed.

“Robbe.” Sander whispered with some kind of strong emotion in his voice that he couldn’t put a finger on. He wasn’t sure if it was sadness, desperation or something else. But he could hear that whatever Sander was going to say, he was hundred percent serious about it, which made Robbe a little alerted.

“I’m here, I’m listening.”

I’m here for you. I’m here with you. His mind was screaming and begging to tell him that but Robbe said nothing more.

“Have you ever thought that days goes by, and nothing changes but when you look back, everything is completely different. On this day last year, I’d never thought that I’d be where I am right now, and it makes me so happy that I met you.”

Robbe let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding after hearing this. What he’d do to be next to him right now.

“I’m happy I met you too. And you’re right. Everything is different now than it was before. Why are you thinking about this now?” Robbe still got a little bit scared since Sander has told him, he always feels horrible when he starts thinking about life and time. He desperately wants to see him, to know what Sander really feels inside of him, all the emotions he tries so hard to hide but his eyes always seem to betray him.

“I don’t know. It just came into my mind.” Robbe is sure that there is absolutely nothing that just comes in his mind without a reason but decided not to make a comment about that.

“Are you alright?” Robbe asked carefully, trying to not make it obvious that Sander made him worried by talking about this now.

“I am when I’m talking to you.” His heart melted. He doesn’t want to admit but these emotions he’s feeling aren’t friendly and he’s terrified of them, specially when Sander says and tells him those things like it’s not a big deal at all and maybe, it really isn’t for him.

“But Sander, that’s a good thing.”

“What is?”

“That everything is different now.”

“Yeah, it is.” They stayed silent for a while until Robbe heard Sander’s scared voice again.

“Can I tell you something? But don’t get upset.” He hates when Sander warns him like that, Robbe knows whatever he will say will be very personal and most of the times, sad.

“Okay.” His voice betrayed him but Sander didn’t notice or chose not to notice it.

Still silence and when Robbe about to say something more, Sander started.

“If they haven’t found me that night when I - “

Robbe’s eyes got wide, already knowing where he was going with this and what he was talking about.

“No, stop thinking about it. I don’t want you to think or talk about it now.”

Sander ignored what he said like he didn’t hear it at all and continued.

“If I’d died that night like I wanted to, I’d never meet you.”

Not any of them dared to speak up, the silence was consuming them whole.

Robbe was speechless and it seemed like Sander didn’t expect him to answer, and when he said his next sentence, Robbe knew that he was in too deep, this wasn’t going to end well, but after hearing this, his heart couldn’t help but jump, the emotions he tried to keep in so hard, broke down the doors and swallowed him and he realized, that something more than a friendship must be going on between them right now, or it was at least starting to and no matter how wrong that idea seemed like, he still got his hopes up and he really wished to be next to Sander right now.

“For the first time after that, I’m glad they found me on time.”

Chapter 18

[eponymiad]

Rating: T Word Count: 4450

1.

The first time Sophos asked the mountain queen to dance, it was his last night in Eddis. For formality’s sake, Eddis would not have declined, but it had taken him most of the night to work up the nerve. 

Punctilious in her hospitality, Eddis had arranged a banquet in their honor. His uncle who was Sounis had finally negotiated their release, though Sophos wouldn’t exactly have called it a harrowing hostage situation. The magus, ever a teacher, had made their captivity instructive, and the Eddisian court had been exceptionally kind, if a bit distant. 

Grasping for conversation as they danced, Sophos said, “I visited the god of thieves’ altar today. Those emeralds were even more impressive than you made them out to be.” 

Eddis laughed, then pressed her lips together. “You can see why the duchess was livid,” she whispered, sounding amused and a little conspiratorial. 

“Indeed. I’m surprised Gen made it out alive.” 

Her grin faltered, and Sophos worried he had inadvertently insulted her or her court. The lowlanders often painted the Eddisians barbaric, but Sophos had not meant his joke literally. Before he could fumble an apology, however, Eddis’s easy smile returned. 

She said, “Oh, Gen prevailed, he always does. Are you glad to be returning to Sounis?” 

Sophos blushed. “I have enjoyed my time in Eddis.” He had grown immensely fond of Eddis — both queen and country. 

The queen of Eddis was exceedingly kind. Sophos knew that another sovereign would not have been so welcoming of their prisoners. His uncle certainly would not have, and that Attolia had held them in a cell in her stronghold just weeks earlier was proof enough that she, too, thought prisoners belonged in a prison. 

Eddis smiled, and Sophos blushed harder as he returned it. He was acutely aware of where his hand rested on her waist, grateful the dance was one he knew well. He thought his nerves might fail him. 

“You must be excited to see your sisters again. From everything you’ve told me of them, they sound much like my more…rambunctious cousins.” 

“They are troublemakers, if that’s what you mean. I am sure to find my hair filled with twigs and leaves by suppertime the day I return.” Sophos laughed. “I cannot wait to see them.” 

Home also meant seeing his father, and explaining what had happened to Pol. The magus was sure to have sent word by now, but Sophos was dreading having to answer questions. The guilt was nearly too much to bear as it was. 

Eddis seemed to guess what he was thinking. “I am sorry about your guard captain,” she said carefully. 

“I will miss him very much. And I do not…look forward to having to explain what happened to him.” 

“I cannot believe your father could blame you for this, Sophos,” she said, even more gently, guessing again at his thoughts.  

“I see you have not met my father, your majesty,” he said wryly. 

She smiled again, an intoxicatingly slow-spreading one that filled her entire face. “I have, actually.” 

“Oh.” He was at a loss for what to say. It was not only his grief over Pol and Ambiades, still fresh and raw, but the concentrated power of her smile that rendered him temporarily speechless. The Queen of Eddis was perhaps the loveliest person he had ever met, and he’d discovered that her more brilliant smiles made it difficult for him to speak. A particular disappointment, as he was eager to talk to her as much as possible. 

Sparing him from scrambling for intelligent thought, Eddis changed the subject. 

“I hope we will have you back as a guest soon. I expect we will have a ceremony in the fall.” 

“For your wedding?” Now that she had no cause to marry his uncle, Sophos had been wondering when she and Gen would marry. 

She laughed. “No, I suspect we will have one more ceremony to honor Hamiathes’s gift, and we will of course invite our neighbors to attend.” 

Sophos wondered if he might persuade his uncle who was Sounis to bring him. He repressed a shudder at the thought of prolonged interaction with his uncle, but perhaps the magus would make a case for it on Sophos’s behalf. 

“I will hope to attend, then, and look forward to returning.” The music ended, and Sophos bowed. “Thank you for the dance, your majesty.”

She returned his smile, inclining her head briefly before turning to her next partner. Sophos returned to his seat, feeling light as air.   

2.

Sophos hadn’t realized he’d grown until he was standing in front of Helen, asking her to dance. He found he had to tilt his head now to look her in the eye. 

As they danced, they chatted, but Sophos could tell she was weary behind the smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  

“How have you fared today?” he asked. 

“Very well. It was an important ceremony and I am glad to have the company of our neighbors and allies from further away to share it with. Did you enjoy the day?” Her formulaic response left Sophos unconvinced. An expert himself in court niceties, Sophos knew they were easy to wield when more natural conversation was stilted. 

He pressed again, as gently as possible. “I did, thank you. But I imagine it must have been a long day for you, especially.” 

She hesitated, before letting out a quiet sigh. “Yes,” she said, conceding the point. Her face relaxed at the admission. “I am rather exhausted.” 

He sympathized. “I find large events like this particularly draining myself, and I am not anyone nearly as important.” 

“I think heir to the throne merits ‘nearly as important,’ Sophos. But yes, they are draining. Frankly…” 

He waited, hoping she would speak, but she gave a small shake of her head as if letting the thought pass. He ventured a guess. “A lot of self-important, overly-dressed people?” 

Helen’s mouth opened in surprise before she let out a laugh. “That is an…apt description.” 

In the short time he had known her, Sophos had begun to suspect the queen of Eddis cared as little for frivolous courtiers as he did. He was delighted, both to have his suspicions confirmed and to have teased the admission out of her. 

“Just a gaggle of masks,” he said. 

She looked up at him, confused. “A gaggle of what?” 

“Masks, from the story of the fox and the mask?” he said, but she shook her head. “Surely you know Aesop?” 

“Of course I know Aesop, but I do not think I have heard that one. The only story I know about foxes is the fox and sour grapes. Tell me about the mask?”  

Smirking, he told her, “The fox stumbles across a beautiful mask, wrought from gold and inlaid with stones, perfectly molded for a mortal face. Contemplating it, he says, ‘so full of beauty, so empty of brains!’” 

“Oh!” She snorted, and slipped into a round of silent giggles. Sophos was unreasonably pleased to have made her laugh.

“Perhaps that one is popular in Sounis because of the invaders?” he said, wondering aloud. The Merchant Empire had been fond of their ornate masks, which were worn by okloi and patronoi alike during the festival months. “I did not realize there might be more stories. I wonder if I know all the Eddisian ones. What are some of your favorites?” 

She thought for a moment. “The Astrologer Who Fell into a Well and The Boy and His Nettles are two that spring to mind.” 

“Oh, I know the nettles. I have been made to remember that one often by my mother,” he said wryly. 

Smiling, she said, “But not the astrologer?” 

That one did not know, but the the music came to an end, and it was time for the queen to move on to her next partner. Sophos did not stop to think before he said, “Permit me one more dance and you can tell it to me?” 

Helen smiled the smile that Sophos was rapidly discovering buoyed his soul. “Very well,” she said, as Sophos, beaming, led them into the steps for the next dance. “There was a stargazer who spent evenings with his face upturned to the stars, oblivious to all else — the way I’ve seen you do with a book,” she added. Sophos blushed and nodded in agreement. “One night, as he walked through a field, looking up, he fell in a well.” Sophos cringed. “His neighbor came running at the shouts and, seeing the astrologer said, ‘Now you see what happens when you worry over the skies instead of that which is right in front of you.’” 

Sophos raised his eyebrows. “Is this an instructive tale about how I should worry less for the magus’s lessons on temple architecture, and more about hunting and sword fighting so that I might be a suitable heir?” 

“No!” With the hand already holding his shoulder, she slapped his arm gently. “More a reminder to myself.” 

The queen, as far as Sophos knew, did not have a particular interest in the sciences or any other academic subject. 

“A reminder of what?” 

“Not to make myself sick worrying about the plans of the gods and instead focus on the things I can control.” 

Sophos was not religious, did not believe in gods or myths. Despite what Gen had told them as they had camped in the mountain country a few months earlier, the Eddisians were much more religious than Sounisians. That much, at least, had become clear during his two trips. Foreign rulers and emissaries might have attended for the formality of the ceremony, but Sophos had heard the way the Eddisians spoke of Hamiathes’s gift — Gen and Helen had certainly believed in its sanctity. But still, he could see the wisdom in her words. 

“Ah. My cautionary tale is A Man with Two Sweethearts, though I rarely heed my own reminders,” he admitted. When her eyebrows shot up her head, he laughed and fumbled as he said, “The lesson is, those who seek to please everybody please nobody.” 

“I’d never heard that one either, though the lesson itself is a good one. It might carry a different message to my Eddisians though,” she said cryptically. Changing the subject, she said, “I did not realize there were so many more fables.” 

Sophos did not hesitate, did not even draw a breath before saying, “I have a large book of them that was given to me when I was learning to read. I could recopy some of my favorites and send them to you when I return to Sounis, if you’d like.” 

“That would be lovely.” 

And there it was, the chance he had been waiting for. Sophos had spent his faux-captivity over the summer in Eddis, and this much shorter trip, frantically searching for an opening to write to Helen. He had grown increasingly dismayed as the day wore on that he might not find a good reason. The excitement and nerves pounded against his rib cage in equal measure as they moved through the last steps and the song came to an end. 

“Thank you for the dance.” Sophos bowed, knowing it would do little to cover up the blush spreading across his cheeks as he willed his mind away from the rapidly unfolding fantasy that she might respond to his letter, that they might strike up a real friendship, that that might… “It is always a privilege to to spend time in your company.” 

She returned his smile with one of her own, the slow-spreading one that was, Sophos was certain, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. It made his heart sing. 

“I will look forward to the Aesop stories.” 

“I will get working on them as soon as I arrive home,” he promised. 

3.

They had danced nearly every night that he was in Attolia. 

They were both a little clumsy in their dancing, both in different ways. Helen was stiff, her soldier’s march no less pronounced in the fluid steps of a dance. Sophos, for his part, had grown taller since regular balls in Sounis, and found it hard to adjust to the length of his gait. But as the days wore on, punctuated by walks in the gardens and, if he was lucky, meals together, they had found their rhythm. By now they moved almost as one. 

Sophos had felt something shift, in the way she looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she moved her body in time with his. He may be cow-eyed, but he wasn’t oblivious. As he fspun out further and further, head sick with plans and worries about retaking his country, the sole thought buoying his hopes was that he might come back not to a political marriage but — 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Helen teased, smiling up at him. She smiled at him often, and it still caught him off guard, left him feeling both completely off kilter and as if everything was right in the world. His heart swelled. 

“How very lucky I am that you dance with me.”

“Plenty of women dance with you.”

“But none nearly as beautiful as you.”

She flushed then, cheeks darkening, mouth half-open in surprise. “Flatterer,” she said when she recovered. 

“Not at all. I am incapable of lying, as Gen has made sure to remind me several times a day.” She shook her head, still smiling. He asked, “Are you looking forward to returning home to Eddis?” He led her into a spin. 

She spun back. “Immensely,” she admitted wearily. “I miss my mountains.” 

Sophos did not fail to notice that as she had landed back into his arms, her body was a little closer than it had been. Sophos slid his hand around, from her waist to her back, and pulled her even closer. 

The music changed and he cursed his luck as he and Helen broke apart. That move had taken all his nerve, and he did not know if he would risk it again. 

But the next song was different, and with the drum came the trill of a mountain pipe. Helen glanced over her shoulder at Gen, who was looking at his wife with such a fondness that it warmed Sophos’s heart. It was the first time Sophos had heard a traditional Eddisian tune since he had been in Attolia. He suspected they were avoided since both hands were needed, but the Attolias seemed to be getting into position to dance. Helen looked back at Sophos.

“You know the square dances?” 

“Helen,” he said dryly. “I am good for very little, but I do at least know Eddisian court dances. Have a little more faith in me than that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “If I had so little faith in you, I would be more worried for the future of our little peninsula.” 

“Point taken,” he said, grimacing. As he moved into position, Sophos faltered — he realized that he had not danced the Eddisan dances in years. “We’ll have to see how we fare with the height difference.” 

She laughed. “Everyone is taller than me. I barely come up to Boagus’s sternum. It will be fine.” 

The dance required partners to grab each other’s hands and Sophos, seizing the opportunity, laced his fingers between hers. That the dance was easier when performed with clasped hands was of little importance to him at the moment. 

When it was time for her to spin, Sophos released Helen’s hands as she spun away and back to him, fingers sliding back into his when she returned, the skirts of her dress following suit. 

“This dance is the only time I prefer a dress to trousers,” she said.

“I don’t remember this dance being so fun,” Sophos said, just barely holding onto his breath as the music sped up for the next cycle. 

“Have you ever danced it with an Eddisian before?” He hadn’t. “It takes practice for it to really flow.” 

It was certainly more fun than any of the continental dances at the Sounisian balls, or even the more out-of-fashion dances brought to the peninsula by the last invaders. There was a thrill in the way the pace picked up, quickened your heartbeat and chased the air from your lungs as you stepped faster and faster with your partner, until the only things you could focus on were the tapping of your own feet and your partner’s body, mirroring yours as you tried desperately to keep the pace. 

Their fingers unwound only for the last spin, Helen’s hands small in his as he gripped them tight. And as they spun together, Sophos so much larger than her that he thought he might lift her off the ground with his force, their eyes held one another’s. In that moment, Sophos was sure there was no one else in the room, in the palace, in Attolia, and maybe not even the world. 

The music ended and they came to a halt, both of them breathless and bubbling with mirth. Pulling one hand from hers, Sophos gently pushed back a curl that had flipped free of her crown, tucking the short strand behind her ear. His hand lingered there, and Helen held his gaze. Sophos was acutely aware of how close they stood. Close enough, he thought, that if he bent down, he could kiss her. 

He considered it, his mind running away as he imagined, for an instant, tilting her head up at his and kissing her here, in front of everyone, propriety and the whole court of Attolia be damned. 

But he was not so reckless — though he might have been had they been in the gardens alone — and slowly he lowered his hand from her face, their other hands still clasped tight. Never once did she take her eyes off his. 

And as he lay in the dark later that night, restless over his journey and the hard, perhaps fatal plan that lay before him, he thought of Helen, of the dance, and of the look she’d given him he had touched her face. 

This was not his imagination, he was sure. There was something between them. 

Thinking of her, he drifted to sleep. 

+1

“Is the dress all right?” Gen asked as he and Helen stepped together. His tone was light, but Helen knew her cousin too well. His hook lay at her waist, blade carefully turned away to spare her dress — or her — any harm. 

“It’s perfect, thank you, Gen. And thank you for sparing me from whatever awful gown Aunt Livia would have inevitably chosen.” She would have complied, her worry over the future of her country and the imminent threat of her barons making it easier to say yes than to argue for her own self-interests. Instead, Gen had insisted on handling it. The resulting wedding dress was beautiful, both as simple as Helen preferred and cut with a neckline to show off her tattoos, making clear to those watching that she was still Eddis. She was overwhelmed, as always, for his careful consideration and fierce loyalty. “And the wedding has been lovely. You are the consummate host. Maybe you are better as a frivolous trophy husband, planning parties and selecting gowns,” she teased. 

“I told you all, I make a much better figurehead than king. I also told you that I thought you would marry him,” Gen added, gloating, as the dance continued. 

She rolled her eyes, but could not stop her smile. “Do you never tire of being right?” 

“No.” He grinned at her, and she was glad for it. Eugenides had not smiled much these last few days, not since her barons had arrived and their cousins had begun complaining about his ascension to Annux in earnest. 

The last notes of the song faded, replaced with sounds of drums and a single mountain pipe. Before she had time to consider whether she was willing to risk a one-handed dance with Gen, her husband appeared at her side, tugging her by the hands into an empty space with him.

She and Sophos finished the dance with the last spin, as breathless as ever after a square dance, and the music master paused before the next song to allow people to compose themselves. Sophos grinned down at her. She reached up to touch his face, his head ducked to bring it closer to her. 

“You look so handsome today.” 

She watched his cheeks, already flushed from dancing, turn redder still, the color blooming dark across his face. His blushes were always easy, but he had glowed like the fires of the sacred mountain today, the joy radiating off of him mirroring the feeling threatening to burst out of her own chest. 

Helen thought of the first time she’d danced a square dance with him. While he had been in Attolia, she had been so wracked with worry and guilt, over saving her country and manipulating Sophos, that she had not even noticed herself falling in love with him. 

But, the night before he had returned to Sounis, they had danced one last time, and she had felt it then. Their bodies had drawn closer and closer like magnets as they’d danced, and when he had held her face, she’d been struck with the thought that she really might like to kiss him. 

In hindsight, it was obvious that she was in love with him. But at the time, she had written it off as a reaction to the dancing. That happened sometimes with dance partners, the magic of the music and the movement of bodies against one another sparking a flame that flickered and died with the end of the song. 

Well, she thought, as the flame inside her grew brighter and brighter, so much for that. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

“How very much I’d like to kiss you.”

He blushed more still, suddenly endearingly shy. “You could.” 

They had kissed plenty by now. It had taken ten days from their engagement to assemble their barons in Attolia for the wedding. Sophos had not once slept in his own bed. 

“Not when you’re all the way up there, I can’t.”

He stooped low so she could pull him close, and she kissed him, quick and sweet. 

Sophos rested his forehead against hers and murmured, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

He kissed her forehead and took one hand in his, his other resting lightly on her back. The music had picked up again, and they began the slower steps for one of the Continental dances. 

Helen wiped the sweat from her brow. The fall had not yet arrived in Attolia, and it was hot in the packed courtyard. That her dress was stifling did not help. Gen had been careful in his selection, but there was only so plain wedding clothes could be. It might have been fine had they had the wedding in Eddis, but the layers were oppressive in the lowlands. 

Fussing with the heavy cloth of her dress, she said, “I cannot wait to get out of this godsforsaken gown.” 

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” 

She bit back her grin. “I meant because of the heat.” 

“I didn’t,” he said, boyish grin consuming his face. She pressed her own face into his chest briefly to hide her blush. 

They were both quiet for several moments. When she looked back up at his face, she could see worry lines on his forehead. 

“What’s worrying you?” she asked. 

“It’s nothing.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him. Sighing, he said, “It seems your barons have been putting ideas in my barons’ heads.” 

She closed her eyes briefly in frustration. “The bastards never miss an opportunity for drama,” she said, freely swearing away from prying ears. “I am sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You did warn me they were contentious.” 

“You do not know the half of it,” she said, thinking of the bloody and nearly-bloody history she had not yet revealed to him. She would have to tell him soon, of her failure to keep her barons in line, and of how their trip to steal Hamiathes’s gift had saved Gen more than it had saved her. 

His frown lines deepened and he glanced around. “A conversation for later?” 

“For later,” she agreed. Shaking her head, she said, “But there is not much to be done about them, except make sure they stay in line. It’s the epitome of The Lion, the Flies and the Hedgehog.” 

“The what?” He looked bewildered.

“The Aesop story. It was one of the ones you sent me! The evil you know is better than the evil you don’t?” 

“Oh,” he said, face and voice tinged with wonder. “You remember that?” 

She smiled. “Of course I remember. I loved those stories. I hadn’t heard most of them.” 

Helen was sure no one had ever looked at her with as much fondness as Sophos was in that very moment. 

“I can’t believe you remember those. I was so nervous sending that letter. I had looked high and low for an excuse to write you. When you said you hadn’t heard some of them, I clung to it desperately.” 

“I am glad you did.” 

“Not nearly as glad as I am,” he said, beaming. “It feels like many lifetimes ago now.” 

“Indeed.” 

Not even in the beginning of her reign had Helen dared to hope for anything more than a peaceful political marriage. And later, when she had made her peace with marrying Sophos’s uncle, she had lost hope for even that. Her singular focus was saving her country; her wants and needs inevitably fell to the wayside. Such was the burden of being queen. 

Then Sophos had reappeared, like something straight out of the Eponymiad, and beneath all the relief and fear and guilt that had twisted together inside her, Helen had felt the first glimmers of hope igniting, that her marriage might be something more than just tolerable. She would at least be marrying her friend, she had thought. Followed immediately by the crashing waves of dread that her manipulation of him to save Eddis would be the end of that too. It had kept her up at night. 

But her imagination had not been big enough for the end result: a husband she loved as she loved Sophos. Even now, on her wedding day, it felt surreal that she could be so lucky. 

Sophos smiled down at her. “Are you happy?” 

“Beyond my wildest dreams.” 

Sophos blushed bright red. Swaying in his arms, Helen relaxed.

Crossposted on AO3 here!

[shhhlikeme]

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #6

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A/N: 1 word, 5 letters: D R A M A

Pls peep the vote at the end! I know there are not very many of you who read this so I want to make it enjoyable for y’all 🥰 it’s sooo important to me that I write what makes me happy

OUTTAKE 5 WAS POSTED HOURS BEFORE THIS ONE SO CHECK IT !

‼️THIS IS THE 10TH PART IN A SERIES READ THE OTHER PARTS BEFORE THIS ONE: ‼️

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

Hours After You Noticed Aone For The First Time And Had Lunch Together! 🤫🥩

With a very discreet bounce in his step, Aone Takanobu walked into the Date Tech boys volleyball team changeroom after exchanging numbers with you after school.

“AONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Upon entrance, the entire team jumped him, tackling him to the ground while shouting praise and acclamations of joy loudly!

Aone was actually grinning, shoving the boys off of him to pretend that he was annoyed.

But anyone could tell that this mountain man was on cloud 9!!!!

Futakuchi reached out his hand to help Aone up and the mountain man took it. They shared a look that only Aone knew meant his best friend was happy for him. Proud of him.

Actually, Kenji’s look was one of happiness and pride, yes, but it was also full of nerves for his friend’s potential heartbreak. But Aone was too overjoyed inside to pick up on that.

“So Y/N finally knows your name!” Koganegawa yelled as he jumped on Aone’s back.

Shrugging the big boned setter off, Aone blushed. He has never been happier in his entire life and it was kind of embarrassing that the whole team knew why that was.

“I’m very happy.” Aone nodded at his team who smiled brilliantly back at him. “But please, do not get your hopes up. I’m trying with everything in me not to get mine up, in case Y/N decides she doesn’t like me. She and I are just going to start talking for now. And for that I am grateful.” Stomach in knots, Aone bowed to his team in thanks for all the encouragement and praise.

“But Aone-senpai, Y/N asked you to lunch! We all watched you guys, she looked ecstatic talking to you and she even glared at these other girls in the hallway because they were checking you out!”

Aone’s heart dropped. “She did?”

Kenji smiled, patting him on the back. “Saw it with my own eyes too, big guy.”

Aone felt like he was so happy he could sing, but he knew how odd that would look coming from such a big and serious guy like himself.

“Oh. Well... that’s quite nice.”

What a turn of events! This morning, Aone was going through another day with a heavy heart because the love of his life would never like him back. Then, it only took him defending you against the class snitch for everything to change......

✏️ Earlier That Day ✏️

Aone was sitting in class like any other day, doing his work, listening to the teacher intermittently and your daily conversation with your friends. The teacher excused himself to run a club errand for 20 minutes, trusting the class to stay quiet and complete their homework. Like most typical high school classes, the volume raised as soon as the teacher stepped out. Aone glanced over at your talkative self for the 15th time that period and noticed how much you were glowing because your team had returned last night placing second at Regionals. You looked radiant, absolutely stunning with your brighter smile and louder angelic laugh.

In Mountain Man’s daydream, he imagined telling you that you looked beautiful today followed by a congratulations for placing second. You would rush over to him and kiss him in thanks then start ripping his clothes off so that you could—

“Y/N! I am sick and tired of you and the rest of the popular kids not listening to the teachers instructions! What part of ‘stay quiet’ is hard to understand in that pea brain of yours!?!??!”

To Aone’s left, sitting in his row, he looked for the yelling voice. It was who everyone (except Aone) called ‘the class snitch’ and school mascot: Tsume Lian.

Also known as Y/N’s arch nemesis.

Seating looks like:

Y/N glared at him.

“Tsume, no one was talking to you.”

“I know that, dork!” He fumed. “BECAUSE WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE TALKING! I’m trying to do my homework as asked, and you and the popular crowd just ignore everything the teacher says and it’s disgusting! I’m tired of it! I want you expelled!”

Aone noticed Y/N’s startled expression at the prospect of being expelled, because he knew from overhearing your conversations that your parents were this close to sending you to Seijoh to get your grades up and live on campus there. According to your gossip last week, if you failed another class or got another complaint from a teacher then your parents would under no circumstances allow you to cheer again.

Aone clenched his fists tightly around his pencil because he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing Motomu or Kindaichi drooling over you at his enemy school.

One of Y/N’s friends who Aone knew as Kusa, spoke up in defence of Y/N. “Oh shut it, Tsume. Us chatting isn’t bothering anyone else.”

“I don’t care! You cheerleaders think you can do anything you want and that’s that!! YOU WILL face repercussions if I can help it!”

Kusa feigned fear. She turned her entire body toward him in her seat, meaning business. A bitch had time today.

The entire class gave this drama all of their undivided attention when they witnessed that move, ready for the show like:

“Oh yeah?! And why are you just snapping about this now, huh? Why not before?” Kusa snapped. You put a hand on your friends arm, silently trying to tell her he isn’t worth her energy.

“Because I realized just how selfish, inconsiderate, and deplorable you good-looking, popular women are! You don’t deserve to be bowed down to like I thought! You should be treated like everybody else!”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N interjected. “No one treats us like that. Even if they did, we don’t ask them to nor do we ask to be popular and we especially don’t ask for special treatment, Lian. Why are you so mad??? Get your life.”

COLLECT HIMMMMMM 👏🏾👏🏾

Aone smirked to himself. In all his years of crushing on you he has never seen you look so fierce and he too put his pencil down to enjoy what was a different and fiery side of his crush. It made him want to fuck the shit out of you, you looked so sexy. Aone found he liked every side of you.

“I did have a life. I was a mascot and—“

“—And you were spending too much time looking up our SKIRTS instead of hyping up a CROWD, making the first years uncomfortable and borderline stalking Y/N so badly she asked that we terminate you! You are lucky she kept that to herself for so long! 🤬 And THAT’S why you’re mad!”

The class collectively gasped. Some whipped their phones out to snapchat the gossip. Aone widened his eyes in silence, since he was in between, he was looking back and forth at the fight like a tennis match.

Hahahaha 🎾 

Live footage of the classes reaction when Kusa READ TSUME FOR FILTH:

Tsume went red with anger, but anyone could tell that he was guilty guilty guilty !!!!

“When the teacher returns, I’m telling him and the principal the truth that you Y/N are a bully and you constantly disrupt the class! Who do you think they’re going to believe?! Their best student? Or their worst?! Say hi to AobaJohsai summer school for me!”

You frowned, scared out of your mind because Lian was right. The teacher’s believed everything he had to say and ever since you exposed him for sending you creepy messages and inappropriate pictures from a fake account that you knew was his, the class snitch has had it out for you. Even if the cheerleaders had your back, your parents would just think they are trying to protect you and never believe it! Tsume Lian was smart and dead set on planning your demise. It was unfair. You wanted to cry. Kusa whispered something to you in encouragement but you could feel the back of your eyes warming due to impending tears.

Meanwhile, with Mountain Man - Today was a day of firsts in his ‘Crushing on Y/N’ book. It was the first time he’s ever seen you glowing because of the Regional results, it was the first time he’s ever seen you so sassy, and now............. Aone notes that today is also the first time he’s ever seen you on the verge of tears before.

Unlike your glowing and your sassiness, Aone decided that he hated the last first more than anything in the world.

It consumed his emotions, how badly he didn’t want to see you cry.

“You really are slimy, Tsume. Wait until Katana hears this.” Kusa spat, rubbing her hand up and down Y/N’s back to soothe you as you willed your tears not to fall.

Seeing you so sad, Aone’s heart clenched.

He knew what it was like to be hurting but he never ever wanted that for you—not ever.

“Hey Y/N-chan, why don’t you show me that video your mom got of our reaction to us placing second yesterday?? I’d love to see it.” Kusa has accurately distracted you because she texted Katana what was happening and Katana knew just what to do until she got there.

You smiled, thinking about the overwhelming happiness from yesterday when your team placed second. You whipped out your phone and showed Kusa, smiling and giggling in a matter of seconds as it played.

Aone was glad you seemed good.

He turned to look at Tsume, who seemed to be raging inside. Shooting daggers at the two cheerleaders because they weren’t crumbling under his threats. They were laughing, in fact. Ignoring him as if he didn’t matter. Aone could tell Tsume was a ticking time bomb with how mad he was. His anger toward you looked severely unhealthy.

You let out a rather amusing laugh with Kusa as you two pointed to your screen and Aone’s heart skipped a beat because he loved that laugh so much. God, he is so fucking whipped.

When you laughed like that though, it sent perverted-snitch Tsume over the edge, bubbling over in anger like a piping hot kettle.

Aone watched him with studious eyes as Tsume took a deep breath to say something else that Aone was sure would stop your harmonious laughter that he adored......

“Y/N—“ Tsume started, but without warning, THE AONE TAKANOBU, DATE TECH MIDDLE BLOCKER, OUR MOUNTAIN MAN, interrupted him! Stopping all speech in the class with his simple, deep-voiced command:

“Leave her be. She’s having fun.”

The class:

The class went silent because they’d never really heard Aone’s voice before. :S

Still riled up, the class snitch took one look beside him (he was too distracted before) as to locate the voice. Once his eyes set on the verrrry muscular and verrrry mountainous man sitting between him and Y/N, he decided it would be smart to not be riled up anymore. A drop of sweat leaving his hairline, Lian scanned Aone’s gigantic body with his eyes, seeing that the volleyball player just barely fit in his desk—he gulped.

Aone had a relaxed expression, meaning to say what he said nonchalantly, but one needs to remember that Aone’s relaxed expression looks like this:

Needless to say, the ex-mascot almost pissed himself.

Is that Y/N’s b-b-boyfriend now? Tsume wondered to himself in panic as several more drops of sweat ran down his face.

“O-o-ok-o-o-oka-okay-y....” Tsume stuttered out as he turned back to his school work.

Five minutes later when the teacher came in, Tsume had nothing to say. He only had a sweat damped stack of homework to give him before he fled, not waiting for the bell of dismissal.

Did I frightened him? Aone thought.

He didn’t mean to. Sincerely. He was as gentle as giants come (except in bed if you rile him up enough or when someone is bothering you).

The class went back to normal and Aone continued working too.

But one person didn’t—no, couldn’t go back to normal:

You.

You sat in your seat still slack jawed because someone you didn’t know came to your rescue and quite possibly single handedly stopped your expulsion. How have you not noticed him before?! He is gorgeous!

Tall, muscular, handsome. Shiny white hair, beautiful lips. And he came to your defence.

In your opinion , he was a FINEASS mountain man! 🏔🤤

Yes ma’am!!!!

Anyway, while everyone was talking, working and minding their own business—including Aone—you slid out of your desk and bounced over to his happily.

“Hi! Thanks so much for defending me a little while ago!”

Bitch, this was you: ☺️😊😄

lost ass

Aone raised his head to look at you, jumping back slightly because he never even heard you approach. He stared up at you with a heart that stopped beating, absolutely speechless.

WHAT IS HAPPENING? He thought. YOU WERE TALKING................TO HIM? You were NOTICING..............HIM?!

😱😳🤯

You reached over to touch the handsome giant’s arm in his sweater, smiling at him endearingly.

“I’m Y/N! It’s nice to meet you!”

yeah you lost af, bitch 😐

Aone wanted to say something, he did. But he was just too shocked that the girl he thinks about nonstop, the girl he wishes was his, the girl he just had a wet dream about last night, was talking to him and only him for the first time.

Unexpectedly!

Takanobu always thought you two would first speak because of Futakuchi or the teacher but not because of him.

Aone couldn’t fathom the fact that HE made this happen! HE was the reason you were over here!

Aone: 🤯🤯🤯

It was ALL. TOO. MUCH.

He couldn’t speak.

You removed your hand from his arm, silently chastising yourself because you shouldn’t touch people without permission.

Not that Aone minded. That boy would want you to touch him anywhere, on anyday, at anytime that pleased you.

“Sorry.” You looked down shyly, then met his serious expression again, wanting to be sure he knew how grateful you were for his help.

“Um.... you probably don’t know this but you getting that pervert to leave me alone is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. And you did it for a stranger like me, no less.”

A/N: RUB IT IN THAT YOU DONT KNOW THE MAN MORE, WHY DONT YOU ?! 🤬

You tucked your hair behind you ear while holding his gaze. Aone could only nod because his throat was dry. You looked so incredibly perfect up-close and he wanted to make sure he remembered this. He just couldn’t speak.

Feeling a little awkward now because you just tried starting a conversation with this FINEASS classmate of yours to only get a nod in return, you laughed timidly.

“Okay, well I guess I’ll...” you turned on your heels so you could make your way back to your desk with your L. “....see you later.” You finished, telling him over your shoulder.

Much like when he defended you against Tsume, Aone didn’t know what came over him then: maybe it was all the memories of him feeling heartbroken that you’d never notice him or return his feelings—maybe it was the promise he made that he would do something toward pursuing you if you would just notice him first—or maybe is was because his best friend Kenji would have his HEAD if Aone told him he let you walk away right now without trying....... after TWO YEARS.........that compelled him to respond to your “see you later” bravely, FINALLY UTTERING WORDS TO YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE:

“When?”

^Asked Aone, just as you were walking away from him.

You stilled, feeling excitement in your body because he answered. You spun around and jumped back in front of his desk. You gave him a questioning look.

You responded, “When, what?”

Even though he was melting under your attention, Aone couldn’t give up now. He had to shoot his shot. This may be his only chance.

“When is later?” He elaborated.

Huh? You thought.

You blinked at the stunning classmate. What is he—OH, does he mean.....

“As in...when will I see you again?”

Aone nodded at you, holding his breath.

You massaged your chin, thinking 🤔.

You can admit you wanted to know more about this gorgeous man who came to your rescue. There was something about him that made you feel safe and warm. You couldn’t quite place it. You’ve never wanted to spend time with anyone outside of cheerleading more than this guy—so you owed it to yourself to explore that small feeling, right?

“Okay. Well, how about now? Lunch is after this period. Would you want to have it with me?!” You asked cheerily.

Though he didn’t show it, inside, fireworks went off in Aone’s mind, heart, and stomach...!

Actual footage:

Aone nodded quickly. Way too quickly for someone who did not want to come across as the most eager beaver in the world.

But he was...... and you noticed. It made you smile.

“Okay. So when the bell rings you can walk me to my locker and I’ll put away my stuff, then we’ll go to yours....then we can go head to lunch together. Sound good?”

Aone nodded quickly again!

You gave him the big smile that made him become a simp for you in the first place and you took your seat again.

Takanobu was so excited he literally almost stood up to spin the hand clock that hung up beside the door himself so that time could go by faster. He couldn’t even move to text Kenji because he knew his hands would shake.

He just sat there, his mind whirling mad until the bell finally rang. You said bye to Kusa and watched as this blonde hottie stood up from his seat, towering over you.

God, he was so freaking HOT! You wanted to jump him.

At the same time students filed out of the class, Aone turned to you as he collected his things then slung his bag over his shoulder.

“May I carry your books for you, Y/N?” Mountain man asked sheepishly in his stern voice.

Your heart fluttered by how cute and sweet he was to ask!

“Umm, sure! Thank you so much!” You smiled and handed your heavy books over.

You two walked beside eachother and Aone held the door open for you. You didn’t know why he was being so nice but you couldn’t lie that you felt very charmed.

“Y/N.”

You looked up at the handsome giant with curious eyes after he called your name.

“My name is Aone Takanobu by the way. You introduced yourself before, but I did not answer. I’m sorry. Either way, I knew who you were already. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Your smiled widened as you bounced on your feet while walking. “Very nice to meet you too, Aone Takanobu. I’ve actually heard of you before.”

Aone’s eyes lit up like 👀

“Wait r-really?”

Omg precious bby 🥺🥺🥺

“Yes. At a cheerleading sleepover. All good things, don’t worry. It’s just funny because I said that night how hopefully I’ll meet you and now here we are!”

Aone chuckled as he held open another door for you. When he did and you two walked down another hall, he caught sight of two very conspicuous volleyball players (one looked eerily like Justin Bieber, the other looked big boned) hugging eachother and slumping down to the ground at the sight of you and Aone. Aone rolled his eyes, thinking that they were lucky you never noticed your surroundings.

“Here we are.” Aone repeated, shooting a secret thumbs up at his friends who were on the verge of crying.

***

Nearing the end of an enjoyable lunch for both of you where you spoke a lot and Aone listened with heart eyes: he pulled your chair out for you, he was responding, he was chuckling, and overall hanging onto your every word, never wanting your time together to end. You became rather smitten.

***

“The bell is gonna ring soon, Aone. I just want to thank you again for buying my lunch and spending this time with me! I know it was super random!”

Aone got lost in your eyes as you said his name, because he’s never taken a moment to analyze how nice it could sound if it was caressed by your voice. Also, he’s never heard his name said by someone so beautiful (when it wasn’t being said in a question). He was BATHING in joy.

Although Aone didn’t answer and he’s maintained his stoic expression the entire lunch, deep down you felt that this man had a thing for you. He was very intense so it was quite obvious. But since you enjoyed the lunch so much and you were starting to have a thing for him, too, you wanted to confirm:

“Also, Aone-san, I’m happy to know that you can say more than 4 words 😲! I asked my friend earlier and she said you basically never speak.” You exclaimed, fishing.

Aone smirked, feeling the need to defend himself on that front. “It is true that that is the consensus of the majority of people who come in contact with me. However, that is because there exists few people, that I feel inclined to speak to.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Your eyes twinkled at his words. He looked like a jock but sounded so eloquent! You loved it:

“Oh wow well you spoke a lot to me today so I guess I must be a little special then, huh.......?” You twirled your hair around your index finger as you asked, causing Aone to almost drool.

listen, you...kind of..... wanted mountain man.

And you were only flirting minimally okay.....minimally, so don’t judge

You just wanted to know if your suspicions were right that he had a little crush on you or if he saw you as a friend

Aone looked down at you, thinking of a way to respond to you asking if you were special to him.

A/N: 😣🤞🏾AONE DONT CREEPY 😣🤞🏾DONT BE CREEPY 😣🤞🏾DON’T BE CREEPY 😣🤞🏾

“This is our first time speaking. So I am not entirely sure if you’re special yet...” He started.

You quirked your eyebrow attractively, anticipating how he would end that sentence.

“...But I hope that even after this lunch ends I can take you out again a few more times, Y/N-chan—somewhere nice and off-campus, perhaps—so that I can truly decipher whether you are or not.”

You quirked your eyebrow even higher, impressed by the smooth way he told you he wants to keep seeing you!

WELL SIS HES ONLY HAD 2 YEARS OF PRACTICE I MEAN—

“I’d love to.” You accepted, making Aone smile.

He was absolutely stunning when he smiled, it was almost unfair.

The bell rang.

“Mind walking me back to my locker, Aone?”

Aone stood on internally shaky legs that he willed to be normal. “Of course.” He took both yours and his tray and dumped it out before escorting you out of the cafeteria.

✏️ Back in the Locker Room ✏️

“We are happy for you, Aone.” Kenji patted his large friend on the back.

“I had your voice in the back of my mind, Kenji-san. I owe this happiness to you and your support. I know you’re worried that I’ll get my heart broken and be crushed but I’m thankful for you supporting me anyway. You will forever be my brother.”

———————————

Taglist: @crushzone @galagcica

Outtake #7: CLICK HERE

THE VOTE! ☑️

Upcoming outtakes (NSFW):

Losty Aone answering Kenji’s call while you’re having sex. He told you to please wait but...um....no. Hang up, buddy 😈

When you tease poor Losty Aone during class and make him want to f*ck you hard

You telling Aone that you’re horny before his game knowing you’d be cheering next to him the whole time being suggestive

Sending Aone a nude for the first time

First Kiss (In which Aone gets his first urge)

Discovering Aone’s ear kissing kink

Upcoming Fluff outtakes:

Aone on your first birthday as a couple

The official confession

Aone Embarrassingly telling Y/N about the things he did when he was crushing on you :/ (cupcake, donation, wet dreams, hoping to be your tutor, etc!)

When Aone fills in at one of your cheer practices!

Aone having to save you from your annoying admirers

Send me an ask/message/comment below with the number(s) of the outtake you really want me to write and the ones with votes will be done

Say “Losty Aone Story nsfw number ___” or “Losty Aone Story fluff number ___”

[dinoyoongi]

Confirm or Deny (5)

SYNOPSIS: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

PARTS: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Angst

WARNINGS: Strong language

WORD COUNT: 3503

AUTHORS NOTE: A bit shorter than the others but I felt this was a good spot to end the chapter on. There will only be one more part to this before it’s over! I want to thank everybody for your patience - I’m definitely not as quick a writer as some others on here and when I do sit down to work on this, writer’s block hits me like a garbage truck every time. This chapter is kind of rushed and Namjoon-less but it I hope you’ll all like it just the same! Thanks for all the love. ❤️

___________________________________

BREAKING: Y/N officially departs FRNZEE & terminates contract with Hot Star Entertainment!

After two months of speculation of whether Y/N would return to FRNZEE after being attacked outside the KBS building, it's been confirmed by Hot Star Entertainment that Y/N has officially terminated her contract with the company. Y/N was recently involved in controversy after her company confirmed dating rumors between Y/N and BTS' leader RM that the latter denied. She had been removed from the group's comeback and was on hiatus from all activities when she was attacked by BTS fans outside the KBS building during a taping of Music Bank that she had attended with her manager out of support for her members. Despite official statements being released by both Big Hit Entertainment and RM – who uploaded a handwritten plea on Weverse begging for his fans to stop the bullying – Hot Star Entertainment felt that Y/N's mental health was being compromised and released her from contract.

“Like they give a shit about my mental health,” you snicker sarcastically, dropping your phone a little too forcefully onto the kitchen counter. From your peripheral, you can see your mother's lips turn downwards in disapproval at your foul language but she fortunately chooses not to scold you, recognizing the delicate situation. It's not as if this is a blindside. Nobody was pulling the wool over your eyes right now. You had been aware that they were permanently removing you from the group and from the company only one day after you returned home to Daejeon.

You're only surprised that they waited this long to announce it. You imagine it wouldn't look too good for them if they kicked you out of the group right after you were assaulted – no surprise there. Their image is all they care about.

“Has anyone tried reaching out to you?” your mother asks from the stove, stirring a steaming pot languidly.

Your eyes fall down to your still-lit phone, catching the small red balloon icon that signifies missed notifications. Calls, texts, voicemail, emails; you don't need to open them to see who they're from – you've spent the past week dodging any incoming forms of communication from everyone including your members, your former manager, the CEO of Hot Star, numbers that you don't recognize that you assume to be reporters and even all seven members of BTS.

Out of all the names that showed up on the screen on your phone, Namjoon's appeared the most.

His unread messages and unopened voicemails feel like an anchor on your chest. Is he reaching out to pity you for what happened with his fans? Is he reaching out to get back together with you? Is he reaching out to cuss at you because you dragged his name into your articles again? Is he reaching out to hammer that final nail in the coffin and be done with you for good?

All of these scenarios are equally terrifying so you pretend that the messages don't exist. However, there are times when you miss him so much that your chest physically aches and the thought of loading up your phone's inbox to listen to his voice is so devastatingly tempting. Playing his albums or watching him on YouTube isn't the same. You don't miss RM – you miss Namjoon. Your Namjoon.

You're not completely depriving yourself of him, though. Two months ago, the day of your attack, he posted a message messily scrawled onto a napkin to his Weverse account. Despite his username displaying as RM, your heart can tell just by his words that it's Namjoon. You've stared at the message so many times over the past few weeks that you have the words ingrained into your head.

ARMY,

Today, somebody I care about was seriously injured. I want to deny that our lovely ARMY would do anything to cause harm to other people. That's not Bangtan. That's not what we teach, what we stand for. But that was our logo on their phone cases. That was our lightstick in the pocket of their bags. That was our faces on keychains that hung from their straps. At the risk of upsetting some, I speak on behalf of the rest of the group to say to those who harm other people in the name of Bangtan – both physically and verbally – you are not ARMY. ARMY is better than this. ARMY is too good for this.

Please ARMY, let's always be better.

It's a simple message but one that you know was difficult for him to write. Having known the boys for the majority of their career growth, you know that the admiration they have for their fans is one-hundred percent not an act. Knowing that some of them assaulted you in such a humiliating manner had to have felt like a knife in the gut.

“Nobody,” you lie to your mom who quirks her brows, waiting for your response. “Nobody has tried contacting me at all.”

“When are you going back to Seoul?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes onto the kitchen counter. “Mom, why would I go back to Seoul? There's nothing there for me anymore.”

“What are you going to do then?” your mother asks softly. You hear the spoon she was stirring with drop the table, followed by a heavy sigh. “Is that it? You're done with your music career?”

“It isn't as if my contract just expired and I can shop around for new agencies. I was the center of a very huge scandal. I was the butt of jokes and online bullying for so long. I don't think there's an agency out there that would poke me with a ten foot pole at this point.”

“But you trained for so long. You didn't go to university. Y/N, what -”

Your body slides from the stool, your feet slapping against the linoleum so hard that your mother flinches from the sound. “I'm suddenly feeling kind of sleepy. I'll just go take a nap before dinner.”

She calls your name as you lug yourself upstairs towards your bedroom but you pretend not to hear. You're not angry with her – absolutely not. If you're angry at anything, it's your life. It's this situation. It's the world. It's a fact that most idols audition and join agencies for two things and two things only – money and fame. And while those two things can be really great at times, that's not why you decided to be an idol. You decided to become an idol because, well … there was really nothing else you could do.

Throughout your life, whenever anybody asked you “what do you want to be when you grow up?” you never gave the usual answers that your classmates did – police officers, veterinarians, doctors, lawyers, judges, the president. Your answer from the first time you were asked until the last remained unchanged: an idol. Music was everything to you. There was nothing that you could study for, nothing you could major in that would give you a sense of happiness and fulfillment like music did. Like music still does. It was the upbeat songs, the quirky choreography, the super cute but super outrageous outfits, the camaraderie and bonds formed between group members and the thrill of satisfaction when all of that came together for a comeback. That is what you've always wanted. There was nothing that came even close.

And now that you've had it, now that it's slipped right through your fingers … what do you do? What are you supposed to do with your life?

Heaving yourself onto your bed, you groan in frustration. Your phone chirps from the pocket of your hooded sweatshirt, alerting you to a text message. Waving the device in front of your face, you sigh when you see Ji-na's name.

Ji-na: please be strong. keep your head up. don't skip meals. i love you and i'm sorry.

Your chest throbs are you reread the words again. And then for a third time. If you were being honest with yourself, you stopped being angry with Ji-na and the rest of the group the moment you arrived home. If you were to put yourself in their shoes – would you have reacted the same way? An idol's career is already typically short; seven or eight years if you're lucky. Would you be willing to risk that for another person? The knee-jerk response might come easy to some but only those who have been in your shoes, trained as long and hard as you and your members did, can answer that question. But despite not holding onto any anger, you can't erase the betrayal from your heart. Ji-na was more than just a member of your group. Ji-na was your best friend. Ji-na was the hand that you reached for when FRNZEE was getting mobbed at airports. Ji-na is your first dibs sleeping buddy when you had to pair up in hotel rooms. There was very little that you couldn't and wouldn't tell Namjoon but if there was – Ji-na was the one you confided in. Ji-na was everything.

And going through this without her and Namjoon seems incredibly impossible.

Your eyes leave the phone, slipping over to the corner of the room where your suitcase and bags are haphazardly strewn about as you were too lazy to commit to unpacking. The one thing propped neatly against the wall is a sparkly, medium-sized gift bag, intricately tied with rainbow ribbons. Ji-na's birthday is coming up in week but you've had her present ready for months. Instead of leaving it at the dorms, you brought it home with you. At the time, you were so caught up in your anger and woes and self-misery that you had every intention of sending it back to the store once you settled in but now?

It seems you have a present to hand deliver.

_______________________________________

- TWO WEEKS LATER -

You've only been gone for two months but it seems like Seoul has already changed so much. The first big difference? There's now a doorman stationed in the lobby of the dorm apartments. You can tell that he recognizes you immediately by the way his cheeks flush red but he still refuses to let you go any farther, keeping you a safe distance away from the elevator. You get it, you really do. He was probably hired to keep out nosy reporters and fansites and journalists but knowing Hot Star the way that you do now, you have no doubt that he was also explicitly warned not to let you in. Sighing, you pull your phone from your bag, typing a few quick words to Ji-na before hitting send.

It only takes three minutes for the elevator to open with a loud ding and a flash of pale skin is hurtling itself at you. Ji-na wraps her arms around your neck so tightly that you cough from the pressure until she loosens her grip. You try to ignore the moisture that you see building in her eyes when she pulls away.

Grabbing her hand, she tugs you toward the elevator. “Come on. We have some talking to do.”

“Ah -” the doorman interjects, nervously stepping in front of you. “I'm sorry, Ji-na. She's on the no clearance list. She can't go up.”

Ji-na scoffs. “Even with my permission? Even though I'm bringing her up with me?”

He grimaces. “I'm sorry. It's my job.”

“It's okay, Ji-na. I just wanted to drop this off anyway,” you say, thrusting the bag in her direction. She stares at it for a few hard seconds before hesitantly accepting it. “Happy Birthday. If you're ever near Daejeon, let me know, okay?”

You turn on your heel to leave but a painful grip on your hand stops you. Ji-na twirls you around to face her, like a scene straight out of a cheesy drama. She's toe to toe with the doorman, facial features locked in what you know is supposed to be intimidation but on Ji-na it just looks like an angry kitten.

“If you won't let her upstairs, let's compromise. Your office?” she quirks an eyebrow, head jutting toward the door behind his podium. He contemplates this offer for a moment before relenting with a sigh, dropping a pair of keys into her hand.

“Don't tell your management about this, okay? She's not even supposed to be in the building at all.”

Ji-na throws him an obnoxious salute before yanking you into the room.

_______________________________________

Your heart-to-heart is long and full of anger, accusation, revelations, tears, laughter, giggling and so much more. While you're not ready to completely forgive her for leaving you behind that day, you've accepted the reality that Ji-na is one of the only friends that you have and you're not ready to let her go. She understands your continuing edginess with the situation and promises to do everything in her power to regain your trust and make it up to you.

You expected to leave with a heavier heart than you came with. Instead, most of the weight has lifted.

You only exit the doorman's office after Ji-na receives a text from one of her managers about a project meeting the group has soon. Her arm is around your side as she walks you to the front door, squeezing you tightly. “Please come visit a lot more. We have some off time coming up – would you mind terribly if I came to stay with you in Daejeon?”

You roll your eyes but your smile stays wide. “No, I wouldn't mind terribly. Just give me a heads up so I can stock up on soju and shrimp chips.”

She throws her head back to laugh loudly, bumping her hip to yours as the two of you take a few more steps toward the front door. “Yes! You know me so well! And you also have to make sure that you have tons of-”

“Y/N.”

The voice is jarring but immediately recognizable. Lifting your head, you meet the eyes of your previous manager. The last time you had seen him, he was loading your belongings into the back of a car that would send you right home. He gapes at you, gaze wide and shocked. Behind you, the doorman audibly groans.

“Um, he has nothing to do with this,” you hurriedly declare, throwing your thumb behind you in the groaning man's direction. “He was in the process of kicking me out, I swear. He's very good at his job. You guys should give him a raise. Okay, bye.”

You squeeze Ji-na's hand one final time before moving to scurry out of the building. For the second time today, fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you backward. You sigh as you yank your hand away. “A simple 'wait! stop!' would suffice. Why is everyone so grabby today? Look, I was just dropping off a birthday present for Ji-na. I promise that the doorman didn't let me go upstairs.”

“Y/N, I don't care about the doorman. I have something for you,” he says quickly before reaching into the tote bag that hangs around his shoulder. He rummages somewhat frantically for a few seconds before producing a business card, raising it into the air with pride and beaming as if it was the cure to a zombie outbreak. “You remember me telling you about one of my old co-managers for a different group who quit Hot Star and started working for P NATION?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. This was not the greeting that you expected out of your former manager.

“Um … I think so. He's one of Hyuna's managers now, you said.”

“Yes!” he screeches, his chest heaving as if he has just finished running a marathon. You exchange a glance with Ji-na who looks equally perplexed. “Yes, he works with Hyuna. And he called me last week and said that Hyuna heard about everything that happened to you in the news. And so she started looking you up on YouTube and she thinks you're really talented and wants your contact information.”

It takes a few seconds for your brain to register everything that he has just said considering how quick, breathless and jumbled his words are. Ji-na is elbowing you excitedly in the ribs.

“I've tried asking Hot Star for your address but they wouldn't tell me anything. I was literally coming here to ask Ji-na to try to reach out to you so I could pass the information along but here you are! It's like fate!”

Ji-na throws her elbow much deeper this time, accompanying the jab with a sharp screech. You can see that there's something exciting happening but your brain isn't putting it all together yet.

“Um, why does Hyuna want my contact information? You said she heard about my situation in the news so she must know that I'm not with FRNZEE anymore, right? Or any company, for that matter. We can't collab or anything like that.”

Manager and Ji-na groan in unison, so in sync that it seems rehearsed.

“Y/N, please, are you really this dense? Do I need to dumb this down for you?”

You grimace but bat your eyelashes hopefully. “Would you?”

She sighs, slapping her hands down hard onto your shoulders. “Hyuna was kicked out of Cube for a dating scandal. Psy – who founded P NATION – signed her right after. You were kicked out of Hot Star for a dating scandal. And now Hyuna is contacting you. I mean, I'm just speculating here but there's no way this is a coincidence.”

Wait.

If she's saying what you think she's saying then …

Hyuna wants to contact you … to sign you … to P NATION?

All you were here to do was to drop off Ji-na's birthday present. After this, you were going to stop into a few cosmetic stores to stock up on some harder-to-find products and then treat yourself to a well-deserved oreo bingsu before heading home. Talking to Hyuna – arguably one of the most popular and influential females in the k-pop industry ever – about possibly signing with Psy's new agency was not in the forecast.

Realizing your stunned state, Manager smirks smugly, lifting your hand to drop the business card into before wrapping your fingers around it and letting it fall.

The card feels like fire in your palm.

“Y/N,” Ji-na's voice breaks through your haze. You glance up at her silently, her warm smile only heightening your nervousness. “Go home and call her. Listen to what she has to say or what she has to … offer. Okay? And then call me and tell me every little detail.”

“You guys, that can't be right. Hyuna and Dawn's scandal was different – they both admitted to being in the relationship. Nobody bullied or laughed at them. I … I'm a joke. Why would P NATION want to sign me? Do you think they're just going around plucking up poor little k-pop idols who are mistreated by their labels? No, they're smarter than that. They-”

A hand – belonging to either Manager or Ji-na, you're not sure which one – whacks you upside the head. The strength of the blow is painful but it has its desired affect – it shuts you right up.

“Stop it, Y/N,” Manager scolds. “What happened to you wasn't fair and we all know it. You worked so hard for FRNZEE and maybe this is your good karma. Maybe this is ...”

“Fate!” Ji-na squeals hysterically.

___________________________________

An hour later, you're sitting in the corner of the cafe by yourself, a heaping bowl of bingsu untouched in front of you. Instead, your eyes focus on the card that you've set down onto the table. You wonder if this is a prank; if someone from Hot Star is getting one last act of cruel revenge on you before parting ways completely.

But what if it's not?

What if this is what was always supposed to happen? Everything that has happened to you, everything that you've been through, everything that you've lost … was it for this? Half of you jitters in happiness at the prospect of being signed to a label that houses some of the greats – Psy, Hyuna, Jessi. But the other half of you mourns what you had to give up for this.

Namjoon.

Was this opportunity supposed to make you grateful for losing him? Are you supposed to feel like your breakup served some kind of purpose now?

It didn't. Most of the happiest moments you can remember are either with Namjoon or because of Namjoon. If the choice was your idol career or Namjoon then …

Why do you have to make a choice? Why can't you have both? Why is that wrong?

For the first time, you shift your eyes away from the P NATION logo and onto the phone number scrawled messily onto the bottom of the card.

Lifting your phone, you dial with trembling fingers.

< -- PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER -- >

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 14

AO3 LINK

The moment John reaches the city line, he turns on his phone. Yet again, he is met with a cacophony of vibrations as his phone loads with the unread messages that have accumulated over the past twelve or so hours.

He waits until the barrage has ended before hitting the speed dial option that will bring him directly to the Continental. He orders a day room to set up shop, as well as a request for the technician to start researching DeLuca’s mother.

He’s transferred to Winston long enough to find out the name of Mateo’s mother. Winston barely gets a sentence out before John has said a goodbye.

When he is done, he dials Sofia.

It’s already evening in Morocco and he can hear loud music in the background when she answers.

“You’re lucky I’m picking up considering you don’t answer any of your texts.” She says loudly, over the pulsing rhythm.

John feels his lips twitch at the annoyance in her tone. “Been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.” The background noise gets quieter and he hears the sound of a door closing. “Rumor has it, you’re killing anybody even considering taking the Kingston contract.”

Good. While he doesn’t have the time to actually go ahead and kill every person seeking out Helen, he wants anybody considering her contract to think twice.

“Hearing many rumors in Casablanca?”

“Oh, you went global , John. Everybody everywhere is talking about it.”

John sighs at that and shakes his head, “Is there really nothing more interesting happening anywhere?”

“I’ll break it down for you because I know you’ve had a lot of head injuries: everybody looks at you like a monk. You don’t date. You don’t fuck around. Everybody just kind of assumed you were celibate. I've even heard rumors that you made a deal with the devil to be powerful at the cost of giving up sex.”

“Then, a contract goes wide. Some woman no one���s ever heard of. Never set foot in the Underworld yet seems to have a connection to John Wick. Everybody waits for a response. Only you disappear off the map for twenty-four hours. And nobody can actually find Helen Kingston.”

“Then, you resurface and start killing anyone who’s even looked at the Kingston contract. So, no, John. There really isn’t anything more interesting happening anywhere.”

John lets out a breath.

This, he realizes, is quickly becoming his newest fear. That even if, somehow, he can get them both out alive, he’s going to have to face the rest of the Underworld.

He’d warned Helen before he left that he still had enemies. Ones far worse than DeLuca. The Syndicate heir was ambitious, but DeLuca truly didn’t care whether Helen lived or died. Others would. Others would make it their mission to make her suffer just to see how John would react.

She was already trapped in ways she couldn’t possibly understand and that terrified him.

“But I take it you’re not calling to find out what the rumor mill is pelting in Casablanca.”

“No, I’m not.” John says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waits for the pedestrians to cross in front of him. “I need a favor. There’s a bottle of Romanee-Conti ’72 in it for you. Plus expenses.” He’s more than willing to give her a marker if that’s what this takes, but he has a feeling that the rare vintage plus the intrigue of it all will be enough to capture her attention.

“Color me intrigued. What’s the job?”

“The man who’s hired the hit on Helen is Mateo DeLuca of Syndicate. I have reason to believe his mother, Isabella DeLuca, is the one who is actually calling the shots. Only problem, she’s in Rome.”

Sofia hums, “Is she well-guarded?”

“I don’t know.” John answers honestly, “But I need her in New York yesterday.”

“An exchange. His mother for your girl?”

John drives on, inclining his head at the question, “I’m certain it won’t be that simple. But yes.”

Sofia hums and, again, he can hear her moving. The background noise increases slightly, “I can be to Rome in five hours.”

“Perfect. If you can get her when she’s going to bed—”

“No one will be the wiser until morning. This isn’t my first extraction, John.”

He nods to himself because of course it isn’t .

He isn’t a micromanager. He never has been, but the stakes have never been quite like this before.

“You care if she’s bruised?”

John considers it.

He typically liked to keep things as clean as possible. He didn’t do extractions or espionage or anything else that called for more tact and forethought than a bullet to the head.

But Isabella DeLuca was the force behind Mateo. Arguably, the force behind Helen’s abduction.

“Not in the slightest.” He says finally, “Although I don’t expect she’ll put up much of a fight. She’s a bureaucrat.”

Sofia groans, “I prefer it when they fight. Bureaucrats just whine.”

“I get it. I’ve spent more time dealing with politics the past few days than I have in my entire life.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where John Wick had to talk nice to people. Then again, never thought you were going to get your v-card punched, either.”

John rolls his eyes at Sofia’s ongoing joke. There wasn’t much else she could get on him but his decision to be largely celibate fascinated his friend. Truthfully, John didn’t think too much about sex or carnal pleasures. He didn’t prioritize fleeting experiences.

But then, the assassin’s voice softens, “How is she? Your girl. Does she understand what’s going on?”

John nods before remembering that Sofia can’t see him. “Yeah, she gets it. And she’s…” unbelievable. Ridiculous. Brave and clever and tougher than he ever gave her credit for, “In the past week, she’s been kidnapped, held hostage, and forced to go into hiding because half of New York is out to kill her. And despite all that, her biggest concern is that something could happen to me .”

It still boggles his mind.

“How long have you been together?”

He isn’t entirely sure how to answer that and there’s far too much to explain over the phone. He decides on, “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” She asks and John is glad that she isn’t going to chastise him for not knowing better. “Hang on.” He hears her switch languages to Arabic. While John isn’t fluent in that particular language, he knows enough to hear the word ‘airplane’. After a minute of back and forth, she is back on the phone, “I’m headed to the airport now. The concierge is finding a pilot as we speak.”

“Perfect.” John says with a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Where am I taking her once I have her?”

He thinks, quickly. There were too many eyes in New York for him to chance it getting back to DeLuca. Likewise, he was certain his house was being watched. Even though it technically wasn’t under his name, enough people knew about his residence in Jersey for it to get around. And there was no way in hell he was bringing Isabella anywhere near Helen.

“There’s a private airstrip just outside of Newark with an adjacent motel. Keep her there. If I don’t talk to you before then, I’ll plan on meeting you there tomorrow, at noon. I’ll probably be offline when you land.”

“I’ll get her there.”

“Thank you, Sof.”

He hangs up and concentrates on the road ahead, even as his thoughts spin. He hates having to depend on anybody. That said, he does trust Sofia to get the job done. To take care of it and troubleshoot any unforeseen problems on her own. That knowledge helps with the distaste he feels for needing help. It was easier to accept the help, too, knowing it would benefit Helen.

John makes it to the Continental and leaves his car with the valet. Walking into the lobby, he spots Verdugo sitting in an armchair by the fire, reading the newspaper. He imagines the assassin is likely still the number one contender targeting Helen, considering John hadn’t been able to touch him the day before.

He feels his hand already itching for his gun but he knows the rule.

He recites the rule, to himself, again and again as he passes by.

No business conducted on Continental grounds.

He can’t falter on that, not here. The moment Verdugo sets foot outside the hotel, he’s fair game. But not here.

Charon already has a key card placed on the counter when John reaches the counter. John places a coin down and they make a quick exchange.

“Mister Dexter sent you a fax and the Technician has compiled the information you asked for. I’ve taken the liberty of sending it all to your room.”

“Thank you.” John says, thinking back over the past few days. For everything that the Continental staff had helped him with. “For everything, this week.”

“Of course.” The Concierge replies with ease. John takes his key and starts to walk off when Charon calls to him, “And Mister Wick?” He waits until John turns, “I wish you the best of luck with your… task.”

John nods his thanks and proceeds down the hall and up the stairs. The day room was almost identical to the one he had stayed in while waiting for news of Helen just days ago. Two folders layfolders lay on the table when John walks in.

The first is much smaller. John flips it open and finds only two sheets of paper, reporting the updated odds. In large capital letters, it advertises Kingston Contract Odds .

John forces himself to swallow as he reads through it.

Verdugo remains the top contender, but the rest of the list is very different than the one he had seen yesterday morning.

Fuck, he thinks, was it really only yesterday?

He sighs, reviewing the changes. While he had eliminated a great deal of the assassins targeting Helen, even more had dropped out of their own accord, it would seem.

Good.

But more would always come, as evidenced by the papers in his hands.

More names he didn’t recognize. Junior assassins and street kids looking to make a name for themselves.

He’d try to make time to eliminate more. Keep reminding people exactly who they were messing with by going after a woman they knew to be his.

John takes out his cell phone, again, ignoring the dozens of text messages that would be left unread until he had the time to deal with them. He finds Santino and drafts a new message.

J: Need to talk. Today.

He reads it over after and sends. Before he can even set it down, it vibrates in his hand.

S: Intriguing. You know where I live.

John turns off the screen, setting the device to the side as he opens the second folder.

Pictures of Isabella DeLuca on the arm of her late husband at scores of different events over the years. A birth announcement of their son. A copy of a marriage certificate. A degree from Sapienza University of Rome in business sciences and another in political science. A transcript, providing proof of excellent marks and scores.

She was bright, it seems, adding to Helen’s theory that Isabella was the true brain behind Syndicate.

He continues going back into her history, but he doesn’t make the connection until he sees her birth certificate.

Isabella Carlotta Giovinco.

Daughter of Stefano Giovinco and Valentina D’Antonio.

He whips out his phone and dials Winston speedily.

“Hello again, Jonathan. Have you—”

“Valentina D’Antonio.” John says quickly, “What’s her relationship to Lorenzo?”

“Valentina?” Winston repeats, “She was his older sister. The eldest child of Claudia and Enzo D’Antonio.”

“And that would make Isabella DeLuca his niece?”

“Yes.”

John closes his eyes, “And you didn’t think that was pertinent information to share when DeLuca asked me to kill the D’Antonio’s?”

“Killing family is not an unusual practice, Jonathan. But, honestly, it slipped my mind. When Isabella was never, herself, a D’Antonio.”

“But her mother was.” He shakes his head, “And in those days, everything was patrilineal. Heir’s weren’t chosen based on age or conviction; they automatically went to the oldest male.”

“Which, in Valentina’s case was her brother, Lorenzo. She married one of her father’s lieutenants, if I remember correctly. They had several children, one of which being Isabella. It was quite the scandalous thing when Isabella married Dante. She had to renounce the Camorra at her own wedding to be accepted into Syndicate.”

“A lesser gang.”

“But one that quickly rose to prominence. It’s second only behind the Camorra in Italy.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. He fucking hates this bullshit.

There’s a knock on the door and a beeping as the door unlocks. Winston enters and John lowers his phone, shutting it off.

“So, before Isabella, Syndicate was just another Italian crime family trying to be great.” John assesses, “Her family probably thought she was crazy for leaving the safety of the Camorra, but there was no advancement there. In the Camorra, she was just the daughter of a soldier and a has-been princess. But in Syndicate, she was a queen.”

“You think Isabella was the driving force behind Syndicate’s rise?” Winston synthesizes, looking unsure.

John nods, “I do. Helen told me that DeLuca wasn’t smart enough to be doing this on his own and I didn’t listen. Fuck .” He exhales, “I almost missed it.”

He’d kick himself if he could. If he had just listened to her from the beginning… no. He can’t focus on should have’s.

This is good.

Any doubt that Lorenzo D’Antonio will turn down his request fades from his mind.

Because it’s personal now. For them, at least.

It’s been personal for John since they started stalking the woman he loved.

“Unbelievable.” He mutters.

“I take it Mateo demanded the same last night as when he first took your beloved.”

John nods again, “Yes. And I’ve spent the last few days trying to figure out how I can get us both out of this alive. I can’t believe I almost missed it.”

John exhales and it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders.

It’s far from over but he can feel everything start to come together. There’s a light at the end of a tunnel that once seemed endless.

He breathes easy.

He wishes that Helen weren’t hours away so he could take her into his arms and hug her as the relief courses through him, overwhelming the guilt that he had missed something so crucial.

“It’s unsurprising that you missed it.” Winston says, “You’ve never had a political mind. You prefer the simplicity of being told where to point and shoot.”

True enough, John thinks.

“There’s something else you should know.” Winston adds, his voice softening in a way that tells John that whatever comes next won’t be good. He nods and Winston says, “There’s a missing person’s out for Helen Kingston. I’m not sure if it was someone in the Underworld trying to draw her out of hiding or if it was someone from her work, but the police were at her house this morning.”

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

John shakes his head, “Do you know if Charlie was able to clean the scene before the police got there?”

Winston nods, “Yes. I have someone watching the investigation. The police are under the assumption that she ran away since both her cell phones and her laptop are nowhere to be found but her family is pushing, saying Helen wouldn’t just disappear without telling them.”

“Alright.” John sighs, “Thank you for letting me know.

“Of course.”

“I have to meet with Santino.” John says, closing the folder and handing it to Winston, “Could you pass these along to the Technician? I need them scanned and emailed to Sofia Al-Azwar.”

Winston accepts the folder, inclining his head, “I’d ask what you were planning, Jonathan, except I feel it’s better that I don’t know.”

“You’re probably right.” John agrees.

“That said, I will be watching with complete and utter fascination.” The Manager continues, “Good luck.”

John nods, pocketing the key in case he needs to come back, and leaving the rest behind. Without a goodbye, he hurries back down the hall. He descends the stairs only to meet Verdugo walking up. The other assassin gives him a smile.

“You’re a hard man to find, John Wick.”

John stops and reminds himself again, of the mandate.

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

While John was more than willing to argue that this isn’t business, it was personal , he was certain that argument wouldn’t fly with Winston or the High Table.

“Am I?” He asks, instead.

“Very. But every now and then, you pop up. Seemingly out of nowhere. If only Helen Kingston was privy to doing the same.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“It would be in your best interest,” John manages to bite out, “To forget her name.”

“But it is such a pretty name. Fitting, really. There was a war over her namesake as well.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“One where thousands died,” John agrees, aware that they’ve caught the attention of several onlookers just off the lobby, “Yet another reason it would be wise of you to drop the contract.”

Verdugo inclines his head, “You can’t keep her hidden forever. You do know that, don’t you? If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“It won’t be you.”

“Why are you making this so much harder on yourself?” There is genuine curiosity dripping from Verdugo’s words. A confusion, of sorts, as if he can’t understand why John Wick is putting off the inevitable.

Kate had been similarly curious, although hers had been riddled with amusement. Now she was dead.

But every assassin thought themselves invincible, to a degree. Yes, they were far more aware of mortality than the average person having watched the life drain from countless eyes. But the older assassins in particular, who had brushed with death regularly, often seemed to forget that.

John, himself, was guilty of that. He thinks to the tie that does not hang from his neck, which instead, he had left with Helen. He might never wear one again in his promise to her to not let anyone have a chance at defeating him.

“Make it easier on yourself and let her go.” The other assassin pauses, “I’ll make sure it’s quick. Painless.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“Would you like to take this outside?” John asks, hoping against hope that Verdugo is stupid or confident enough to make a mistake.

Verdugo inclines his head, “You forget, Mister Wick. You’re not the one with the multi-million-dollar bounty… Consider my offer. Others’ targeting the Boogeyman’s woman will be far more malicious.” He starts to ascend back up the stairs, “Be seeing you, Mister Wick.”

John repeats the rule one last time before forcing himself to turn away. Until Verdugo leaves the Continental, John can’t do shit.

That said, he’d be extra wary of tails on his way home. Just in case.

He’s almost tempted to let the assassin tail him. Take him to the middle of nowhere and pummel him to death.

His focus has never been so chaotic. He’s typically good at ignoring the smack talk. At walking away from those seeking to push him or make him lose his resolve.

John needs to stick to the plan.

Helen is safe. Protected.

Marcus won’t let anything happen to her.

He needs to do his part.

He nods to Charon as he leaves, ignoring the countless sets of eyes watching him as he strides through the lobby with purpose. The valet is gone when he reaches the stairs and John takes a moment to breathe. To go over the plan.

Santino will still be his point of contact. The easiest of the D’Antonio’s to convince to go along with his plan. But now he has leverage to use with Lorenzo, which makes it significantly easier to breathe.

He just needs to get the bounty removed. Then he can deal with the rest—the other enemies who might target Helen, the missing persons’ case being explored, and the countless unresolved feelings that had been flowing between them.

In a way, he’s relieved that the deadline is only two days away because he’s not sure how much more he can take.

The valet pulls up to the curb with his car and John hands him a tip as he walks by. Santino’s penthouse condo wasn’t too far away, just over the bridge and into Manhattan.

John is waved into the garage by security and he parks next to one of Santino’s many, but mostly unused, sports cars, before heading to the elevator.

When he arrives, a few members of Santino’s entourage were relaxing around his penthouse.

Ares plays a video game with a few of her co-bodyguards. She throws him a smirk as John is wanded down by another member of Santino’s protection.

Her hands move in a blur as she signs you still alive, old man?

John rolls his eyes and signs back Respect your elders.

Ares only grins wider I’d rather respect your girlfriend. I’ve seen the pictures. She has a nice ass .

Not knowing how to respond to that, John just shakes his head and moves further into the penthouse suite. Santino appears at the balcony, always one to make an entrance, and descends down the stairs.

“John! Always a pleasure. Café?”

John nods, “Si. Gratzi.”

Santino motions with a hand and leads John to a kitchen where two more of his men were sitting. Both regard John with interest but he ignores their stares. Santino barks an order in Italian and one of them stands to make the espresso.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Santino says, although John has noticed no mess to speak of, “My father and sister are visiting.”

John hums, “Are they here?”

“No, no. Gianna doesn’t travel often and prefers to use the advantages of the Continental whenever she does. My father is staying with a business associate.”

John didn’t understand much of politics, but he was well aware that business associate meant mistress in this case. He says nothing as Santino’s henchman hands them each a small cup.

“Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Santino asks.

John glances around not so subtly and Santino gives another order. The men vacate the room and John can hear them passing on to others outside the kitchen that it is time to leave.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors going around.”

“Ah, but I never believe such fickle things.”

That was a lie, but John let it slide. He didn’t come here to argue with the Italian mafiaso after all. He can hear the swing of the door and he glances back. Ares has come in.

“I hope you don’t mind, John, but I do prefer to keep my head of security close at all times.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes but nods, signing as he speaks, for Ares benefit, “Of course.”

Santino offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and John finds himself doubting that this is a good idea.

Remember your promise , he thinks. He will come home.

“Now, please,” Santino says, “Enlighten me with the truth.”

“The rumors,” John admits, “are largely true.”

“But not entirely?” Santino leans forward.

“Is anything entirely true?” John evades with a practiced ease.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“We’ve never technically put such a label on our relationship.” Not technically a lie, John thinks. “But for all intents and purposes, she is mine .”

Santino grins broadly, already rapt by the drama of it all. John will never understand the Mafioso’s fascination with such things. Truthfully, John isn’t certain why anybody gives a damn about the lives of people they don’t care about but that’s another matter entirely.

“Mio Dio, John. I did not think you had it in you.”

He barely withholds another eyeroll.

“And now what? You destroy New York piece by piece, until there’s no one left to harm her?”

“That’s plan B.”

“And plan A?”

John swallows down the espresso, keeping an eye on Ares as he prepares to explain.

“Mateo DeLuca holds the hit over Helen. I’m sure you’re familiar with him.”

“We’ve never actually met.” Santino says, “But he is my cousin.”

John nods once, “And of his mother?”

“Isabella. My dear aunt Valentina’s daughter. Until she disowned and dishonored her family to marry that scoundrel, Dante. Quite the tragic affair, although I was too young to remember.”

“She remembers you.” John says, “She’s ordered your death, along with that of your father and sister, in exchange for the release of Helen’s contract.”

Ares moves fast but John is faster. He grabs a cutting board from the island and uses it to catch the two knives she throws at him before he discards it, throwing it to the floor.

“Relax!” He says as he signs, before turning back to Santino, “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have offered you an explanation. I’d have killed you the moment you walked in.”

Santino looks to his guard, quietly ordering her to stand down, before looking back at John. “Go on.”

“They want the Camorra.” John says before taunting, “And it would be easy enough to give them. Except I don’t trust them. Nor do I like the idea of the High Table coming after me while DeLuca takes Rome, free of consequence.”

“I take it you have a plan?”

“It would require your cooperation, as well as that of your father and sister.”

“How so?” There is a glint of excitement in Santino’s eyes that John really doesn’t understand but he isn’t going to complain if it means the mafiaso is willing to help.

John glances to Ares, who has her arms crossed and is still watching him with suspicion. “We’ll need to stage your death. I’ll take photographic evidence to give to DeLuca. Once he exchanges his end of the bargain, you can present the DeLuca’s to the High Table to be tried for treason.”

“And you walk away with the girl.” Santino hums, shaking his shoulders as he considers it, “How exciting! How would you like to fake my death? Strangle me? Pretend to cut me open, hmm?”

Unbelievable. It takes him a moment to even remember to speak, “I was thinking fake a bullet to the head. It doesn’t leave much room for questioning.”

“Are we to do this now?” Santino is practically bouncing.

Again, John is tempted to just yell what the fuck but withholds with a shake of his head.

“I was hoping to speak with your father, first. But yes, it would be today. If I’m seen coming and going while you are obviously alive, DeLuca might suspect that I’ve tipped you off.”

“Wonderful!”

“You’d have to stay in hiding for two days.” John says, “And no one can know. Not even your entourage or security. Save Ares.”

“Yes, yes!” Santino nods, “They will mourn their loss only for me to rise, like Christo.”

He swears he catches Ares rolling her eyes while Santino considers how to best spin faking his death. Not that she’d ever admit it. She was too loyal. A rare quality in the Underworld, but one John respected nonetheless.

“Can you get a hold of your father remotely?” John asks, “Over video call?”

“Of course!” Santino gives instructions to Ares. She nods and leaves the room, “New video conferencing on top-of-the-line laptop. Just released from Geneva. It’s untraceable, unhackable.”

The other assassin returns with the laptop and sets it up for Santino. The heir calls his father while John closes his eyes. The youngest D’Antonio had been an easy sell—willing to play dead for the shock value and entertainment factors alone. And while John was certain Lorenzo would be swayed by Isabella’s involvement, he was aware that Lorenzo might take a bit more pushing.

The call is picked up by one of Lorenzo’s bodyguards.

John is aware that high-ranking members of the Underworld kept hired guns, and particularly members of the High Table required guarding, but it still throws him.

John, who can barely stand the presence of friends, cannot understand the appeal of such things. Or the inability to take care of one’s self.

After a few minutes, Lorenzo is brought to the computer. He settles down in front of it, peering at the camera. A rush of Italian parts from his lips and John finds himself code-switching quickly, trying to change the language his brain would accept.

“I told you, I would see you Friday before I left—” Lorenzo was saying, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yes, father, but I have John Wick here to speak with you.”

Santino turns the camera towards John.

“John!” Lorenzo says in surprise, “I was hoping to see you on my visit. When I heard about your… conundrum, I assumed you would be too busy.”

“Lorenzo,” John steps closer to the camera, “It’s about that matter I wish to speak with you.”

And it all comes out.

The involvement of the DeLuca’s. Isabella’s slow, careful takeover of the Syndicate. Playing kingmaker to her son and murdering her husband, all in quest of taking back the Camorra.

The contract on Helen’s life.

How, despite the contract, John doesn’t trust the Syndicate crime family.

“That whore .” Lorenzo spits out, when John has finished, “She gets that from her mother. Being a princess in the Camorra was not enough.” The old man shakes his head, “Her ambition is her downfall.”

“You can have them tried at the High Table for their treason.” John nudges.

Lorenzo certainly perks up at that. What a display that could be. The Camorra annihilating its number one competitor, publicly.

“I’ll testify for the High Table.” He continues, “All I ask is a few hours of your time. And that of your children.”

“I don’t like the idea of playing a dead man.” Lorenzo replies uncertainly, “It would look weak.”

“Only for you to rise from the grave, seizing what has fallen in DeLuca’s absence. Syndicate could be yours.”

Lorenzo considers it, a smile breaking upon his face. “Alright, John. Tell me your plan.”

....

thanks to @meetmeinthematinee​ for reviewing it before I posted this :)

[criminalromantic]

Cornelia Street - Chapter 7 (Billy Russo x Fem!Reader)

Summary: What happens when you and Billy don’t see each other?

Word Count: 1797

A/N: this is kind of a filler chapter, but I hope you enjoy it 

Warnings: none

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

Don’t come over today.

Was the text that you quickly sent Billy as you were ready for work. To say that you were nervous was an understatement. Never before you sent Billy that kind of text, but then again, you were always excited to see him. That one week alone was already quite a ride and you just wanted to be done with it and sort through your thoughts. It seemed to be chilly, but sunny day and you were not willing to let anyone or anything ruin your Friday. 

As the day went you were feeling less tense, but at the same time more. You were thankful for every single minute when Billy didn’t show up. At the same time, you were scared that Billy replied to your text or worse - he would come through the door anytime and confront you about it. That is why you didn’t touch your phone since you sent the text and it has been hours since then. 

The worst thing probably was that he didn’t know the reason behind your sudden change of heart. He didn’t know what he did or how you felt about it. According to his reputation and how it portrayed him to be, something like this was exactly something he would do. 

Sound of the door opening brought you down to earth. It was a woman who bought a small bouquet for her friend’s birthday. Moments after she left, a man walked in. 

He was tall, visibly muscular with short dark hair. As he walked towards you, you noticed his face looked like it had experienced a lot, but you didn’t judge. 

“Hi, how may I help you?” You asked somewhat cheerfully out of habit as the man now stood on the other side of the counter.

“Hi, I’m looking to buy something for my girlfriend. A good pal of mine recommended this place, saying it’s his favorite in all of New York.” For some strange reason, he seemed a bit nervous as he spoke, a little smile on his lips.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. I’m guessing that your friend really must like flowers. Anyway, what can I get you?” 

“Seven pink roses, please. And no, he was never particularly into flowers. At least until, recently.” He explained as you grabbed the flowers and positioned them to arrange them. Could it be?

“Really? That’s interesting, but not in a bad way. Flowers can make our lives a little more beautiful one bouquet at a time.” For a second you raised your head to smile at the man. As you were finishing with your work, in the corner of your eye you saw him shifting from one leg to another uncomfortably. But you didn’t say anything.

“Alright, your total is 26 dollars.” He put a few bucks in front of you before you even finished your sentence. You handed him the change, he took it and put it all in your tip jar. 

“Wow, that’s quite generous of you, thank you.” You said as 14 dollars landed in it. 

“Excellent service, what can I say?” He hung around like he wanted to say something. Seconds later he turned around with a quick “bye” and left.

The rest of the day went by fast. Like every Friday, there were a lot of people buying flowers for dates or other celebrations, but the last hour was basically dead. Sometimes you wondered what it is like - to be hanging out with friends at a party or a bar or someone’s place. You never really get to do that. Usually, you’re tired after work and you’re more of a daytime person anyway. Most of your friends are like that too and the ones that aren’t - you aren’t that close to them. You are your own boss and you could close up early whenever you wanted, but you wanted to maintain a routine. 

The clock struck 8 o’clock so you closed the shop and made sure everything was taken care of before you left for the weekend. Slowly you grabbed your phone and looked at it dreadfully. You didn’t want to check your notifications, but never using your phone for the rest of your life was kind of impossible. When you finally unlocked your phone, you saw… nothing. No notification. You felt relieved and slowly made your way upstairs to your apartment, where a hungry cat was already awaiting you. 

While your day was calm, Billy’s wasn’t at all. Fridays were always hectic because everybody was trying to get their work done before the weekend - at least most people he worked with were like that. That meant that the entire day Billy was drowning in a pile of reports and contracts that needed to be checked. Not to mention that two days ago a friend - Dinah Madani - asked him to help her with a case. So basically since he got back to work on Wednesday, he hadn’t had a moment to take a breath. The whole day he was feeling stressed and became angrier and angrier when he discovered that some of the reports had incorrect information or some contracts didn’t have all the signatures they were supposed to have. Amateurs. Billy thought as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. 

He looked at this phone, lying on the desk, and thought that he could use a little break. The first thing he saw was a text message from you. He was excited for a moment - until he saw what you wrote. What? He opened the conversation and his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He ended up writing nothing because he didn’t know what to write back. Instead, he just stared at the four words. When he finally put the phone away to get back to work, he couldn’t. Different reasons why you wouldn’t want him to come popped up in his mind and none of them were good. What if something happened to you? What if you felt sick again? What if you just didn’t want to see him again? But he was going to respect your wishes. Then he came up with a plan to see what was wrong and picked up the phone again.

“Hey, Frankie, uhm, are you free right now?” Billy asked a little timidly, not knowing how to word his question.

“Uh, yeah, what is it, Bill?” 

“I need you to go to Y/N’s flower shop to check on her. For some reason, she doesn’t want me to come and I want to make sure she’s all right.” 

“Wait, hold up. What do you mean she doesn’t want you to come over?” Frank was often Billy’s voice of reason and now it even seemed like he could read his mind. 

“That’s what I don’t know, but she doesn’t want to see me today and as much as I want to go there right now, I can’t. So, will you go over there?” Billy flinched at how desperate and urgent his voice sounded, he was not used to that.

“Sure, why not. Send me the address.” He thanked his friend and quickly typed the address before sending it. He wasn’t completely calm, but he did feel a bit better and went back to work.

He was happy to hear from Frank that you were safe and nice as ever. He smiled at how Frank described your dedication to your job and mentally agreed. Another reason he smiled was that Frank liked you and his opinion mattered to him a lot. They have been through a lot together, seen each other’s ups and downs. They were always looking out for one another and that meant in all aspects of life - romantic included. 

But one thing kept him up at night. If you were all right, why wouldn’t you want him to come over? Maybe it was nothing, maybe you were just as busy as he was. Maybe you had a lot of work to make up for the first three days of the week. But he had been there when you had a hard day and you never sent him on his way. He had a feeling that this was bad. And he didn’t like it one bit. What if you didn’t want to spend time with him anymore? Did he do something that made you change your mind? 

He kept turning in his bed from one position to another. After a day like that, he thought that he would fall asleep as soon as he got into bed, but he couldn’t get you out of his mind. His phone was on his nightstand. Within reach. He contemplated calling you. Then he remembered that it was the middle of the night and he would probably wake you up, you would get angry at him for waking you up and he couldn’t come up with how that scenario would result in a good ending. He thought about sending a text, which he also figured was a bad idea. It was Friday and sending you a text would make it seem that he was getting drunk somewhere and texting you because of the alcohol. Neither of those options would give you the impression that he would like. Somehow, slowly, his eyelids became too heavy and he finally drifted off to sleep. 

When you checked the weather forecast the next morning, you thought about how you were going to spend the day. To be more specific, you were thinking about outdoor ways to spend the day. Most of your week you were stuck inside and you felt more than ready to go out and enjoy some sunlight and fresh air. After a few minutes and consulting with your cat, you decided to go on a hike somewhere outside of New York. 

Quickly you packed a bag with everything you might need. Some snacks, treats for Benjamin, a lot of water, some wet wipes - you never know when you might need those - and some other stuff. When you were satisfied with the contents, you got dressed into some comfortable leggings and t-shirt. You packed a spare t-shirt, in case you got sweaty and a hoodie if it got cold. Lastly, you put on some hiking boots. Only one thing left to do - get Benjamin ready for the adventure. You put the harness and leash on him and topped it off with a treat. 

“Are you ready for adventure, Benji?” You asked in a baby voice. 

“Meow.” 

“Okay, let’s go.” You made sure you had everything, took Benji’s leash, and walked out the door. 

When you stepped outside, you were met with chilly morning air. Taking a deep breath you felt good about your day.

That was until you stood face to face with a certain raven-haired man.

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

Tags: @1-800-heartbreak @churchb

[ghost-in-the-hella]

From the prompt batch: 6. "I'm proud of you, we all are..." (Chloe and Max)

I hope you like really fucking sad fanfic, because this immediately got really fucking sad from the second I thought of the idea for it and only got sadder from there.

Content Warnings for: non-descriptive references to suicide/suicidal ideation, negative self-talk, PTSD, references to past physical and mental abuse, and implied anti-queerness.

---

It takes Max twenty minutes to realize that Chloe’s left the celebration and twenty seconds after that for her to realize where she’s gone. She makes her excuses to her family and friends - just a minute, be right back, gotta run to the bathroom, gotta check my makeup, gotta check on Chloe, thanks for coming, thanks so much, seriously Mom I’ll be right back - and starts walking across campus toward the art building. She turns on her phone as she walks and scrolls through the text messages that have come in since the graduation ceremony. There it is, buried under a stream of congratulatory texts:

Chloe: g2g

Chloe: sorry

Max pockets her phone and stares up at the art building. She can’t see Chloe from the ground - that’s kind of the main point of a secret hiding place - but if she squints she can just make out a thin trail of cigarette smoke curling up from the rooftop. She feels a small wave of relief wash over her. Chloe’s been a lot better lately about opening up to Max when she needs help, but sometimes when she suddenly goes missing Max still worries. If she’s hiding on the rooftop and smoking a cigarette, it means she’s still here.

It’s weird to walk through the art building and have it be empty. There’s always people around, normally: working in studios, hanging artwork in critique rooms, building sculptures in hallways, sleeping on the paint-stained couches that sag in odd corners of the building. Her key card still works for the studios, luckily; it’ll probably be deactivated in a few days, once she’s got all of her stuff moved out. The undergraduate studios - a series of loosely connected cubicles formed by moveable white walls - have mostly been cleaned out or at least packed up. Chloe’s studio, all the way in the back corner, is still a mess; the boxes they brought in to pack up their supplies are still empty and scattered around. Max slips into the odd space they found the semester Chloe got her studio, a gap between the moveable wall and the actual wall, where there’s a door that’s supposed to be kept locked but that Chloe figured out quickly how to jimmy open.

Max hated the rooftop hideout for the first few weeks after Chloe showed it to her. Too many bad memories. Even though the spot is nestled between bulky vents and Max would have to climb up on top of them to look down over the campus, just the act of climbing up stairs to a rooftop made Max’s chest close in on itself. Even after Chloe made it into a home away from the dorms for them both, a special place for them to get away from the pressures of school and life, Max couldn’t go up there if it was raining. Rain makes it too easy to remember another rooftop, another time, another girl who wanted so badly to escape.

But it isn’t raining today, and Max has to admit that after nearly a year of hanging out up there it really bears no resemblance to the roof at Blackwell. Every spot that Chloe can reach - and with her long limbs she can reach quite a lot - is covered with her graffiti, spotted here and there with the marks that Chloe nudged Max into making herself (“C’mon, Max, nobody’s gonna see it; I bet no one even remembers this place exists!”). The rooftop is littered with cigarette butts (“The world is not your ashtray, Chloe!”) and food wrappers (“There’s a trash can in the studios!” “Yeah, but there’s not one on the roof, Max.”). 

And, of course, there’s Chloe herself. She’s swaddled in the blanket she normally keeps in her studio and stretched out on her back between vents, smoking a cigarette as she watches the clouds. It looks like she’s been using her mortarboard as an ashtray and her wadded up gown as a pillow. She glances over at Max as Max pushes through the roof door, and her eyes are bloodshot and watery. It doesn’t smell like pot up here (for a change), though, and Max’s suspicions are confirmed when Chloe quickly looks away and discreetly wipes at the corner of her eye with one hand.

“Hey,” Max says gently, closing the door behind her. She sits down next to Chloe, leaning her back against one of the protruding vents. It’s weirdly quiet with the art building shut down for the summer; usually the vents are pumping out all kinds of sounds and smells that are probably as bad for Chloe as smoking. 

“Hey,” Chloe replies, her voice soft and slightly hoarse. “Sorry I bailed, I just--” She waves her hand around abstractly, sending flecks of ash tumbling down onto her shirt. 

Max nods thoughtfully. “It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“Like… If someone says ‘congratulations’ to me one more fucking time, I don’t know, I just feel like I might… might explode or something, you know?”

Max furrows her brows but doesn’t say anything. She tugs at the edge of the blanket until Chloe releases enough of it for Max to join her under it. She presses the side of her leg against Chloe’s, solid and reassuring, and she waits for Chloe to go on in her own time.

“It’s just… I don’t know. I expected it to feel different.” Chloe shrugs helplessly. “I expected to feel, I dunno, vindicated or something. Like, nobody thought I could do it; haha, showed you motherfuckers. But it just…” She sighs. “It feels hollow.”

“I knew you could do it,” Max says quietly. She doesn’t want to interrupt, but she also can never bear to let Chloe’s negative self-talk stand.

“Yeah… But everybody else down there, congratulating us and saying how proud they are and all of that crap… I mean, I’m sure they mean it for you; I’m fucking proud as hell of you, too, but--”

“I’m proud of you, we all are…”

Chloe finally stops cloud gazing and gives Max a dubious look. “Your parents are proud of me?”

“I-- Of course they are.” The words are sour in Max’s mouth, and she blushes under Chloe’s scrutinizing gaze. “They know how important you are to me,” she insists. That, at least, must be true: she’s told them enough times over the years, planting the knowledge as firmly into their minds as possible. They still don’t understand what Max sees in her, it’s true, and they still don’t really approve, but certainly they know that Chloe is in their daughter’s life and she’s not going anywhere if Max has anything to say about it. 

“Mm. Not really the same thing, though, is it?” Chloe flicks ashes into her mortarboard, keeping her eyes trained on Max’s. “And what about the rest of your family? Your grandparents? Your aunt and uncle? Your cousins? You think they’re all proud of me?”

Max loves her family, but she’s not as oblivious as she used to be. Even in the dream-like haze of graduation, she still noticed the glances her extended family - and her immediate family - leveled at Chloe when Max introduced her as her girlfriend. Her grandmother looked like she was taking a swig of soured milk when Chloe shook her hand. Her uncle seemed fine on the surface, but she overheard him making some pretty offensive comments behind their backs. From the look on Chloe’s face, none of this went unnoticed by her. Max decides to switch tactics. “Our friends are proud of you. And I’m proud of you.” 

Max reaches across the short distance between them and laces her fingers with Chloe’s. That nudges a small smile out of Chloe that feels like a huge accomplishment. The smile fades, though, and Chloe clears her throat. She crushes out what little is left of her cigarette and leaves it on the rooftop. “I, uh. I got a text from David earlier. Guess he was actually paying attention when I told him about graduating.”

“Oh,” Max says as neutrally as possible. David is always uncertain ground.

“Yeah. He, uh, he says he’s proud of me.” Chloe makes a sound halfway between a snort and a sob. “Like I give a fuck what he thinks, but still.” She starts picking at her already raw cuticles, and Max gives her hand a squeeze. “Like… he made my teen years a fucking nightmare. He treated me like shit and made me feel bad about myself, and he hit me a couple times, but he made my mom happy, you know?”

“That doesn’t excuse the way he treated you.”

“Yeah, I know, but… He does care, in his own fucked up way…”

“He does,” Max agrees. “But that still doesn’t excuse the way he treated you.”

 Chloe nods. “It’s just… He’s kind of all I’ve got left.” Her voice twists and she has to clear her throat before she can speak again. Max squeezes her hand again. “My dad always believed in me. He wouldn’t be surprised at all, y’know? He’d maybe be surprised I studied art instead of science, but I know he wouldn’t be disappointed. And he’d be proud as fuck. And my mom…” Chloe’s voice breaks again, and Max’s heart breaks a little with it. “My mom would’ve been surprised, probably. Ever since Dad died, I think she kinda gave up on me making anything out of myself. David didn’t really help with that, I guess. Fuck, I didn’t really help with that. But she still would’ve been proud, I think.”

“She would,” Max assures her. “She definitely would.”

“And Rachel…” Chloe mops at her eyes. “She should’ve been here!” she explodes suddenly. “She should’ve been right there with us, getting her diploma and-and-and fucking hogging all the cameras and charming everybody’s parents’ socks off because that was just-- it was just the way she was; it was just Rachel; and it isn’t-- it isn’t--”

Max slides closer to Chloe and puts her arms around her, letting Chloe sob into her shoulder. 

She doesn’t disagree. Rachel should’ve been there.

Kate should’ve been there, too. And Warren, and Dana, and Juliet, and Alyssa, and Daniel, and, hell, Victoria, Taylor, Courtney, Brooke, Stella, Evan, fucking everybody. They all deserved this. To finish high school, finish college, live their lives. She can’t say that out loud, though, not with Chloe already feeling this way. It wouldn’t make either of them feel any better, and it wouldn’t bring any of them back, so there’s no point in saying it. There’s only one way to bring any of the back, and Max won’t do it. She can’t. 

“It isn’t fair,” Chloe whispers into the crook of Max’s neck. “It isn’t fair.”

Max buries her face in Chloe’s hair. She smells like cheap hair dye and the cologne she put on this morning because “It’s a fancy occasion, Max!” and the cigarette she just smoked. Max breathes her in. “It isn’t fair,” she agrees. “But you deserve this, too. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Max’s phone buzzes in her pocket. Her family is probably wondering where she’s gotten to. They want to take her out for dinner to celebrate. Give her more congratulations, ask more questions about what her plans are now, scold her for not calling or visiting more often. Chloe sinks against Max’s shoulder, her sobbing fading into sniffles. Max kisses the top of her head and holds her tighter. She settles into the blankets and gazes up at the clouds, stroking Chloe’s hair.

Everything else can wait.