#there’s a fic where Jane is like. oh I must seem so crazy to you haha no this is just our pre-discussed kink !!!

[coachbeards]

“beardjane is just a consensual dom/sub relationship between two freaky people, you don’t get it!”

what are you talking about

[leahseclipse]

May the show begin (Part 1)

May the show begin masterlist | Masterlist 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Kidnapping, general criminal minds stuff, angst, cursing

Summary: While working on a case, y/n gets targeted by the unsub that kidnaps her.

A/N: Hello! This is my veryy first Tumblr fic, I’ve never written any until now! I really worked hard to write as well as possible, so I hope you’ll appreciate it-

I plan to write ~3 chapters, maybe a 4th if I can. There will be an Epilogue, who will be extra fluff, an awesome ending. You’ll maybe cry during this fic, but do not worry, the story ends well. Have a good time reading!

Word count: 5.7k

______

It finally was one of these times where we got to have a break without being interrupted. Sure, it wouldn’t last very long, but it was better than nothing.

A few minutes earlier, we played rock paper scissors to decide who would go to the coffee shop to get everyone’s orders. Guess who lost? …the one and only y/n.

I hated going out, but what choice did I have? Not much to be honest. It was that, or taking care of Morgan’s enormous amount of paperwork, so, without hesitation, I preferred getting coffee for everyone.

As I was getting out of the shop, one bag in each hand, after getting sure that the drinks were secured so that they wouldn’t open and spill everywhere, I made my way back to the building, walking fast not to make them wait longer.

In order to get back quickly, I had to pass by a small street, not many people were there, if so, they’d block the others from walking. That wouldn’t be very convenient.

A part of me was always scared to walk there, I would always make sure not to stay here more than a minute, probably my paranoia talking. Since working at the BAU, seeing all of these cases of people getting kidnapped, or even cases in Criminal tv shows, documentaries, where people would get kidnapped on their way home, would simply terrify me, I couldn’t stop but think that it could happen to me. I would be suspicious of every person that would walk in the street.

What if that guy is a psychopath?

What if he’s dangerous?

All of these worries would fill my mind in a snap. I would automatically go on defensive mode in these situations.

Finally, I was about to make my way out of the tight street, when strangely, I felt like someone was watching me. I slowly turned my head to watch behind me, walking backwards in case something would happen.

No one was there.

The street was empty.

The only people there were only walking in front of it, but not going here.

I am going crazy or something?

I really felt someone watching me, and thought I heard footsteps. I waited a few seconds, still no one.

Okay. I’m either going crazy, or someone was following me.

Oh well, I guess I won’t know.

I shrugged and made my way out of the street, walking a bit faster when I heard my phone ringing.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming, stop calling, I can’t answer the phone if my hands are full!” I said, while the phone stopped ringing after a few seconds.

A few minutes later, I made my way into the building, taking the elevator to the 6th floor, when Morgan was coming.

“Pretty girl! You’re finally there. I almost thought you got lost for a minute.” He exclaimed, while taking the coffee cup I handed to him, letting out a sight of desperation.

“Well, ‘turns out that I’m not the only one that wants coffee, so there’s a verb called 'waiting’, so I waited for my turn, and for the employees to prepare the order, because in case you don’t know, they don’t have cups prepared in advance for us.” I said, letting out a smirk.

“Okay, okay, I apologize, Mrs Reid.”

“We’re not married yet, stop calling me Mrs Reid.”

“Yeah, but that’ll be soon, you guys just got engaged.”

“Probably not now, maybe in months. But like, I’m even afraid of my wedding day, like, what if we get called in emergency while I get prepared? I can’t say 'oh, let the victims die, I have a wedding, that’s more important’, I already had to cancel two dates with Spencer because we got called. I’m even afraid to have a call in a middle of a shower now!”

“Wow, how can you live with so much stress? You’re like a balloon about to explode.”

“I can’t do anything about it, I’ve always been stressing about everything. I’m even wondering if I should take medication at this point.”

“Okay, calm down. No one will call you on your special day. In case you forgot, other people work here, and these people will replace us. We’ll be gone only one day, they’ll be able to last that long” He said, grabbing my shoulder, while talking to me like I was a toddler.

As we got to the 6th floor, several eyes got on me, the coffee slave was back, I thought, as a joke to myself.

“Sorry, apparently a ton of people wanted coffee too, had to wait” I explained, putting the bags on the table, getting the cups out, as everyone would take theirs, heading back to their desks as they thanked me.

“Well, let’s hope you’ll get luck next time.” Morgan said, as he headed back to his desk.

“I won’t do that everyday, don’t dream about it.” I addressed, which earned a few laughs from the team.

Only one cup to give was remaining, I was about to look around, when two arms wrapped around my waist, I recognized him by his scent.

Spencer.

“There you are. I was getting worried about not seeing you coming back.” He stated, kissing me on the cheek before standing in front of me, taking his cup. “I see that you thought about me princess.”

“How could I forget? There’s also a ton of sugar sticks, to add a ton of sugar into it. You don’t like when they add because it’s never enough.” I exclaimed, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Indeed, it’s never enough. I just don’t know how people can like black coffee, with no sugar, nothing. That’s weird to me.”

“Everything is weird to you, can you even name one thing that’s not weird to you?”

“Well…you.”

He knew how to make me blush. Every single time, he’d always say the right word. And as a girl that loves him so much, I can’t resist.

I glanced at him, giving him the smile that he adores. Whenever I’d smile, he would say that among all of his hobbies and interests, it was his most favorite thing.

Before we knew each other, I never really liked my smile, I’d never look in a mirror, or take pictures because of it, I wasn’t confident about it, like the rest of my body, until…I met him.

Spencer Reid.

He changed my life in so many ways, he noticed that I wasn’t confident about myself, that I didn’t like the way I looked, but to him, I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Every detail I didn’t like about myself, these were the ones he loved.

Whenever I’d feel down, he’d come on the couch with me and hug me; he helped me in so many ways that I can’t even name them all.

“You know I like it when you smile like that, and you know I can’t resist, especially at work.” He complained.

“I guess you’ll have to resist a little bit, in case you forgot, we have work, and work isn’t very patient, especially when Aaron Hotchner is your boss, so, sit there, and work.”

“So harsh…you broke my heart.” He said, dramatically putting his hand on his heart.

“And if I smile? Will that repair it?” I asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah. That’ll always repair it.”

“Good to know then.” I glanced at him before walking to my desk.

For the next minutes, we couldn’t stop glancing at each other every minute, I even had to swap desks with Morgan for this time, after he decided to separate us so that we could work. If I dared to continue, he even threatened me to give me all of his paperwork for an entire week.

So again, without hesitation, I chose to stop looking at Spencer, and finally work.

We still managed to send messages without him noticing, and even if he did notice, what could he do? Take our phones? He can’t even do that. We have to keep our phones on us 24/7 for work. So, he couldn’t do a-ny-thing.

After that, we didn’t really look at the time, paperwork takes a lot of time and effort, especially when it’s a case that took, several days, with several suspects, several victims, you must really have courage and energy for it.

We sometimes even trade or give excess paperwork to others, Hotch doesn’t really like it, but hey, we gotta help each other.

—-

Finally. The last file. I was so exhausted. I would have preferred sitting for hours in the conference room instead of sitting at my desk, writing again and again.

“My team, conference room, now.” A deep voice executed, as everyone was getting up the following second. No one really wanted to be yelled at by Hotch. Trust me when I say that.

Everyone made their way into the room, images were already on the screen as they took a seat, Garcia near the computer, giving the remote to Hotch.

“A few hours, local police found bodies, two women, aged 16 and 22, both found wearing a dress, heels, and a red ribbon around their necks, probably used to strangle them.” Hotch explained, before two pictures appeared.

“His first victim was Annie Evans, 16. The second one, Jane Harris, 22, both have been killed by strangulation; they also had various bruises on their bodies. It seems like they’ve been dropped at random locations, the unsub probably dropped them where he was. We’re looking for a male in his 40-50s, but we’re not quite sure yet.”

“I don't know if anyone else noticed...but it looks like they’re both dressed like dolls, in a pretty way, you know. He must have kept them several days, if he took the time to dress them up, and beat them. If you really look, they have a bit of makeup. They also found jewelry, but not real one, just the kind of things that you buy at a shop, it’s a transparent plastic string with beads on it. And for the dress, it kinda looks like it's handmade, there's a lot of strings there and there, a machine wouldn't have left that much.” I explained, as Morgan shook his head, apparently agreeing with my explanation.

“Yeah. They weren’t killed there. He kidnapped them for a bit and just killed them after.” He said, moving his hand while talking.

“We could be looking for…a doll maker, a guy obsessed with dolls or even another job, hobby, something that has to do with the art domain maybe…?” Spencer added, lightly tapping his pencil on the paper.

“Turns out we have some research to do then.” He concluded.

“We’re gonna make teams. Reid, y/l/n, go with Garcia; Morgan and Simmons, Alvez, JJ and Prentiss, you all know what to do. Let’s get to work.” Hotch ordered, everyone exited the room, going where they had to go.

As we left the room, Spencer and I quickly laughed, happy to have been paired up together again. We happen to work better when we’re together, and it’s…nice. Not that if we’re not together we do bad work, it’s just that…I really like working with him, there’s no big pressure, we understand each other, I like being around him in general, his presence reassures me.

After having enough information to have a possible lead, we were all told to go home to rest a bit. We’d probably have no sleep in the next few days due to all of the work waiting for us, so none of us complained.

“Come on y/n, let me drive you home this time, and no, you don’t get to complain, I’m driving you home, that’s it.” He said, not even letting me place a word, smiling at the end of his sentence, happy to have won this time.

“You’re such a kid. I even wonder if your brain didn’t get stuck in daycare sometimes.” I exclaimed, showing a fake disappointed look on my face.

“Actually, I didn’t go to daycare. I was too smart for that.” He smirked, glancing at me, as he started the car.

“Okay, you win. I don’t have any arguments to throw at you. I always run out of these before you do.” I added, pouting.

“You can’t even hate me, I know you can’t resist looking at my face. Come on, don’t be mad, look at me baby.”

Not wanting to make him wait more, I looked at him, as he smiled, seeming happy just at looking at me. He would always tell me that whenever he’d feel down, thinking about me would always cheer him up. I don’t really know why, there’s not much special about it, maybe it’s the glasses, I don’t know.

“Are you satisfied now?” I added.

“More than I ever have.”

“I’m not mad, don’t worry, I was only faking. I can’t be mad at you, how could I?”

“I know. I can separate your fake angry face from your real one. And indeed, you can’t be mad at me, you’d immediately fail by looking at my gorgeous face.”

“I can’t say anything about it either because, indeed, you have a gorgeous face, as you said.”

“Yep. I do.” He proudly smiled before bursting into laughter with me.

—-

After we arrived, despite insisting that I could walk to the doorstep on my own, he didn’t listen and took my hand.

“Okay, we’re here. Not a minute of your sleep will be wasted.” He said, briefly looking at his watch.

“Yeah. Hurry and go, I don’t want to wait any minute of yours. You won’t take long to drive back, but as soon as you get home, don’t take too much time to do whatever you do before going to bed, and then immediately go to sleep when you’re done.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Now go before I kick your ass.” I added, a serious look plastered on my face.

“Got it.” Spencer said, before putting his lips on mine, to which I answered by kissing him.

“Goodnight babe. I love you.”

“Goodnight princess. Love you too.”

On his sweet words, I closed the door. And to my surprise, I was still smiling. He had that strange effect on me, he’d always find light when I’d see nothing but pure darkness, in a way, he saved my life. Now that I’ve met him, I can’t imagine a life without him, I just can’t.

But being in a relationship when you work at a place like the BAU, It’s barely impossible but think about the worst scenarios. Our job isn’t without risk, so there’s always a chance that one of us gets hurt on the field, it is stressful, I won’t hide it, but we always do our best to not think about it. If it does happen, we’ll be there to support each other, I know we’ll do.

After taking a quick shower and changing into a comfortable outfit, I added an alarm for 6am, as I got into bed, falling asleep without even realising it.

——

THE NEXT MORNING

Spencer’s POV

Arriving at the office this morning, my first habit was to search for y/n. I would always see her first before starting to work on anything. If she was sick, or unable to come to work, hearing her voice was enough.

The first place she’d be at was her desk, but she wasn’t there. I searched for a note, nothing, her desk was as she left it, nothing changed, the only different thing that didn’t belong to her was some of Morgan’s files, they swapped desks yesterday for a moment, so he worked on hers. I was even wondering if he didn’t do it on purpose, it wouldn’t surprise me if he did.

I continued searching for her in all of the possible places she would usually be at. The conference room is usually calm in the morning, so she likes to go there, even if it’s not for work, she wasn’t here.

Again, I searched for traces of her, for her bag, perhaps. Maybe she was at the bathroom or somewhere else, she would have left something like files, or just her bag, she doesn’t bring it at the bathroom, even at home, on this point, she’s like me.

As I was going out of the room, I noticed Emily and JJ, talking together. I tried my best to keep a calm face, walking in their direction in order to talk to them. The two girls glanced at me as they saw me coming.

“Hi Spence!…what’s up?” JJ asked, as she noticed that something was slightly off with you, you saw her furrowing her brows.

“Um…hey. Hope I’m not interrupting anything but, have you guys seen y/n? I’ve been looking for her, basically at every place she’s usually at, but no sign. I’m starting to wonder if she’s not late..” I added, nervously laughing.

“No, we haven’t seen her. I don’t think she’s here yet, she didn’t log in this morning, her computer’s off. I noticed she always does it when she arrives, even if she stays on it for a minute. Maybe she’s late, it happens sometimes. Your alarm goes off, or you don’t hear it, so you end up waking up thirty minutes later. Just wait a bit longer, she’ll end up coming in.”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you guys.” I said, waving at them as I walked to my desk, sitting in my chair.

During the following minutes, I couldn’t stop but look at her desk, around me, through the glass of the room in front of me, hoping to see her in. I don’t usually worry about that, being late happens sometimes, but when I don’t see her, or hear anything from her, I immediately start to think about the worst scenarios, and I’m sure I’m not the only one that does.

Because when you work in the police, in my case, the FBI, seeing hundreds of cases of people that get murdered at their houses, killed while taking a run, kidnapped on their way home, you can’t help but think about these things happening to the ones you love.

That’s what I was afraid of right now.

Did something happen?

What if she’s hurt?

After an hour and a few minutes of waiting for her to come, the worries began to grow bigger and bigger each minute.

I couldn’t wait anymore, I decided to take the elevator and go to Garcia’s office. Looking at the building’s cameras isn’t illegal, so she could do that with absolutely no problem. Even if it was illegal, I wouldn’t care, I just wanted to know where she was.

I made my way into her office, not even having the time to place a word, she had apparently already heard the sound of the door, and turned to face me.

“Hey Spence, you need somethin’ ?” Garcia said, gesturing to me to close the door as I got in.

“Actually…yeah. I know it isn’t something that someone would do.. because it’s absolutely ridiculous to me, but,” I took a deep breath before saying what I needed to do, as I saw Penelope furrowing her brows. 

“… I’m really getting worried, I don’t know why. I haven’t seen y/n this morning, I’ve been waiting for exactly one hour, thirty minutes and ten seconds, so that shows you how worried I am.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down a bit…” She added, before turning to the monitors. 

“So…if I guessed well, you want me to look at the cameras?”

“…yes, please. I literally feel like my heart is about to pop out of my chest any minute with all of the stress I’ve accumulated.” I took a seat on a chair next to her, focusing on the monitors as she looked into the recordings.

“Um..I hate to say this to you, but…she’s not on the cameras, I just don’t see her. I looked everywhere I could think of, but the last time she showed up was yesterday, in the parking lot with you. Except that, nothing.” She said, as she got worried too. “Um…have you tried calling her maybe?”

“No, not yet. If she was on her way, I didn’t want to disturb her. I’m gonna try, I hope she picks up.” I explained, taking my phone from my pocket, dialing the number as I placed the phone to my ear.

…

…

…

…

'Hello, you’re on y/n y/l/n’s voicemail, I’m currently not available, so please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’

“Her phone rings, but I ended up being directed to her voicemail. I don’t know what’s going on, it’s not her, she’s not usually late and if she does, she always sends a message, you can look at them, she never forgot to say it to me, or even at anyone else. Maybe I’m getting worried for nothing, and she’s on her way, but what if something happened? At this point, I’ve waited long enough, and something definitely feels off to me.”

“Uh…try calling again, I’m gonna locate her phone. That’s the only thing I can do right now. And I just…thought about it.”

I nodded, calling and placing the phone to my ear once again, staring at the screen.

“Uh…wait. Got it. Yeah, it’s definitely at her place. Look. It’s the right address, right number, IP, whatever. The phone’s definitely there.”

“She didn’t answer again. Her phone is always with her, she places it in her bag every night, if not, it’s on her nightstand, and she definitely sees it.” I said, getting even more worried. 

“I can’t wait here anymore, I’m going to her place. Thanks Garcia.”

“No problem…keep me posted!” She yelled as I was on my way out.

“Will do.” I said, closing the door behind me, walking to the elevator to take what I needed at my desk.

—-

As I arrived at the 6th floor, I got out of the elevator, still looking around, while rushing to my desk. I didn’t even see Morgan until he noticed me. I think he must have seen how stressed out I was and interrupted me in my race.

“Woah, hey pretty boy, what’s going on? Does it have something to do with the case? Did Garcia make you her slave today?" 

"No, no, it…doesn’t have anything to do with it.” I explained with a shaky voice, causing Morgan to ask me to calm down. 

“Look, I’m just really, really, worried that something happened to y/n, I haven’t seen her, she doesn’t answer her phone, we even traced it, and it’s at her place, I can’t keep waiting here, I have to go to her place now. Maybe I’m getting worried for nothing, but I need to know if she’s okay or not.”

“That’s not y/l/n you’re describing to me, she’s basically never late.” He shook his head, like he didn’t want to believe that something may have happened. “Okay, If you’re really going, I’m coming with you, just in case you end up passing out on the way. We never know.”

“Whatever you want, I just want to know if she’s okay." 

"Now that you’ve stressed me out, I really need to know too.” Morgan glanced at me, before exiting the office. He was about to take the elevator when I just rushed out into the staircase, not wanting to wait for the elevator. “Oh, okay, we’re taking the stairs apparently." 

I wasn’t even thinking straight anymore, all I could think of was her, it’s maybe ridiculous for me to worry about a two hour absence, when she was probably at home, safe, but I needed to know, she doesn’t answer her calls, and there’s no way to contact her away from this. The only way was to go to her place. 

I really hope she’s okay.

Please, be okay. Please.

Arriving at the parking lot, I took my keys out of my pocket, almost dropping them on the floor out of panic, while I headed towards the car to open the driver’s side door.

"Nuh-uh, I’m driving pretty boy, I don’t want us to get in an accident because you’ll be too stressed on the way.” He said, stopping me, as I made to the passenger side of the car, rolling my eyes out of frustration. “I’ll drive fast, but safely. I just want us to get there in one piece.” He said, while we both got in the car before he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.

I quickly activated the siren before Morgan even had the time to, the sound of it blaring in the streets. I just guess I was…a bit nervous. No, a lot.

Even though Morgan was driving as fast as he could, it still was too slow for me. I just wanted to get out of the car and run there, I restrained myself from doing it by putting my hands on my lap.

I kept looking at the GPS, even though we didn’t need it because we, including myself, knew where she lived, I just wanted to keep it on to see how many miles were left until we would get there. 

As soon as we got in front of the building, Morgan didn’t even stop the car, yet, I already had taken my seatbelt off, getting ready to open the door.

He wasn’t even fully parked, but I still shoved the door open, furiously closing in behind me. Morgan eventually joined me a few seconds after, taking the keys out of the car, before locking it.

Strangely, as we went through the entry of the building, walking in the direction of the stairs (again), all I could hear was my heart beating faster each minute I would get closer. I don’t even know if Morgan talked, I didn’t even hear anything, except the wave of the worst scenarios that could have happened drowning the only hope I had before coming here.

Morgan suddenly interrupted me in my intensive thinking, as I noticed that we were standing in front of her doorstep. 

“The door is closed. You got the key?”

“Yeah, I got it.” I said, taking the set of keys from his hand, picking the key of her apartment. I could still remember the day she gave me a double copy of her keys. It was on a Sunday night, we managed to get out of work earlier, so we decided to go to her place for once.

She even let me choose what I wanted to watch, she insisted for me to not hesitate, even if it was a show she hated. And I knew that even if she hated the show, she would just lay down against me, and watch with me. Sometimes, she would either end up falling asleep a few minutes later, or try to distract me by sitting on my lap, so all I could do was look at her. 

And when she’d do that, you can already tell who lost the game. Yeah, me.

Most guys would usually try to get them out of the way, trying to gently reject him without upsetting them, but I just couldn’t,

She meant everything to me. (And still does.)

It’s weird to explain your feelings with metaphors instead of just saying that I love her, I don’t why, I can’t help but do it.

These metaphors can explain all of the feelings I have for her, in a way. I know it’s really cheesy, but to me, even though there’s more than 170,000 words that exist in the English language, not any of them is powerful enough to describe my feelings. 

She’d always laugh at me when I would say that, because let’s be honest, when you look at me, you see everything but a man that uses romantic sentences when talking with his girlfriend. Well, in my case, my fiance. It’s really recent so I tend to forget. 

We’ve been together for so long, so having to call her 'my fiance’ after years and years of calling her my girlfriend…feels really weird to me. I guess it’ll take some time for me to remember it. I’m sure she won’t be mad. 

Well, I hope…?

As I got out of my brief thoughts, I glanced at Morgan, entering the key in the hole, turning it two times before I heard the click of the door. 

I quietly opened the door, as my eyes widened at the sight of her living room.

“Morgan. Why is her…apartment in this state? This isn’t normal.”

It didn’t take long for the us to understand what happened. 

Someone broke into her apartment. 

Something happened.

Something…happened.

We both froze for a minute, as we looked at the…chaotic living room. Nothing was in the place it was supposed to be, like…someone pushed them out of the way, the question was, was it her or whoever broke into her apartment that did that? 

It wasn’t a matter of having strength or no, if she tried to defend herself, even if the couch was heavy, she wouldn’t have stopped fighting just because of that. The things you can do when in a situation of danger…are unbelievable. You never think yourself capable of it…until it happens. 

After looking at each other with panicked eyes, we quickly made our way into the apartment, Morgan heading to the rooms situated in the back while I stayed in the living room.

It wasn’t until something caught my eye on the kitchen counter. At first glance, it looked like a piece of paper, I walked to the counter, taking the paper in my hand.

“The doll has returned to the shop.” I read out loud. “The doll has..” I said, stopping in the middle of the sentence, slowly realising, that just yesterday; y/n noticed that the way the women looked were similar to…a doll. 

I made my way to her bedroom, as I heard Morgan talking.

“Her room looks the same. I think he must have grabbed her, and she tried to go away. And then he…he took her. The phone is on her nightstand …” Morgan said, with a trembling voice, touching the phone with the tip of his fingers.

“I found this…it was on the counter. And I think that we both know who did it.” I handed the note to him, as he took it, his hands trembling.

“She said that the victims both looked like…dolls.” He didn’t say anything after that, he immediately understood what I meant. 

We were both devastated by the scene in front of us. We couldn’t believe it. I think that in this exact moment, we both wished for that to be nothing, but a bad dream. But it wasn’t. We had to face the reality that was standing right in front of us.

She was gone.

“Fuck!” I yelled, as I hid my face in my hands, on the verge of tears. “This can’t be happening, no…this can’t." 

Where was she now? 

Was she even alive?

I couldn’t stop but ask myself a thousand questions. This couldn’t be real. I couldn’t believe it. 

I should have stayed with her. I should have, even if she didn’t want to. I should have hugged her, so she would have moved out of the door and I would have come in.

Why didn’t I do it.

I should have. If I did do that, I could have protected her. 

As I was drowning in my thoughts, I heard a faint sound coming from my pocket, I soon realized that it was my phone. 

Hotch.

I took a deep breath, before answering the phone, putting it on speaker while Morgan stood behind me.

"Reid, why didn’t you, Morgan and y/l/n showed up-” Hotch said, clearly annoyed, before getting interrupted.

“Y/n’s gone Hotch.” Morgan claimed. “We went to y/n’s place, and she’s not here. The guy in the case we worked on yesterday took her, that bastard took her Hotch! Now we have absolutely no idea where y/n is!" 

"Oh shit. That son of a bitch.”

“He left a note, it says 'the doll has returned to the shop’. Hotch, it’s him. I mean who else could it be? I’m all ears, go ahead." 

"No, I share the same opinion as you. Did, did you guys find anything else?”

“Except the fact that her apartment is completely turned over, no. The only thing of her that’s left are the traces of her fight.”

“Okay, um…I’ll see you guys at the office. We’ll be in the conference room, is that alright?” He asked, visibly destabilised by the current situation.

“Yeah, sure.” I said, before hanging up. I collapsed into Morgan’s arms, sobbing. I couldn’t contain myself anymore, I had to let it out. Since this morning, with all of the stress that I accumulated, I had to let everything out.

Morgan wrapped an arm around my back, as he was restraining himself from crying. He knew that he wouldn’t stop crying if he started. So he just stayed for a few minutes with me, I really needed some support.

The car ride back to the office was devastating. 

The silence of the car was horrible. 

No one talked, not even a single word.

We both were devastated by the recent news, and even more by thinking of the reaction of the team once they would hear what happened. 

I couldn’t even think about what was happening to her, she must have been so terrified when a stranger broke into her apartment to kidnap her. 

I couldn’t even say “I’m sure she’s okay.” , because deep inside, I knew she wasn’t, she was probably terrified.

———

No sooner than we had stepped off the elevator, we just didn’t want to be here. We’d have to work, while thinking about what might happen. 

We both stepped into the conference room, as we noticed the devastating atmosphere in the room. 

“Everyone. We have a lot of work in our hands right now. Let’s get ready.” Hotch said, breaking the heavy silence, probably in the room for a few minutes now.

Everybody opened their files, exchanging glances at each other from time to time. 

I just hoped…we hoped, that y/n would be safe and sound when we’ll find her.

I can’t lose her.

She’s the love of my life.

_______

Taglist: @thatsonezesty13​, @amanda-rotigliano​, @eevee0722 ,

[xoxo-nikki-xoxo]

Bewitched

Elijah Mikaelson × Female Reader

Prompts number 21 22 "Tell me... if you love me or not. If not I'll leave you alone forever" and "You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love you"

Authors note: I totally based this fic off of Jane Austins Pride and Prejudice. Elijah just totally give me Mr. Darcy vibes. Sorry if you don’t understand that reference. So this fic to by best of abilities is going to be written in the time line of the late 17th century and early 18th century. FYI sorry if this sucks, i truly did try my best.

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Words cant even descried how your feelings for Elijah Mikaelson has changed in the course of only a few months. From when you first met him he was so stuck up, egotistical, and well complete and utterly rude. But it was I that was wrong about him. For Mr. Mikaelson pride might be what you see be wrong, but its for his pride that makes him unique. 

Sitting on the porch engulfed in a bool as I usual am, I received word of a visitor. For it is Miss. Mikaelson arriving by carriage.

“ Dear Miss. y/n, you must come with me at once! I know you have already received your invitation to our ball this evening, but i need if if you are not to busy. It was my wretched bother Kol! He ruined my beautiful ball gowned now i must go fetch myself a new one! With this being announced i need your assistance to help me pick out the 2nd best. And I thought well we were at is we pick out a new dress for you.”  Rebekah say as she steps out of the carriage with the help of the carriage driver.

“ O Rebekah darling you know i well help you select a new gowned. But i don’t think i can accept-” 

“ Don’t finish that sentence we are picking new dresses out and that’s final. Wheres your mother? I surly must say hello before i take you for the rest of the afternoon” she says as she makes her way up onto the porch. The Mikaelson family has been staying in New Orleans for about 6 months now. Your first glimpse of the family was of course arranged by your family, more so your mother then father. But that’s when your friendship with the youngest Mikaelson truly took off. Of course by the moment you where introduced to Niklaus, Elijah and Kol, you were taken back by the pride the men in the family. More so Elijah then the others. Niklaus was the most polite, asking for your hand in the first dance, Kol was nice ,but excused himself the moment he had the chance. For some reason i just could never truly get Elijah out of my mind. His character was so not normal it was brain wrecking. Not saying hello at first but only making slight comments during conversations with other people.

“ okay fine, but only because you said so. Ma is probably in the drawing room tending to my younger sister” you stand up politely bowing to Rebekah as you two make your way into the house for a simple hello and goodbye.

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

“ Oh dear y/n! That is the one!! The blush pink color is your color, and if my foolish brother, Elijah doesn't make a gesture tonight well ill have to simple slap him myself because you are going to look stunning tonight” Rebekah says standing up clapping when you came out of the dressing room in this beautiful pink dress.

“ Rebekah!”

“O don’t Rebekah me! I know you fancy my brother, don’t worry love he fancies you too.”

“ Well he has a terrible way of showing it” You turn to face the mirror admiring yourself in this dress. If it wasn't for Rebekah being who she is you would have never dared to step into this dress. the waist fitting perfectly around you, the top showing off slight cleavage ,but not enough where it became inappropriate. The dress was everything and perfect.

“ My poor oldest brother... He has an odd way of showing his feelings to anyone outside of the family. So don’t be so uptight, and trust me when i say he truly dose have his eyes set on you” Rebekah smiles going over to me for a quick hug.

“ Now enough of this talking, we still have to figure out a dress for me!”  She adds. I simple smile bowing slightly before i make my way back to the dressing room to take the dress off. once it is off i make my way back into the fitting area sitting down where Rebekah had once sat waiting my dress reveal. After 4 different dresses she finally comes out.

“ This is it, this dress if the one. Hope fully this well catch the eye of the governors son” Rebekah says smiling as she comes out twirling in her dress with her ever so perfect smile.

“ Your out of your sense, the poor governors boy has been totally bewitched by you. If its anyone stopping him from coming forward its your brothers, they would probably kill the poor soul before he could even say Rebe-” you tease giggling as she threw some gloves at you.

“ I cant believe you would stoop to the level of throwing my crazy brothers in my face like that” Bek’s says causing you to giggle even more.

“ Well I think that dress makes you look ravishing, I think its best we get heading to your estate where well finish getting ready” You say standing up to help her with the dress.  

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“ Ah welcome Miss. Y/N i see my lovey sister has been torturing you with gown shopping” Niklaus says smiling at me with his lips as he greets both me and Rebekah at the fount door to their gorgeous estate.

“ Good evening to you too Mr. Mikealson. And it wasn't tortures at it, it was quite lovely actually. Rebekah and I both picked out new ball gowns for the ball that’s coming up in a short few hour”

“ ah yes speaking of that ball we must start getting ready too. Don’t be such a bloody wanker either Nik, us girls just want to have fun that’s all. Plus if maybe you smile more often there would be more women that would like to dance with you”

“ Oh course well my apologize sister, but would if it be alright with you Miss.y/n if i have a quick word with my youngest sister. She well be right there to accompany you with getting ready” and with a simple bow and curtsy both were off to the den to talk privately. I have curtsy back as i headed up the grand stair case to the fitting room I've grown to be so accustomed too. This house, this marvelous house.. My poor mind, it wonders to where he might be. He has to be in this house somewhere. 

As i descend upon the stairs i can hear footsteps, my heart beat picking up at the anticipation of being able to see the noble man of the house, Elijah.               “ good evening, Miss. y/n. I wasn't expecting any visitors so early before the party” Elijah say, i must have caught him off guard with my appearance.

“My apologizing for catching you off guard Mr. Mikaelson.. You dear sister invited me here earl to help her get ready for today's event” i bow as soon as i start my sentence.

“ Well it seems as though I’m the one who needs to apologizes, Forgive me” He says taking my hand gently into his giving it a soft kiss before leaving me to the room I was headed too. Of course my interaction with Elijah made me blush as i walk to the room being escorted by one of the many helpers around the house, the lady was carrying both Rebekah and I’s dress.

“ Sorry about that little interruption, I had to inform Niklaus about someone i heard conspiring against us. You understand. Now enough of that lets get ready for this ball!” Rebekah announces once she comes into the room where i was awaiting her. I smile nodding, but the only imagine i have in my head is of Elijah. More importantly his lips on my hand. O those soft pink lips, i wish to have them on me all the time.

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The ball is as exquisite as i could have ever imagine it. Being involved with such a high social rank as the Mikaelson family is such a privilege to my family and I. For right now i am currently in a conversation with both Rebekah, Niklaus and well of course my father. 

“ You must excuse us Mr. y/l/n its time for the toast” Niklaus says nodding slightly to my father as he leads Rebekah up the stairs to where the other sidings reside. Of course I make eye contact with Elijah causing a blush to spread across my face. He warm smile to me cause the blush to deepen

“ During times like this its truly time to celebrate family and friend its especially gratifying in times when treachery run deep to know you have someone you can trust. A toast to you, my sister, to Rebekah.” Klaus announces raising his champagne glass as we toast. I smile watching confused at first when i see Kol turn a whiter shade of white before he runs off. Niklaus must have been speaking of Kol in his foreshadowing of his speech. As speechless as everyone was I truly wasn't, knowing who the family is it comes to be no surprise when i watch Nik and Elijah corner Kol

“Apologizes ladies and gentlemen for it wouldn't be a Mikaelson party without a little family drama” Nik announces and in one swift movement shoving a silver dagger into kols heart. I flinch of course, turning away heading to the door to get some fresh air. Stepping out to the cool breeze of the night is refreshing. The moon and stair are shining bright.

“ Forgive me, Miss. Y/n, but may I accompany you on a late night walk” Its his voice, there’s no need to ask who it is talking to me. Hes holding his hand out to me, so of course i accept. 

“ It would be a shame if i said no wouldn’t it?” I respond smiling turning to face him putting my small hand into his ever so large one.

“ You have to know that what you witness a few minutes ago i wish i would not have to done in the eyes of the public.” our stroll begins as we walk threw the garden they have out front.

“ no need for apologizing, though it was a shame to see...” I simple respond holding onto his arm as we walk

“ I must confess something to you though Miss. Y/N, We’ve both been feeling a certain way for each other and i must say it out load before it eats me alive *Stops walking as he puts his hand on your cheek* I l- I love you Y/N.  Tell me... if you love me or not. If not I'll leave you alone forever" as hes confessing i cant help but smile, hes so perfect. His face, him himself must have been sculpted from the gods and he love me. Me? 

“ Elijah, I have loved you sense the day we meet, you have bewitched me body and soul, and i- i- i love you. There’s a reason why i kept coming back... it was for you” and with that we share our first kiss. His lips soft, the smell of nutmeg running nose filling me up. The kiss its passionate, full of all the unspoken words we have yet to tell each other. Pulling away just enough so we both can catch our breath. Our foreheads resting up against each other as we enjoy this moment.

“ I have been waiting for your kiss forever” He whispers softly as he leans in again to engulf me in another perfect kiss

“ Finally you two confuses your feelings, only took you both almost a year” Rebekah shouts out cause me to giggle into the kiss i share with him.

He chuckles hearing his sister remarks “ I must say, you look quite beautiful this evening y/n” Elijah says smiling softy as he tucks a lose piece of hair behind my face.

////// I hope I did this fic the justice it deserves. It was totally Pride and Prejudice inspired hence the reason its so formal and well oldish sounding... lol well hope you guys enjoyed!

xoxo nikki ///////

[birdsaesthetic]

surprises

A/N: Sorry I’m posting my participation for @holidayblindspot very late, but I was so caught up with homework, which never ends... I simply thought I would make Jane’s first birthday with Kurt fall during Autumn, because it’s just the best timing throughout the year, right? Now this is a wordy fic, but I promise it’s so much fun and sexy! Anyway, ENJOY  🎈🥳🍂.

Song inspiration: Happy Birthday by John Legend. (you may listen to this song while reading. It’s so beautiful!)

They’re lying like two spoons in a drawer, very tight against each other. Kurt’s warm, silent breathing is grazing Jane’s neck in a regular rhythm, to which she flutters her eyes open to bright sunlight shining between white curtains, and to the sounds of birds whistling noisily from outside.

For more or less a minute, she stays perfectly still, only blinking in laziness and yawning as she tries to figure out where exactly she was, and to piece together the events of the previous night.

As she does so, she struggles a little; her memory is patchy and there’re definitely several gaps missing, but the parts she can recall are amazingly vivid.

Last night she celebrated her Birthday with Kurt, she remembers that for sure, but not in details. She also remembers having had so much alcohol, which up until now she can taste its powerful taste in her mouth. And at the feeling of her body retaining traces of having been pulled in, kissed, caressed, and given orgasms, she remembers the mind-blowing sex she had last night and so she sighs.    

 Kurt’s bare skin against her back has the right amount of warmth that now is engulfing her, tempting to shut her eyes close and go back to sleep. She doesn’t resist the urge and does so, just after having rolled over so she can face him, then snuggles deeper into his embrace, wrapping an arms around his middle. Now, at the new posture, her cheek and ear are squished against his chest and as her eyes maintained close, she listens to his heartbeat, vividly pumping against her ear. And so she decides to stay like this for a while, because the feeling is unmatched...

But it’s not after a couple minutes that she reopens her eyes, changed position by crawling a little up, and looks deeply at his face in rest. He’s silent and still. Peaceful and handsome. Half of his face is tucked against the pillow as he lies down on his stomach. A warm smile of contentment begins to form on her sleepy face for having woken up yet another morning of her life next to him, and for being able to see him and touch him while she brushes a hand against his hair to fix its pattern in one side. Next her fingertips outline his ear, which, last night, she’d kissed it, gave it little bites, blown her breath into it, and inhaled its fragrance, all while he was inside her.

As she continues to touch him softly and randomly, a question crosses her mind. Is it really true what Kurt told me last night, that the most beautiful things in the world aren’t necessarily seen, nor touched, but rather felt with the heart?

Even now she’s still thinking about it, even if last night she herself told him that this wasn’t entirely true and then they changed the subject.

A warm touch of yours must be as fulfilling as the feeling it leaves behind it on your beloved ones. And the feels of anticipation rush through your mind is just as exciting as looking into your beloved ones eyes, the window of the soul. This is simply how Jane concluded last night, although back then, at that particular moment, she was a little drunk and very, very sexually aroused. She’s still embracing her conclusion from last night nonetheless, up until now. And again, she thinks that might differ from one person to another.

What else happened last night? Oh God, a lot.

The two were having dinner, grilled salmon steaks with boiled vegetables nicely put aside, when Kurt gazed at Jane from across the table and asked, “Are you ready for tonight?”

Jane looked up at him in surprise; she’d been pouring her full concentration into cutting her steak, but that question, his husky voice, and the teasing look in his eyes, threw her off gurad. “What is tonight?” She asked in confusion, to which Kurt bursted out laughing.

She frowned, hardly swallowed down the chunk of food she was chewing, and then yelled at him, “Kurt!”

He laughed for one last time, before he fixed his eyes on her and stared silently for a little while—surprised to see her own surprise.

Leaning over the table, he said, “It is your birthday, and you seem to have no idea!”

Her jaw dropped to have just remembered that, and then she ducked down her head in an attempt to hide what she knew were flaming cheeks. But did it even work? Since he was mere feet across her from table, and with that huge chandelier hanged right above them, making every little change happening in her face visible?

It wasn’t until she pondered for a brief moment, doing some math in her head and finding out that tonight would actually meet with her Birthday, that she looked up and spoke. “Oh my God! It just slipped my mind.”

Kurt stared at her for a long moment, a warm  look in his eyes. He couldn’t blame her, really, given how everything in their life had been crazy lately. Yet, he never forgot it, and had been waiting for it impatiently like a little child waiting for something.

“It’s okay, I remembered it and I’m so ready for it, are you?”

“Ready?”

“Yeah! You gotta be ready too, tonight, after an hour or so. I have a surprise for you.” He told her, before taking a forkful of mixed vegetables into his mouth. It had been long since Jane had put her fork down after realizing that the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't let her continue eating, and now she was watching him chew his food and cut into it for maybe a minute straight.

Normally after dinner was their bedtime: they’d quickly clean off all the mess in the kitchen and wash off the dishes together. Though this time around Jane was excused to go get ready as Kurt did all of that.

She rushed out of his sight then, and went straight away to grip a shower first, which, with haste, had taken her good ten minutes. When she was done with that, she entered the bedroom to find Kurt lying over their perfectly made bed, facing the ceiling, his eyes shut. He also seemed ready, fully dressed up.

Shutting the door behind her, hair soaking wet, body wrapped in a white towel, Jane smiled the tiniest of smiles at the sight of him  lying in rest, before she set the lighting to be more illuminating then walked the few paces toward the wardrobe and opened it in search for something to wear tonight. A minute passed, two, three, but she was yet to decide what or how she should dress for tonight.

Staring at the shelves full of clothes, indecisive, she called Kurt’s name, to which he immediately opened his eyes and reasoned, always anticipating her needs.

“What should I wear for tonight? What kinda place you’re taking me to?” She asked, head turned toward him getting up on his feet.

“Umm, I can’t really tell you much. But I can pick you something, if you feel indecisive.”

“Yes, please.”

By now, Kurt was already at the wardrobe next to her, having a brief look at the items within the wardrobe before deciding. A few seconds later of rummaging through the items hanging in the wardrobe he actually ended up choosing something. A soild black dress with long sleeves. It appeared so tiny that it would definitely accentuate every curve in her body, and it would stop at her mid-thigh, leaving the rest of her legs bare.

Kurt’s face broke into the widest grin as he turned around and held up the hanger of the dress so she could have a good look. Just like him, Jane seemed to have loved it so much by the smile appearing in her face as she reached out and took it from his hand. It was a dress that she’d never had a chance to wear it before, so it was in a perfect condition, had been nicely hanged.

Once Kurt dismissed himself out the bedroom, after having shot her a knowing look, Jane took her sweet time as she put on a nice pair of underwear then slipped into the dress. A tiny eureka moment she experienced when it fitted her just like a glove and she chuckled aloud to that. Maybe it looked a little tight, a little short, but she’d fallen in love with it already and decided to match it with black heels. For makeup she didn’t bother with much: she applied minimal eyeshadow and paired it with matte, deep burgundy lipstick that looked so fierce and brought everything to the next level. As usual, she let her hair air dry as she did all of that.

The final look was the simplest yet hottest set, having both the the burgundy lipstick and the mess of tattoos over her legs contrast with the darkness of the dress...

So beautiful.

And, because it was in midst of Autumn, during which chilly winds blew all the times and the sky might be threatening at any given moment, she gripped a coat with her, a black one. Before getting out, she asked Kurt if she should take anything else with her besides that, but he shook his head with ease, approached her, then pressed his mouth against her ear. Keeping his voice to whispers, he told her, “No, nothing. It’s only you that matters.”

That, the slightest attempt of flirting Kurt managed, made her body secrete adrenaline with anticipation of how this night was going to go.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

They left home exactly at midnight. The weather was incredible outside. A perfect example for a perfect Autumn night. There was a really nice chill in the air.  Every gentle touch of wind against the face felt like a caress, and every fierce one felt like a kiss. As they walked the few paces to the car, each one wrapping an arm around the other, the two expressed how much they loved the weather.

During the ride, there was a few exchanged loving looks between them, a silent dialogue and lots of teasing smiles. Jane’s eyes, however, glowing with curiosity, were alert and searching for any clue, any possible way to know where Kurt was driving them, because he was too far stubborn to tell her anything about the surprise and she was just as stubborn to know something.

His stillness suddenly made her realize how very constantly she was sifting, blinking, breathing, and rearranging herself every three seconds, because unlike her he seldom blinked an eye, and every turn of the steering wheel or push of the pedal he made was as small and efficient as possible because he was smartly preserving his energy for later.

Jane gave in and leaned back in her seat then; it was wholly pointless, she then realized. So she resembled her husband posture and let things follow its natural course. Or the way he wanted them to.

It was thirty minutes later when Kurt parked the car at a random spot and pulled out a piece of clothing out from his pocket. Her eyes were drawn to it immediately. With a deep glow in his eyes, he looked up at her. “I’ll have to blindfold you now.” He maintained his eyes fixed on her for a long moment, and awaited her to come close enough so he would do it. Seeming amused, Jane made a faint sound and blinked once, twice in his direction, then she rolled her eyes away, grinning.

He didn’t ask again, he awaited with all smiles. And eventually, she gave in, closed her eyes and leaned her head in his direction. His fingers first pushed all the hair that was framing her face to be tucked behind her ears before he tied the rose-colored, silky blindfold around her skull.

Though blindfolded, and the curiosity sparking in her head, Jane kept still and focused on her remaining senses. There was the same breeze of the other cars from outside as before. The air was just starting to grow tense—or perhaps that was just how she felt alone. She took a deep breath that was almost audible and reminded herself that she was in the safest hands in the world.

The car had already started moving. All it seemed it was moving forward for what felt like a full minute then it took a couple turns before it paused completely. Jane turnd her head toward Kurt. “What’s now?” She asked in a low voice, just a second before she felt unexpected caresses on the base of her chinz

“Can you wait some more?” She heard him say, before which she heard the door open within the car then close. It was suddenly awe without him in the car, but thankfully it didn’t take him long to reach her in the other side of the car and open the door for her.

“Your hands, please.”

She gave him both hands and clenched his own so hard her knuckles turned red as he helped her out of the car. It’d gotten much colder by now than when they first left their apartment, but weather it had or not, she clung impossibly close to him, who wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her forward in the streets then into a place that Jane assumed was a huge building, and possibly bright.

The most significant sound Jane could hear now was her heels knocks choing against tiles, besides that there were dull and mixed sounds that could be others moving around.

“Are there people around?” Jane wondered in whispers, before which she felt Kurt warm breathing tickling her ear as he replied, “A few.” She could tell he was grinning as he did so then he asked, “Why are you intense though?”

When she turned her face to him—so she could whisper to him that she wasn’t necessarily intense, but rather feeling ridiculous walking around people while being blindfolded—her lips brushed against his, and that unexpected sensation just made her want to steal a kiss, or two from him so damn badly. But she swallowed that instant urge and put on a smiley face, because she knew it, deep down, that tonight they’d do way more than just ‘stealing a kiss’. She could picture it in her head now, as she continued to walk with him, her back against his front. She could imagine how it would possibly go and to what extent. How it’d possibly feel, before, during and afterward. Because she was more than certain that, whatever kurt had arranged for tonight must have a convenient time, place where they could do all of that.

Together, they’d been moving forward rather slowly, but at some point they paused completely and Kurt happened to be pressed against her from the front. It also got silent.  Oddly silent. Jane’s lips were a tight line as she slid her hands up his chest, over the ridge of his collarbone, close to where his heart was beating underneath the clothes. In comparison to her elevated heartbeat, his maintained a normal rhythm. She felt him lift his hands to her cheeks, cupping them. He was so close now, his warmth engulfing her entire being, which resulted in a warm smile to start appearing on her lips.

“Can you tell where are we now?” He asked softly.

“Umm, at the elevator?” She guessed, her smile growing wider.

“Right! Can you tell if we’re alone or not?”

Jane chuckled. “Definitely alone.”

She was still smiling when she felt his fingers lift her chin then him capture and kiss her lips in earnest. Even with a cloth already against her eyelids, she squeezed her eyes hard, the same way she would even if she wasn’t blindfolded, and kept on kissing him back deeper and pulling him closer.

Too soon, the elevator seemed to have stopped when Kurt gently withdrew after planting his final kiss. Catching her breath, mouth slightly open, a wave of dizziness hit Jane, having experienced that much amount of gravitational forces pull her downward simultaneously while the elevator was pulling her upward. she’d lost all her remaining senses at this point, even breathing was a little hard to manage. And so, she dug her nails into Kurt’s shoulders and held him so close as if to hold on for her life.

They stumbled out of the elevator, half-breathless and already a little disheveled.  Kurt held her hand in his and tugged her along with him, through what seemed to feel like a very, very quiet and narrow hallway. Forward they moved. Forward. Turning right. Some more forward. Then turning left.

“Kurt,” Jane called quietly, given how quiet it was so all around her, but all she heard after that was her own voice echoing—and of course the knocking of her heels against the floor as she walked some more forward.

Briefly after that, they finally paused. A sound of door was being opened. She was pulled inside then the door closed behind her. They were certainly alone by now, behind that closed door, Jane thought. Also, it got so warm, almost unbearable, given how she was moved, dragged all the way here. So she just loathed that coat she had on.

“Kurt,” she called again.

“Here,” he assured, as his hand released hers, which she never would’ve allowed it if she hadn’t been sure that he was already stepping closer toward her and then stopped, just like before at the elevator.

He began to unzip her coat and it slid easily when she shrugged it off, impatient for this part to be done since, for her, it was growing hot. The next part, he started to untie the blindfold, and she held her breath as he did so.  

“Finally,” she muttered.

Kurt’s smiley face was first thing to see. God, it hadn’t been that long and she already missed that lovely face! He stepped back and began to admire the sight of her surprised as her eyes, wide open, traveled across the place he’d gotten her into.

What must be a hotel room looked so beautifully decorated, pretty huge, and the lighting must be on the dimmest setting it could possibly be without being completely off. On very available surface there were nicely put numerous of candles, each one with a little flame flickering and dancing the way her heart was at this exact moment.

Two meters or three away from where she was standing was oversized bed that dominated a majority of space. A single lamp emitted light from the corner of the room, making it atmospherically feel warm.

When she took a deep breath, a bit overwhelmed, there was this heavy fragrance, which made her slightly turned to the side to see red, velvet roses bouquet. It was so huge. Breathtaking. Beside it there was the cake, and she could smell it too. Finally, there were the shelves filled with so many drinks, huge bottles of them in all brands and colors.

Jane jumped into his space and pressed lips together. It was one kiss but it was long, slow, and it carried so much affection within it. When she pulled back, she told him what that meant to her and thanked him repeatedly, every time came from the bottom of her heart, genuinely meant.

Kurt was quiet, unlike her. He let her express—whether it was in words or by gripping harder onto his neck—how she was feeling, and let her hot breathing tickle his face. He was so appreciative to the sight of her so happy, surprisingly blushed, and carefree. It really suited her, being this much happy. He wished if he could just quickly frim her up in this particular position and take a picture of her, so he could admire it later. But she wouldn’t simply let go of him; she was hugging him in earnest, with fluttering eyes that were framed with wet lashes by now.

“Let’s show you around.” Kurt suggested, after what felt like a full minute. She nodded with a warm smile, intertwined their fingers together, and then they stepped toward the other side of the room, where floor-to-ceiling window took place.

It wasn’t just a huge window, when they got closer to it, it was actually a balcony door. There was an invisible handle at the side and, with a good deal of effort, Kurt pulled it to be opened to the view of the whole city, New York City. From Jane’s point of view, as she stepped in the balcony along with Kurt, there were glimmering lights, bouncing dots of colors that danced and reflected and contrasted with the darkness of the night. The crowd of cars, bustling and honking in desperation to be released, free, she enjoyed watching that part. Not that anyone would ever enjoy being in the crowd itself, but it was quite appealing to her to only watch it from a cozy, high place. And sharing such a place, such a view with Kurt was just... She couldn’t ask for more or less than that. It was the meaning of perfection in her opinion.

The breeze blowing of the wind grew strong by every passing minute, but they stood still and firm, clenching in one another. Eyes sparkling in curiosity, Jane stepped some more forward and, since their hands were still entwined, Kurt stepped along with her to the far side of the balcony. Her free hand clenched on the handrail as she gracefully leaned against the wrought-iron railing and asked thoughtfully, “In which floor are we?”

“The twentieth.” He answered quickly, to which she gasped, turning her head to face him and pretended to look impressed. “Wow!”

Curling her arms around his neck with ease as he pulled her closer by the waist, she narrowed her eyes and wondered aloud, “I wonder how much this costs for one night.”

Kurt seemed to be busy studying the beauty of her features, having her this up close.

“How much?” She repeated, rather louder. This time her eyes were wide; she was seriously asking not like before just wondering.

“I’m not telling you.” He shook his head and, undeniably, there was a laugh in his voice.

“You’re not telling me!” She began, her challenging behavior making him entertained, fail to hide a grin. “You don’t need to know.”

She pretended to pout, then glanced away at the outside scene as her hair gently flow in the wind. But it wasn’t until she felt his mouth patting her ear and whispering, “I just brought you here to enjoy it.” that she looked back at him and, at the close proximity, their foreheads rubbed.  “I already am.” She whispered back.

“That’s the only thing that matters.”

They shared a long, loving look, soon followed by a smile then a soft kiss.

As if glued together, they were so close as they headed back into the room and then Kurt turned on the music.

Humming in pleasure, Jane closed her eyes at the beautiful sound of music when it covered the silence with its delightful tunes. She allowed herself to melt against his rigid frame, pressing her forehead against his chest, which just had the right amount of warmth that she was quite addictive to. Voice muffled against his chest, she whispered, “This’s nice.”

 The comment made Kurt chuckle softly, not that there was anything funny about it, but it was just a way through which he could express the great pleasure he was experiencing at the moment. And just like him, Jane chuckled softly for the same reason before pulling a little back, only to see his smile creep onto her face.

She tucked that smile into her memory and, smiling back, she tucked her fingers between his own. He squeezed hers in return and possessively slid a hand about the sharp curve of her waist as her free hand rested with a feather-like weight on his shoulder.

Beautiful, beautiful, no other name

I knew from the moment you came

I've seen in your eyes the dawn of a day

Where nothing will ever be the same

And now, they were dancing together, swaying in slow motions as the music spun around them. Everything seemed perfectly going, from the mutual feeling between them to their movements that stayed in sync: when he stepped right, she stepped right. When he stepped forward, she stepped backward. But when he gave her some space and stepped backward and simultaneously lifted their entwined hands, she spun around in an elegant, slow movement, her body resembling the tune to the music. There was a sort of possession, aggressiveness in the way he pulled her back to him after having spun that made her gasp faintly. But then, as a reaction, she bit her lip and looked down at the small space between them, mind recording every fraction of the moment, taking mental images, and most importantly enjoying every emotional sensation.  

Feel my heart beating through my chest

I'll get used to just saying "yes"

Yes, I'll love you with all I am

Yes, tonight is where we begin...

His lips were pressed against her forehead for a long moment as they continued to dance in the same way, which was a demonstration to their love for each other. Their real, mutual, simple yet deep love.

Oh, I wanna dance with you

Oh, I'll promise to stand for you

I'll do anything for you

Oh yeah, oh yeah

Tonight, my love all I want

I wanna sing for you

Yeah, I'll sing for you

Happy birthday, baby

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, baby

Happy birthday to you...

The music lasted for more or less five minutes, and when it was starting to fade away, reaching its end, Kurt improvised and, as though she were the center of the universe, he spun around her just the same.

Both fell into soft laughters afterward, before Jane snuck her hands up to his neck and hugged him tightly, and he returned the hug just as tightly. Silence fell again, that pleasant, comforting kind of silent. And so, they lingered in such a position for a moment, neither willing to break apart.

The next moment, Jane hardly detangled herself from his grip then looked over his shoulder, where the all bottles of drinks were nicely settled, and then back at him with a knowing look. Kurt, with no troubles, took the cue and, from his pocket he pulled out the same rose-colored blindfold, raised his chin in pride, then asked her to turn around first, his voice rich and husky.

 Surprised Jane raised a brow in response. “Again!”

“Again.”

 She rolled her eyes. “You brought me here, to this beautiful place, so you blindfold me!”

“You know," Kurt gripped her shoulders and turned her around himself, and just like the previous time, he tightened the blindfold around her skull as he explained, “I’ve read a quote, just recently, that says something like, the best and most beautiful things in the world aren’t necessarily seen, nor even touched, but rather felt with the heart.” He then turned her around so she was facing him and he added, “I want you to see if that’s really true or not, okay?”

“But I can’t see.” She joked, to which Kurt grinned widely, and simultaneously she matched him with a very similar grin, although she couldn’t see him by now. She could hear it nonetheless.

“You just have to feel.”

 With that being said, Jane nodded in acknowledgment, her shoulders relaxed and jaw unclench. Kurt cupped her face into his hands and brought it impossibly close to his own that their lips were touching. “Now, how about some drinks?”

Jane, having been craving that, gave a frim shake of her head. “Yes please! I’m quite thirsty.” She whispered against his mouth, before stealing a wet kiss then another from him.

kissing her back, harder that her head went back, Kurt slid his both hands down from her face to her back and then her hips. He kept roaming his hands all over there in earnest, which felt so damn good. Every curve in her unyielding body that his hands passed by filled in the depths of his pleasure. Just like that, and he was so turned on at this point.

But no matter how he was kissing her almost violently and nipping at her lips, blindfolded Jane was exploring his mouth, tasting him, and licking up every honey-like drop from his lips. Her arms flew all the way up to be wrapped around his neck when she felt her body being held with ease as if she were weightless, lifted, and then sat upon a table.

Panting, unwittingly chuckling, he asked, “Okay, what shall I get you, birthday girl?”

“Dazzle me,” Jane smirked, with an exhaled chuckle lacing through her spoken words.  His finger patted her chin before it drew, and then, there was a sense of more empty space around her. He wasn’t in her hand reach now, which made her take a deep breath and await him and the drinks with impatience.

 Kurt wasn’t actually that far away from her as he began to prepare a Daiquiri cocktail that contained rum, freshly squeezed lime juice, and sugar syrup. He shook all that together before pouring it into a nice coupette glass then walked back the few paces toward her in pride.

“Hey,” she welcomed him as he approached, feeling his warmth already with a hand in the air to catch him. And he took it, her hand, and replaced it on the glass instead. "Here. Don't be shy to disappoint me." He warned.

After a short sip, a content hum spoke genuinely even before her words did. “Impressive! Not too sharp, not too light and sugary. I love it! Thanks.” She was grinning as she said it, her voice in the sexiest tone. Feeling his palms widespread over her thighs, she raised the glass then took several small sips, knowing that his eyes were fixed on her.

 “Glad you liked it.” He said, his own mouth dry, but he did not care to do anything about, not this moment; he was busy staring at her unblinkingly, admiring her and every movement she made, from sipping to swallowing down. Her eyes would’ve been squinting and looking right into his and admiring him just the same way, Kurt thought, if that was an option right now.

Forcefully swallowing the stinging sensation down, after pouring down the last sip, Jane lifted the now empty glass between them in a gesture for a refill, which had Kurt notice the perfect impression of her hot, red lipstick on the glass and he just... admired that too.

“Is it that good?” He asked, after taking the glass.

“So good, haven’t you tasted it?”

“No.”

A smirk pulled at one side of her mouth. “Come here,” she told him, bringing him closer with an arm around his neck at the same time that she opened her mouth to the fullest and took over his own. Her tasty, wet tongue had entered his mouth in ease by now, where it hungrily intertwined with his like a young snake messing with another young snake.

Tasting all that incredible mixture in her sweet, hot tongue, Kurt was also rewarded when her hand ran through his hair for a bit before she pulled him back. “Umm, so luscious,” he breathed.

 “I want some more.” She requested with a smile. And so he went to bring her some more. As she waited, there were sounds of a glass clinking  another surface and liquid being poured into into it in generous manner. Lastly, there were his easy footsteps approaching, soon followed by the feeling of his warmth. Welcoming him back, she expanded an arm up in the air and when he finally was close to touch, she gripped him so close.

“Let me,” he whispered, and she allowed, so he lifted the glass to her plush lips for slow sips. She enjoyed every sip was poured into her mouth and he enjoyed every second that passed at the sight of her cheeks go rosier from the booze.

And so, she parted her lips once more, on an assumption that another sweet sip would be in its way inside her mouth, only to feel the iced liquid running all over her neck, her chest, to which she gasped, recoiled back, and heard Kurt rushing to say sorry.

“Kurt,”

She pushed him back and was so close to standing on her feet and taking the damn blindfold off when he held her hands still in place. “It’s okay, nothing happened,” he soothed, “I’m sorry it spilled out. Now we just have to take your dress off; it’s all damp and cold.”

Mouth parted, she shivered a little before nodding. “You did it, didn’t you, Kurt?” She claimed him, at which he mischievously grinned as he helped her stand up on her feet. “What?” He pretended to sound busy, slipping down the zipper of her dress from the back then, with an effort he made, begun to lift it all the way up. She rose her arms without needing to be asked. As soon as the collar was clear of her head she was already ditching her heels out of the way, with a hand upon his shoulder for support.

He was gone after that and Jane, naked only saved for a pair of underwear, stood there in what felt like a vacant space in absolute darkness behind the blindfold, hands empty at her sides. “I know you spilled it over me, Kurt.” She pretended to complain, also aware that her voice had a touch of relief at having been freed from that tight dress. Now the direct contact between her skin and the air felt nice, but what would feel even nicer was his touch against her skin.

“Are you gonna hate me for that?” She heard him say from a decent distance, then heard a breath that might be a laugh. “Not if you you come right here right now.” was her condition.

He was trying to frustrate her, she knew. It wasn’t in him to do such things, but the day was full of surprises. He’d ruined her dress already, spilled the drink all over her when she’d least expected it, and now God only knew what he was doing.

But even though she wasn’t seeing him, she was able to hear his breathing, hard, out of his nose like an animal. She could also feel his gaze hot on her from head to toe, which made her covered in a thin sheen of sweat all over her chest and between her thighs, the sparking center of her desire. That was all because of her insides, being boiled from stress, from arousal, and from anticipation.

She could, of course, end all of that with the tip of her finger either pull the blindfold down to hang around her neck, or up and then toss it in the air. And, having waited long enough, she threatened him to do so, “You know that I can take this off with the tip of my finger, right?” She supported her threatening words by pointing an index finger at the piece of cloth over her eyes.

Just then he finally surfaced. “Don’t. I’m right here.” Said Kurt, finally approaching her from the back then reached out, wrapping his arms around her middle very, very strongly that she really didn’t need to use her feet anymore, and melted against him, her head falling back, when his lips met her ear. She twisted her neck so her lips could kiss wherever she could reach in the given position, while desperately shrinking a hand then snuck it between their bodies. But he gathered her both hands quickly, that were only seconds away from undoing his belt, then lifted them up and kissed and patted them.

 “Kurt...” she hissed, and her disapproval was very, very obvious by the tone of her voice. “Enough with the teasing, Kurt.” She begged him, who continued to kiss her hands, which by now were wrestling his grip. He retaliated by hauling her against him in a loving way. “There’s one one thing before that.” He tried to assure.

“What?” She breathed, from both her mouth and nose.

He revealed her eyes, lowering the blindfold so it was hanging around her neck as he clumsily walked her forward, his front to her back. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and, because of how heavy he was leaning against her back, she had to brace her hands against the table they reached that had the cake upon it.

It wasn’t large, the cake, but it really didn’t need to be. After all, it was just the both of them tonight. There would be a larger party for Jane with their friends later this weekend. But today, Jane was booked for him. And only him.

So he started lighting the candles on the cake, one arm doing so while the other still hugging her by the waist so firmly, then he said, his warm breathing tickling her ear, “I got you this cake from the same store we got our wedding cake, remember? and it’s the same exact recipe. You seemed to have loved it so much back then, so I thought I should get you the same.”

He tilted his head then, so he could see her reaction: she was stunned, eyes fluttering and face awash with emotions. Her makeup and hair that had looked gorgeous once, now looked out of place. “Yeah, I loved it.” She mumbled.

“Make a wish,” he encouraged.

“Should it be out loud?” She asked, twisting her neck so she could meet his face.

“Not necessarily,” he smiled, and then she turned both her head and attention back at the cake ahead of her. The thin candles planted at the top with mini flames dancing made her heart warm, and so she made a wish, within the bottom of her heart.

I want this to last.

She’d meant a lot by just saying this. And then, as if she were going to dive into the ocean, she drew in a deep breath then blew it out until all the candles went off, at which she grinned in absolute happiness then was rewarded with a genuine kiss over her cheek.

 “Happy birthday, love.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling this moment in particular. “Thank you,” she whispered as she once more twisted her neck and kissed him one, deep, long kiss.

“Now comes the taste test. See if this still tastes like our wedding day or not.” He eased one hand from her waist, replaced it over hers, and both their hands held the knife. Together, they cut the cake into half, their hands steady and their faces awash of happiness.

Kurt gripped a fork and with it he took a forkful of the cake, then straight up to her mouth. He waited just a second before asking, “Is it good? Is it the same?” which made Jane fight between chewing the chunk of cake and laughing at his impatience. But then she brought a hand up to her lips and laughed and chewed and shook her head yes all at once.

Her taste bud felt like it just went to a wonderland. In other words: the cake tasted amazing, so nostalgic, and just the same as their wedding day. When she had just barely swallowed that down, she was rewarded with another forkful of cake that she accepted. “The cream is just so good.” She told him as she turned her face to face him, humming happily and chewing.

“Really?”

She hummed some more, shaking her head yes, to which he brought up a forkful of the vanilla cream to her mouth, only to pull it away from her mouth reach the second she tried to take it in.

He laughed.

She frowned.

He then again offered the same fork up close to her mouth, which she rejected it this time around.

“I thought you loved the the cream!”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Yes Kurt and you know what I want now.”

“Okay, I’ll have it then, just after I put this back because you no longer need to see things, right?” He’d covered her eyes again by now, to which she said nothing and stayed still.

The following seconds, she felt a strong contrast sensation between the coolness of the cream over her chest—being applied there—and the warmth of Kurt’s tongue licking it all over there. Moan out loud at the sensation was all she could do, and feel like falling down from pleasure was all she felt before she was caught close to his body, lifted, and laid upon the bed in matters of seconds. 

Then he was everywhere. She felt him everywhere all at once. Stroking, kissing. His fingers tugging at the remaining the underwear she still had on until he stripped them off. His mouth wet and sucking over her. Nipping teeth. Hoarsely voiced words of love and praise.

He tore his lips from hers then pulled back for a bit, during which she breathed heavily, still feeling the staying power of his kisses and strokes all over her body. And before long, she felt him lift the blindfold and toss it aside.

Wide-eyed, Jane stared at him in appropriation: he was so charming, fully naked. For all her impatience earlier, though, she didn’t seem to rushe now. She brought him closer that theirs lashes brushed against each other yet their eyes maintained opened to the fullest as she brushed away what she could from the sweat building up all over his back with her palms.

“Have you concluded, if it is true or not? What I have told you earlier.” Kurt only intended to keep his voice quiet, but it emerged so, so soft.

She swallowed, her hand making its very obvious way to the length of him. “I don’t think...I don’t think it’s true.” She managed to say, as she guided him to the inside of her warmth. The two muffed their moans by joining their mouth together before Jane grinned, gasped as it got intense, the sensation, then breathed out. “It might be true, though...for me, touching and...looking at you like this feels so good...So damn good.”

Kurt grinned then kissed her in the neck, allowing her to catch her breath before he settled on the right position to take her in.

“You impressed me a lot today—breathing—come on, impress me some more.” She mumbled in encouragement, and he laced his fingers through hers, pinned them against the pillow, then began doing his magic on her.

Briefly after this round followed by another, the two were bathed in sweat, lying down impossibly close to each other on top of perfectly made bed that had every corner of its blanket still fitted in the right place. But when they gained some strength back, they rose and talked for whatever had reminded of the night, pressing kisses or throwing light punches every now and then.

 They talked dirty, lovingly, and everything in between. Among the talking, Jane cupped Kurt’s face with a smirk in her face and threatened him, “When your birthday comes, I’ll whip your back as my gift for you and you won’t say anything about it.”

“Will you remember my Birthday when it comes?”

“I will! Just because mine slipped my mind doesn’t mean yours will.”

“Will see about that.”

Even after two in the morning, they refused to go to sleep. Instead, they poured some more alcohol and drunk it together as though they were opponents in a contest, who would drink more and do it faster.

As for the present time, Jane smiles as these memories of last night start to surface. Next she pulls off the blanket, and just when she’s making progress to get up, she collapses back against the mattress with a groan. Her head is heavy like a rock. Tense. It almost feels like there’s an iron ring tightening around her skull, to which grimaces, realizing what a serious hangover she is going to have for the next few hours.

Bringing her fingers up to her temples and massages it there while inhaling every bit of air her lungs could take in. She wonders what time it is. It must be late-morning or noon, she guessed and continued massaging her temples, and did that for a while, closing her eyes in the process.

When she feels the slightest progress, she wraps herself with a robe, gets out of bed, and goes straight to the far wall, where she draws the curtains and open the door to the balcony.

It’s a refreshing morning, and the room is in desperate need of fresh air. It also is chilly outside, but not what you would call cold. She can smell Fall in the air, and she loves that feeling so much.

The sunlight streams in and the curtains rustle in the breeze. Behind her back, she begins to feel of heat coming—that heat must be coming from another body. She then turns around and, without even looking into his face, she presses her entire being against him in a generous hug.

“Do you feel the same way I feel right now?” He asks with a chuckle, his mouth against the top her head as she shakes it yes. “Yeah, but it’s definitely worth it for me. How about you?”

He only chuckles some more.

[chrisswearicho]

My AO3 account BTW guys and links to my stories! They're all Doctor Who fics.

1) My Past Come Home. My Future Lead The Way

Summary: “Right.” Rory finally seemed to react, shaking his head a little as his hands flailed for effect, “right sorry. So I’ve gone to sleep, got woken up by the TARDIS going crazy and now we’re in a future TARDIS with a future Doctor who’s also a woman? I’m getting this right?”

Characters:  13th Doctor, 11th Doctor, 12th Doctor, 10th Doctor, 9th Doctor, 8th Doctor, 7th Doctor, 6th Doctor, 5th Doctor, 4th Doctor, 3rd Doctor, 2nd Doctor, 1st Doctor, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair, Graham O'brien, Bill Potts, Nardole, River Song, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Donna Noble, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, Lucie Miller, Ace, Peri Brown, Tegan Jovanka, Vislor Turlough, Sarah Jane Smith, Jo Grant, Jamie McCrimmin, Zoe Heriot, Ian Chesterton, Barbara Wright, Susan Foreman, The Master(Dhawan), The Master (Gomez) /Missy.

Chapters: 26/26

2) A Change of Mind

Summary: “What would your little friends think if they knew?”

“Who cares?” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes, “dropped them off at home. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned. This is between me and you. They were the Doctor’s ‘little friends’, not mine.”

“Who’re you then? If you’re not the Doctor.”

“Dunno yet,” she shrugged, seemingly pleased, however, that he was finally accepting that she wasn’t quite the Doctor, “I haven’t decided. You know,” she huffed out a heavy breath, “you’re wasting so much good running away time by asking all these questions. Maybe by the time I’ve caught you, you know, if you run away right now, I’ll have decided. Come on.”

><><><><

An alternate ending to my story 'My Past Come Home. My Future Lead The Way'. This will probably not make much sense if you haven't read that first if i'm honest. It's the alt ending where 13 becomes the Valeyard!

Characters: 13th Doctor(Valeyard), The Master(Dhawan), Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair & Graham O’Brien.

Chapters: 2/2

3) Fear

Summary: “You think that I was some hard done by hero, like the Doctor?” the Not Doctor’s tone was taunting as she smirked at him, “You think they wiped my memory because of something they’d done?” she laughed suddenly, throwing her head back as though that was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard. The Master’s hearts dropped to his stomach; he’d already put this much together but having it confirmed made him swallow nervously.

“So… why was your mind wiped?”

“Well, they couldn’t kill me. There’s no limit on my ability to regenerate. They couldn’t keep me trapped. No prison could hold me. But then they figured out a way to stop me. Ingenious actually, I will give them that. They simply caught me long enough to erase me, or they thought they had.”

Characters: 13th Doctor (Valeyard), the Master (Dhawan), Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair, Graham O’Brien, River Song.

Sequel to A Change of Mind

4) Escape

Summary: “I know you said eyebrows Bill, but that’s just ridiculous!” The Doctor in the bowtie smirked as they all came to a stop across from one another, glancing from his future self to Bill who just rolled her eyes with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“They were making up for lost time. Better to have too much than none at all.” The Eyebrows Doctor deadpanned and raised an impressive eyebrow of his own to his past self.

“Ugh!” the Doctor in the bowtie jerked back in clear offence, hand flying to his own eyebrows for a moment as his face scrunched up in annoyance to his future self, words stumbling around in his mouth as he tried to come up with a retort. “Shut up,”

Characters: 13th Doctor, 12th Doctor, 11th Doctor, 10th Doctor, Rose Tyler, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Bill Potts, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair & Graham O'brien.

Chapters: 14/14

Part 1 of a series that will continued next week anyway 😂

5) Search

Summary: “Time Lord society was, as I was taught, created by three people. Rassilon, the great engineer, The Omega, the mind behind Gallifrey’s scientific advancements and-” she cut herself off suddenly, realisation dawning on her face and her entire body seemed to jolt with the force of the realisation that occurred to her, “Oh!”

“Doctor? What is-” Yaz started but she was quickly cut off by the Doctor who flapped her hands at her desperately.

“Yaz! I love you but shut up a minute. Let me think.” The human obediently fell quiet and they all watched as the Doctor began to pace suddenly, her eyes still wide before she dropped onto the steps leading further into the TARDIS, the realisation giving away to shock as she mumbled out her next words, “I’m the Other.”

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

SEQUEL TO ESCAPE.

Now armed with the information that she knew Rassilon and Omega, back in the times of the Great Vampires, and even before, the Doctor knows what she must do. She needs to find Rassilon. She needs to find Omega. She needs to find out who she was and all it is that she forgot.

Characters: 13th Doctor, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair, Graham O’Brien, Rassilon, Omega.

Chapters: 10/?

6) This Is Where It Gets Complicated...

Summary: “Doctor!” He called out again, garnering a few looks from passers-by but he ignored them for now and began moving back the way they’d came, hoping to find either her or at least his grandson and Yaz if his initial search yielded no results, “Doctor?!”

“Oh hello! Hi? What is it?” Graham blinked, head turning at a male voice coming from his left and his frantic push through the crowds came to a stop as he looked at him, puzzled as to why he’d responded. The man was young looking, had dark hair that flopped over his face and looked as though he’d just stopped running his hands through it. He was dressed like someone three times his age in a tweed jacket and bowtie, but he pulled it off well enough, Graham supposed.

“Oh, sorry mate no. Not you, I’m looking for a friend of mine, they keep wandering off. The Doctor.” Graham didn’t stay still for longer than he needed to, waving the young man off as kindly as he could as he started walking again. He missed the slight grin that appeared on the guy’s face, but he definitely realised it when the man was suddenly at his side, helping him move through the crowds.

Characters: 13th Doctor, 11th Doctor, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair & Graham O'brien.

Chapters: 3/3 complete

7) Start Of Time

Summary:The Doctor falls from the TARDIS into Sheffield. But not in the 21st Century. Back in the 1970s where UNIT haven't been expecting their scientific adviser back after he regenerated and had his exile lifted. So who's this strange woman that's shown up talking about the TARDIS and searching for a Doctor?

An AU of The Woman Who Fell To Earth where the 13th Doctor gets tossed out in the 1970s and finds UNIT rather than her fam.

Characters: 13th Doctor, Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge Stewart, Mike Yates, John Benton.

Chapters: 4/?

8) The Chain

Summary: “Who am I?” he exclaimed indignantly, hands flying about everywhere as he spoke, his head turning to his two companions as if to look to them for back up in the indignation and then he spun back, “I’m the Doctor. So, who is it? Which one of you said that you were me?” They stared for another few seconds, all not knowing what to do before Graham reached out a hand and hit his fist twice against the large metal piping that ran up the side of the room and up through the ceiling above. It gave off loud metal clangs and he called upwards, his voice hesitant.

“Uh, Doc?” there was a thump and a curse from up above, the Doctor no doubt dropping something and her voice rang through, echoing through the metal chamber up above that she’d had to crawl into the look into the problem.

“What is it? I’m a bit busy.” The man in the bowtie paused suddenly, glancing upwards at the hole in the roof where the metal grating cover had at one point been sat. Now just a hole into masses of wiring and ventilation and mechanical shafts.

Characters: 13th Doctor, 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair & Graham O'brien.

Chapters: 1/?

9) It Means The World

Summary: Then she realised the heavy silence that had followed her question. She found it strange, her conversation with Jo so far had been light hearted in nature so it was a big shift for it to suddenly feel like this. She looked away from the book shelf she’d been perusing through and back to Jo who was staring at her with sad, pity filled, eyes. The Doctor felt her hearts drop to her stomach and dread spread throughout her body at that expression. She knew it far too well.

“Doctor...” Jo started, her tone gentle, but the Doctor cut her off with a shake of her head.

“No.” The word came out whispered and Jo’s face only scrunched up further in guilt and pity.

Characters: 13th Doctor, Jo Grant, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair & Graham O'brien. Sarah Jane Smith (mentioned)

Chapters: 2/2 complete

10) 3rd Best Enemy

Summary: “Who is your greatest enemy?”

“The Daleks.” The words fell from her mouth before she could stop them and for a moment the room fell silent. The Fam all took clear obvious steps back as the Master whirled around to face her, his victorious grin giving way to clear offence. They were trapped in a truth field, not exactly like she could’ve lied to him if she’d tried. She did feel bad though, just a tiny bit, his ego might not be able to take this. She took a few steps to the left so she was between him and her friends and waited for him to splutter out a response finally.

Characters: 13th Doctor & The Master(Dhawan)

Complete

11) Can't Let Go

Summary: “I’m sorry I keep dragging you into my messes.” Jack’s gaze snaps back over to her, confused at her words, and even more confused at how she looks down at her feet. Her expression ashamed. She’s sat on the floor of this cell, one knee held against her chest by her arm, the other leg spread out in front of her. He frowns. He wonders for a second how the Doctor hasn’t figured out yet that he would follow her anywhere. Always has. Always will. He casts one last quick glance out the bars of the cell into the beautiful emptiness of space before he turns and moves until he can drop down next to her. Close enough that his arm almost brushes her shoulder but not enough to actually be touching.

Characters: 13th Doctor & Jack Harkness

Complete

12) Welcome Home

Summary:Instead of that though he reached for her face with one hand while the other slid around her comparatively smaller waist so he could tug her closer to him until her body was pressed up against the hard line of his body and his mouth was almost instantly on hers before she could even utter a greeting. She really should’ve seen this coming. She let him have this one, hands resting on his upper arms, as long as he didn’t push his luck. They hadn’t seen each other in a long while.

Eventually there was a loud, obvious, cough from across the console and they pulled apart, both turning to look at her Fam who were all staring at the pair with varying degrees of embarrassment or confusion.

Characters: 13th Doctor, Jack Harkness, Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair & Graham O'brien.

Complete

13) Threatening to Stab? Not That Bad

Summary: “Threatening to stab someone isn’t actually stabbing them. There’s a difference.”

Characters: 12th Doctor, The Master(Gomez) / Missy & Nardole.

Complete

[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

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“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[eiirisworkshop]

Avengers as Teachers AU Fic

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

I have a lot of scraps of Avengers fics that, if I’m being honest, I’m never gonna finish.  This is one of them--probably the one that has the most actually written.

***

Start of term is Monday, August 18th.  Student move in is August 15th through 17th.  All faculty are expected on campus to assist with move in.  Any faculty who will be living in staff campus housing must move into their apartments during the week of August 4th through 10th.

Clint Barton set a cardboard box down on what was going to be his coffee table for the next nine months.  His staff apartment was a bedroom, bathroom, and livingroom with kitchenet, all of it decked out in what seemed like Ikea's slightly classier cousin, though Clint had no idea where someone was supposed to get classier Ikea.  He reached in his pocket, pulled out the note he'd found taped to the front door, and unfolded it. Neat, looping handwriting read, “Welcome, new guy, to the psychological crucible known as boarding school.  Brace yourself, the Europeans are almost as crazy as the teenagers, have fun!”

“Heh,” Clint mused to himself, “that's not ominous at all.”

He shook his head, chuckled, and set to work unpacking.  Shortly, he was interrupted by a knock at the door.  He went to answer it and was met with the sight of a slim, redheaded woman leaning casually on the doorjamb.  She grinned. “Hello neighbor.”  She straightened up.  “Everyone is talking about the newhire who's waited until the last minute to move in, but no one wants to be the first to snoop.  I volunteered.” She held out a hand. “Barton, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He shook the proffered hand.  “Clint Barton.”

“Natasha Romanoff.  I'm in the flat next door.”  She nodded her head to indicate the apartment down the hall to her left, making her auburn curls bounce.

“I think you might be one of the crazy Europeans I've been warned about.”

The woman, Natasha, laughed, eyes glinting dangerously.  “I think I might be. Did someone leave you a new guy note?”

“Yeah.”  Clint snorted, fished the note back out of his pocket, and handed it to her.

She unfolded it and snorted.  “Oh, Maria.”

“Maria?”

“Maria Hill. She's the school counselor.  Does her best to keep us all sane.” Natasha handed the note back.  “Tomorrow is the first teacher workday.”

“I know. Uh,” Clint stepped back, “d'you wanna come in?”

Natasha held up a hand.  “No, that's okay.  I have to finish up my own unpacking. See you tomorrow.  Staff meeting starts at eight, don't sit next to the big blond if you value your hearing.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

She sauntered the few steps down the hall to her door and he closed his.

The next morning, Clint took the stairs down from his apartment on the second floor and found himself in the middle of a group of three young women in the lobby of the staff housing building.  The women stopped talking and eyed him.  He cleared his throat awkwardly and grinned.  “Is all the faculty but me and the headmaster beautiful women?”

One of the women, a fairly petite but curvy thing with curly dark hair and plastic-framed glasses, crossed her arms and studied him.  “I think I like replacement Sitwell.”

“Darcy,” said one of the other two women, a dirty blond with an English accent, “you cannot call him 'replacement Sitwell.'”  She sighed and shot a dark look at the third woman, who looked like she was probably some kind of mixed and was stifling a giggle.  “I'm sorry.  We're glad you've joined the crew.  Now, we ought to all go or we're going to be late.”

The three women and Clint left the housing building and started across the green that lay between it, the main school building, and the student dormitory. The curly haired woman, Darcy, looped an arm through Clint's.  “So, replacement Sitwell, since Jemma here doesn't think I should call you what you are, what should I call you?”

“My name's—”

“Clinton Barton.”  The third woman shrugged.  “I backed up all our digital files over the summer, I saw the hiring paperwork.  I mean it's no secret or anything, I think most of the staff just didn't bother to look up when we heard Fury'd found a new lit teacher.”

“Skye does most of the school's IT support for the school and teaches two classes,” Jemma explained as she pulled open the door to the main building.  “I teach biology and Latin, and Darcy—”

“Political science.  And I'm the history department's bitch.”

The four of them filed down the hall and into the half full conference room across from the headmaster's office.  There was a clump of people—two redheaded women that weren't Natasha, two dark haired men who both looked like they had some Latin blood in their pedigrees, two black men, and a woman with a long black ponytail—clustered around a decanter of coffee near the far corner, and three men were leaning on the edge of the conference table—a tall, muscular blond who Clint figured was the loud one Natasha had warned him of, a brunet with his hair pulled back into a spiky little tuft of a ponytail, and a slightly wiry man in a suit.  The one with the ponytail glanced up, nudged the one in the suit, and nodded toward Clint, who was standing a bit awkwardly in the doorway, having been abandoned by his escort in favor of coffee.  The man in the suit looked at him, stood, smiled, and held out a hand.  “You must be Clint Barton.”  The man clasped Clint's hand firmly.  “I'm Phil Coulson, the other English teacher.”

Before either Phil could continue or Clint could respond, a voice from the other end of the room interrupted, “Excuse me, your first name is 'Professor.'”

It was one of the two vaguely Latin looking men from the group in the corner.  He had dark, wavy hair dusted lightly with silver and a goatee that made him look like somebody's evil twin.  Phil sighed and said conspiratorially to Clint.  “Ignore him.”

“Whoa, hey, no, no, no.  Don't ignore me.”  The goateed man made his way around the table, cup of coffee in hand.  Several other members of staff exchanged looks of amusement or concern.  The other Latin looking man hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.  The one with the goatee slung the arm that wasn't occupied with coffee around Clint's shoulders.  “Hello there, new guy.  Barton?  Yeah. This your first teaching gig?”

“Uh, yes.” Clint glanced around for someone to rescue him but no volunteers stepped forward.  Everyone was either watching or had returned to their own conversations.

“Well, you see, it doesn't matter what you think your name is, the kids decide what your name is.  For instance, Bruce over there—Bruce, say hi.”

The other Latin looking man raised a hand in greeting.

“Thank you, big guy.  Bruce is Dr. Banner.  I, on the other hand, am Mr. Stark despite holding several doctorates.”  Mr. Stark shrugged. “Your department mate is Professor Coulson and always Professor Coulson and the only teacher in the whole damn school who's consistently professor-anything.  I think it's something to do with a suit.”

“Tony, don't traumatize the new guy.”  Natasha had just walked into the conference room, flanked by a brunet woman, both of them in slacks and blouses.

“I'm not traumatizing him, Natasha.  I'm educating him.”

The brunet woman removed Tony's arm from Clint's shoulders.  “As your students will and do attest, your brand of education is often mildly traumatizing. Shoo.”

Tony made a sound of mock hurt and swept back to the corner with coffee. “I will finish educating you later.”

Clint turned to his rescuer.  “Maria?”

She smiled thinly.  “At your service.  Can we please all start sitting.”

Everyone found their way into seats as another clump—three men, one blond with a goatee, one  who Clint at a guess would have said was Mongolian, and one huge, redheaded, and bearded—filed into the room.  The new group sat around the woman with the long black ponytail, who let out the long suffering sigh of a much harassed elder sister.  Clint sat next to Natasha at the end of the table opposite the tall blond who had been talking with Phil.  She leaned to whisper to him, “You're avoiding the wrong blond.”

“Huh?”

“Hello friends!” a voice boomed from the doorway, making Clint jump and fumble in his pocket for a remote he repeatedly hit the volume down button on.  A muscular mountain of a man with long blond hair was standing just inside the threshold with a waif of a woman at his side.  He beamed at the group at the table. “I hope you've all had a wonderful summer.”

The small woman tugged on the big man's arm.  “Let's sit down, dear.”

Clint glanced at Natasha.  “You meant that one.”

She smirked and nodded.  Over the next few minutes, six other people came in: a woman with long titian hair back in a french braid; a tall, slender man with black hair; and older woman with blond curls who put a hand on the shoulders of the tall, thin man and the loud blond one before taking a seat next to the woman with the braid; a severe looking Asian woman; a young man with tight, flaxen curls who Jemma pulled the chair next to her out for; and a slightly heavy man with short, dark hair.  That left only one chair empty at the head of the table.  Soft chattered fluttered around the table.  The small woman who'd come in with the loud blond was sitting next to Clint on the side that Natasha wasn't on.  She smiled up at Clint.  “Hi, I'm Jane Foster.”

“Clint Barton.”  Clint smiled back, hand returning to his pocket to hit the volume up button a couple times.  “Nice to meet you.”

Jane tilted her head curiously.  “Are you wearing headphones?”

“Uh, no.”  Clint unlooped the little grey plastic gadget from behind one ear and held it up.  “Hearing aids.”

“Oh.”  Jane blinked.  “I am so—”

“It's fine.”  He put the aid back on.  “I'm not weird about it.”

“Oh. That's good.”

To Clint's other side, Natasha's eyebrows were raised in amusement with the realization of how ironic her earlier warning about avoiding the loud blond for the sake of his hearing was. Clint elected to ignore the other raised eyebrows around the table.  

A tall man with an eyepatch dressed in a black suit strode into the room, flicking through a folder, and kicked the door closed behind him.  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”  Headmaster Fury dropped his folder at the head of the table in front of the empty chair.  “Hope you all took damn nice vacation's 'cause in one week we're gonna be overrun with adolescents and all their special brand of crazy.  Before then, we have to get shit done.  First order of business, everybody say hi to Clint Barton.  He's filling the position in the English department left open by Sitwell's—”  he cleared his throat “—resignation.  Try not to scare him off.  Stark, that means you.”  Most of the room chuckled while Tony put a hand to his heart and declared he was wounded.  Fury kept talking right over him, diving straight into an hour of bureaucratic housekeeping and discussion of curriculum.  The headmaster flipped a page in his folder.  “Now that that's done, about extra curriculars.  The chess club Sitwell ran is out unless someone wants to take over sponsorship.”

“I could do it.” Fitz, the young man with tight, curly hair said, his accent distinctly Scottish.

“Great. Other than that, all the extra curriculars from last year will remain the same.  Stark's damn robotics club—which had better not blow anything up this term—drama club, and writer's club, Rhodes has his co-ed boy scouts thing, Hogan's still doing the test prep thing, and there's our one sorry excuse for a sport other than track and field, cheer leading.  Now, Barton has volunteered to coach an archery team.  Any objections?”  There was silence, a few shrugs, and some head shaking.  “Congatulations, Coach Barton, you now get to be one of this school's crazy blond coaches of random sports.”

After the meeting, the staff were released to prepare for the arrival of the students in a week.  Up on a chair, taping a poster to the wall of his new classroom, Clint asked over his shoulder, “So, there's twenty-eight members of staff, including me?”

“Right.” Phil was sitting on a student desk, eating Chinese delivery.  “Are you going to eat anything?”

“Not hungry.” Clint stepped down from the chair.  “Not right now at least.  I'll get pizza or something later.”

“Since we're both teaching freshman and junior classes, we might want to compare syllabi at some point.”  

“Yeah, sure.” Clint sat on another desk.  “But so you, me, Fury, Stark, Natasha, Maria, uh, Banner.  That's seven I can name.”

“Relax, you've got all week.”  Phil held out a box of fried rice.

Clint took to box and a plastic fork.  “I've got a week to learn the names and faces of more than two dozen people, settle into a new apartment, and prep for my first ever first day of class as the teacher.”

“You've done student teaching, and assistant teaching, right?  You'll be fine.”

“Somehow I doubt it's the same.”  Clint shoveled a few bites of rice into his mouth. “I'm also a little scared Stark's gonna make good on saying he'd finish 'educating' me and then whatever he says is gonna be the only way I think of everybody.”

Phil laughed. “You just met Tony today and you've already figured him out.”

“So, he teaches...math?”

“Yup.  He and Fitz make up the math department.”

“Fitz?”

“Scottish kid.”

“Oh, right. Lots of Europeans on the staff.”

“Twelve.”

“Wow.”  Clint chuckled.  “You know, Maria left a note on my apartment door.  She warned me the Europeans are almost as crazy as the students.”

“She's not wrong.  The Brits aren't bad, the Norwegians are, well, they're interesting.  And then there's Natasha.”

“Am I right to be scared of her?”

“Oh yeah.”

Later that afternoon, Clint was sitting behind his desk, hoping the damn thing would feel less awkward by the end of the year and going through lesson plans when there was a knock on the doorframe.  He looked up.  Tony Stark was leaning in the doorframe.  In his band T-shirt and jeans he would have looked more like a high school student than a teacher if it weren't for the grey hairs and the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.  He raised the bottle in a kind of salute.  “I come to edjumacate you!”

“Are you drinking in the school?”  Clint dropped his pen, busy gaping at the math teacher.

“No way, Fury would have me skinned alive.”  He shoved off from the wall, took a few steps into the room, and swished the amber liquid in his bottle. “This is tea.  I have plenty of booze bottles and it's fun to watch people's faces.”  He took a swig and perched on one of the desks. “As I was saying this morning, the kids decide your name.”

“I'm trying to lesson plan right now.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively.  “You've got all week.”

“As I keep getting told.”  Clint sighed, picked up his pen, and capped it. “So the kids name us.”

“Right. So I'm Mr. Stark, Bruciekins is Dr. Banner—I guess he just looks like a Dr. somebody, probably the glasses—Coulson's Professor Coulson.  I told you those this morning.  Everybody calls the Scott Fitz, students and staff, except when they're talking directly to him, the kids call him Mr. Fitz, which I think sounds like it ought to be the name of a cartoon dog.  Simmons is just Simmons unless she's just professor; she's never Professor Simmons—”

“Sorry, who's Simmons?”

“British chick, light brown hair, bio teacher.”

“Jemma?”

“Right.  Skye is Skye—have you met Skye?”  Tony held up a hand as though to tell himself to stop talking so Clint could answer.

“Yeah, I met her this morning.  She does the school's I.T, right?”

“And teaches computer science.  She's pretty cool.  Thor—big loud blond one with the tiny wife—is Coach Thor to his face, otherwise just Thor.  He's super formal and weird but really friendly at the same time so you almost have to be on first name basis with the man.  On that note, hearing aids, do they have volume control?”

Clint smirked.  “Yes.”  He pulled the little remote out of his pocket. “Remote volume control.”

“Okay, I'm officially a little jealous.  Everybody needs volume control when Thor's around.  Anyway, his wife, Jane—I know you met Jane—she's Dr. Foster or Absent Minded Professor Foster when she's being particularly spacey.  Sif is the only one who's managed to name herself, she tells the kids they have to pronounce her last name correctly or they have to call her Lady Sif.  Nobody can pronounce her last name—it's some crazy jumble of consonants and vowels with extra lines—and the punishment for saying it wrong is extra vocab homework so all the kids call her Lady Sif.”

“Okay, that's hilarious.”

“It is.  But I've got a better one.  Steve, other big blond, he's the art teacher, kids call him Captain.  He's got no military background or anything,—he was scrawny as hell in high school, I think I remember him telling me they wouldn't even let him join ROTC—never been with the police, doesn't do sports.  No, they call him Captain 'cause he's got this dinky little boat that he's ridiculously proud of. Seriously, do not diss the man's boat.”

“I'll remember that.”

“You should.”  Tony took another drink of his tea.  “Oh, before I forget, and I will forget because I never have to remind people of this, every year after the first week of classes, I throw a faculty pool party.  You're invited. There will be alcohol and barbecue.”

“Cool, thanks.” Clint laughed a little.  “You don't live on campus, do you?”

“Naw.”  Tony shrugged.  “I've got a place in town.”

“Rich jackass has a mansion in town.”  Bruce had appeared in the doorway, a plastic bin of batteries, light bulbs, and wires in his arms.

“It is not a mansion,” Tony said defensively.

Bruce looked scathingly at him over his glasses.  “It's a six bedroom, three story house—four stories, counting the basement—with a pool and home theatre.”

“Okay, maybe it is a mansion,” Tony conceded.  “So, yeah, pool party at my mansion for everybody who survives the next two weeks.”

*** Chapter 2

Sunday night, Clint found himself crammed onto Natasha's classier-than-Ikea couch along with Maria, Phil, Bruce, Skye, and the Russian herself, all of them eating fried chicken out of a cardboard bucket—except for Bruce, who had tofu tacos.  Clint sighed.  “No one told me 'student move in' meant 'ninth circle of hell.'”

“I think, by now,” Skye said through a full mouth, her long straight hair pulled up into a very messy bun, “the move in/hell association is so automatic we don't think to say it.”

“Preach.”  Natasha sucked a trace of chicken off her thumb with a dignity that should not have been possible.

Clint snorted.  “On the bright side, I think I've finally learned everybody's names.”

“One day before you have to learn two hundred more,” Bruce pointed out dryly.  

“Uhg, don't remind me.” Clint leaned against the back of the couch.

Phil chuckled.  “Seating charts and class rosters are good crutches.”

“That they are.”  Natasha poked Clint in the shin with the tip of her pointy shoe.  “But if you know everybody's names, let's hear it.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Natasha, Maria, Skye, Phil, and Bruce—obviously.”

Maria grinned over a sporkfull of mac'n'cheese.  “Obviously.  Go on.”

“Headmaster Fury. Tony.  Thor, Jane, Loki, Frigga, Sif, uh, Sygin, Hogan, Fandral, Volstagg.  Other Hogan.”

“Happy.”  Bruce tossed one of his taco wrappers into the trash across the room.  “Other Hogan's first name is Happy.”

“Right.”  Clint took a breath. “Pepper, Peggy, Steve, uh, James Barnes who's Bucky, and James Rhodes who's Rhodey.  Jemma and Fitz.  Sam.  Darcy.”  Clint was quiet for a minute.  “I'm missing someone.”

“May,” Phil provided.  “Malinda May.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm going to die this week.  If I don't drown in teenagers I'm gonna get murdered by one seriously intimidating female veteran or another.”  He glanced at Natasha.  “There's what, three of you? Four?”

Natasha lightly smacked the back of his head.  “I'm not military.  But I will absolutely kill you.”

“I think that's my cue to go to bed.”  Clint stood.  “Thanks for dinner.”

As he let himself out of the small apartment, Maria called after him, “My office is room number seven if you start to go nuts.”

Coffee in hand the next morning, Clint was almost to his classroom when Natasha cut him off in the hallway. “I actually have an excuse to kill you now.”

Clint blinked at her.  “Hm?”

“You got up at five thirty and I can hear your alarm clock through the wall.”

“I went for a run and I'm nearly deaf.”

“Don't they make vibrating clocks?”

“Yeah, I have one.  It makes noise too.  I'm not completely deaf.”  He stepped around her, continued on to his room, and set his bag on the desk at the front of the room—the desk he had determined not to sit behind.  It was early enough still that there were almost no students around, Clint's classroom was completely empty, but as the clock ticked closer to seven-twenty, four hundred odd fourteen to eighteen year olds descended upon the school building, uniforms neatly pressed. Clint had never gone to a school that required uniforms but—watching the first few sophomores of his first-hour class trickle into the room, their charcoal slacks or skirts, white shirts, and cobalt ties or ribbons all tidy—he highly doubted the movie like perfection lasted more than a couple days.

One dark haired girl who had the sleeves of her white buttondown rolled up past her elbows had plopped herself into a desk at the front of the room with her bag propped against the leg of her chair, and was studying Clint over a piece of toast she'd apparently filched from the dormitory dining room.  After a long moment of contemplation she said, “You're new.”

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  He was supposed to be the adult here. “Yeah.”

“What're you doing here?”

“Fury bought me from the circus.”

The girl snorted. “Right.”

“Okay, so I ran away from the circus.”  Clint shrugged.  “One way or another I get to make you read Shakespeare now.”

The girl frowned.  Behind her, two boys who must have been twins snickered.  The bell rang and the rest of the class flooded in, filling all thirty desks.  Clint took a deep breath and stepped to the front of the room.  “Good morning and welcome to tenth-grade English.  I'm Clint Barton, Mr. Barton will do just fine, but I've heard from your other teachers that you're all likely to rename me.”  He paused, relieved to see at least a dozen grins among the class.  “I haven't got a clue who any of you are, so I'm going to take role.  If you go by a nickname or if I butcher the pronunciation, tell me. Okay?”  He snagged his first-hour roster off his desk.  “Katherine Bishop.”

The dark haired girl with the rolled up sleeves waved her half-eaten toast.  “It's Kate.”

By lunch time, Clint had made it through two hours worth of sophomores and one hour of juniors.  Phil, in whose classroom he was eating, had survived three hours of seniors.

“It wouldn't be so bad,” Phil said, punctuating his statement by stabbing a meatball with a fork, “if it weren't for this one kid, Peter. Two girls like him, he's been going back and forth not quite dating both of them since they were freshmen, and there's another guy who, I don't know if he actually likes Peter or if he's trying to be funny but he flirts shamelessly and tactlessly with the poor kid.  All four of them are in my first hour.”

Clint cringed sympathetically.  “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Couple of boys in my first class, last name Maximoff.  That's really not the most common name on earth so I've gotta ask: Any relation to the politician?”

“She's their mother.”

Clint nearly choked on a mouth full of pasta.  “Okay, I knew this was a high end school, but I wasn't expecting that.”

Phil shrugged.  “We're close enough to D.C. that we're a convenient place for better off government types, diplomats, and other luminaries to send their kids, get them away from the city.  And we're a safe place for them too.  I know you've noticed how much of the staff is ex military.”

“I assumed there was some magnet force under the school that attracts badasses.”

Phil laughed.  “It's called Nick Fury and he's in the office, not under it.”

After lunch, Clint had another class of juniors, which went almost exactly like the one before lunch.  At the end of that class, while two of the more interesting juniors filed out, sharing some not entirely typical teenaged chatter—“Still think it's funny they've got the blind kid in the deaf guy's class.” “He's not Deaf, David.  I know you know that.”—the one class of the day Clint had been really dreading began filing in: freshmen.  As the class filtered in, Clint noticed that the freshmen were even more perfectly pressed than the older students.  They stared at him with a wary scrutiny.  A sturdy Latina girl dropped into a desk and crossed her arms defiantly.  Clint raised his eyebrows.  “You okay?”

“Class I just had is full of dicks.”

“It wasn't that bad.”  A boy with headphones around his neck dumped his bag on the desk next to her.

“You're the worst out of all of them, chico.”  The girl sounded ready to punch someone out and looked like she could do it and make it hurt.

“Okay, okay,” Clint intervened, “you, how old are you?”

“Me?”  The boy pointed to himself dumbly.

“Yeah you.”

“Fourteen.”

“What's your name?”

“Peter.”

Clint looked at the girl.  “Your name?”

“America.”

“Okay.” Clint shrugged.  “Peter here is a fourteen year old boy.  As a former fourteen year old boy myself, let me say that they are more or less all dicks.”

America blinked.  “I have never heard a teacher call anybody a dick before.”

“Welcome to high school.”  Clint winked.  She grinned.

The boy, Peter, leaned forward.  “Are you wearing headphones?”

Clint sighed. “They're hearing aids.”

“Dude, are you deaf?”  Peter sounded excited.

“No, I'm Hard of Hearing.  If I were completely deaf, hearing aids wouldn't do me any good.”

America and Peter shared a look then both shrugged.

The freshmen didn't turn out to be as bad as Clint had feared.  The next hour of sophomores, though, was the last class of the day, and Clint had to fight to be listened to.  After that it was curriculum talk with Phil, Skye making him look like an idiot while showing him how to use the gradebook software, dinner in the dining hall, old cartoons, then bed.  The rest of the week went about the same.

Friday, as soon as the final bell rang, the kids all rushed out.  Clint called after them.  “Archery club first meeting is a week from today!”

The last of the kids left and Clint turned to his desk and the stack of persuasive essays he'd had his students write him about their favorite movies with the promise that each class would get to watch the movie that got pitched the best within their class.  There was a quiet whirring behind him and he turned to see something like a streamlined, somewhat scaled-down assembly line robot trundle up to him, a slip of paper held in its three fingered “hand.”  It extended its arm with a soft hum of servos that Clint would have described as curious if he didn't know better.

“Uh.”  Clint took the slip of paper.  A note was scrawled on it in a messy angular handwriting:

This is Dum-E.  He's not very smart but he tries.  New guy, this is your reminder to grab your trunks and get your butt to my not-a-mansion @ 4

-A. Stark

Tony's address was on the back of the note.  Clint hesitated then awkwardly patted the robot's “head.”  “Thanks, uh, Dum-E.”

The bot whirred with what might have been pride and turned to leave—presumably headed back to Tony's classroom.  It bumped into a desk on its way out.  Clint frowned.

A couple hours later, he was walking with Natasha to her car to head to Tony's party—she had volunteered to, or rather insisted that she drive.  Clint stepped into the sleek, black sedan.  “So, Tony has a robot?”

“Yeah.”  Natasha started the car and pulled out of her space. “He's got two.”

“He has two robots?”

“He's disgustingly over qualified to be teaching high school.” She gunned it down the winding drive to the main road.

Once they stopped, Clint clambered out of Natasha's car.  “I am riding back with somebody else, did you used to race?  Holy crap that's a big house.”

Natasha snorted, leading the way along a path from the driveway around to an extremely expensive looking fence over which the sounds of revelry and smells of barbecue floated.  Her beaded flipflops smacked quietly against the flagstones.  “Four stories and a basement.”

Clint followed. “Is he married?”

“Are you joking? Stark, married?  Ha.  No.  He lives here alone.”  She unlatched the gate and pushed it open.

Stark's back yard looked like something out of a magazine, fire pit, koi pond, perfectly green grass, question mark shaped pool with hot tub waterfall, and trapezoidal deck with outdoor kitchen.  The hot tub—accessed from the deck, spilling into the main pool—was full of beautiful bikini clad women, namely the school counselor, IT expert, biology teacher, and the history department's bitch.  The last of whom, Darcy, stood and waved at Natasha and Clint.  “Hey! The Cyrillic Cyclone and the new guy are here!”

Everyone—Stark, Banner, and the guy with the spiky ponytail at the grill; the Scottish guy, Pepper, and the big blond art teacher in the pool; and redhead who wasn't Pepper or Natasha and the two ex-military black guys leaning on the deck rail—all looked around.  Natasha waved back and hissed to Clint, “Stop staring at Darcy's boobs,” before striding across the yard, dropping her purse and coverup on a lawn chair, and settling in as beautiful woman number five in the hot tub.

Clint quickly averted his gaze, shook his head, then went to drop his own things on a lawn chair, then stepped into the pool.  Pepper floated by, hugging an inflatable orca.  She nodded to him.  “Hey, can you swim with those things?”

“Huh?”  Clint hopped down the last step up to his waist in water.  “My hearing aids?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you kidding?”  He snorted.  “Ever since I was a kid I've refused to have hearing aids I can't get wet.”

“Great!” Grinning, Pepper released the orca and splashed him.

He flinched, laughed, and splashed her back.  Some of the splash went past her and caught Steve on the shoulder.  He turned to glare at Clint.  

“Hey!”  Clint laughed. “Pepper started it.”

“Did she now?”

“Steve, Steve! Wait!”  Pepper spluttered laughter through a face full of water.  

“Steve, play nice.”  The guy with the spiky ponytail walked to the edge of the pool, munching a fresh made cheeseburger.

“I am playing nice, Buck.”  Steve waded over to the edge of the pool.  “Can I have some of that?”

The guy with the ponytail rolled his eyes, “Sure,” knelt, fed Steve a bite of his burger, then kissed him.

Clint felt his eyebrows arch.  “I think I missed a memo.”

Fitz chuckled behind him.  “This is the first time you've been around them outside of work hours, isn't it?”

“We behave when the kids are around.”  Bucky set his burger and paper plate down.

“If you can call giving each other bedroom eyes across the lunchroom 'behaving,'” redhead who wasn't Pepper or Natasha came up behind Bucky and pushed him into the pool.

He came up spluttering, long bangs in his face, dripping.  “Peggy!”

“Man, I love this school,”  Clint laughed.

Peggy jumped in the water.  “I went to university with Steve, I've been pushing both of them around for years.”

*** Bonus Scene

“Sonnet one forty one.”  Clint waved his book dramatically.  “Now before anyone starts going on about 'oh what I sweet love poem' I want you to think about what he's actually saying here.  Billy, would you read the first two lines for us?”

The darker haired of the Maximoff twins flattened out the page of his own book.  “In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,/For they in thee a thousand errors note.”

“And what does that mean?”  Clint shoved off from his desk and paced down the center aisle between his student's desks.  “He's saying to his girlfriend that his eyes don't love her 'cause he can see, visually, a thousand things wrong with her.”

The lighter twin frowned.  “Are we sure he's talking to a girl?”

“This time, yes.  It does say 'she' in the last line.  Shakespeare does have some sonnets that we know were addressed to a young man, we can argue about the nature of that relationship later.  Anyway, so he doesn't like what he sees.  Couple lines later he tells us, basically, that if I met this woman I'd want to turn my hearing aids off her voice is so bad.”

The class chuckled.

[itwillbeall-dwight]

downtime at dead dawg

zarina kassir/caleb quinn | the deathslinger; just some feel-good friend shit w/ maybe flirting; alc tw; 1825 words

a/n: i’ve had this one sitting in the drafts for about a week, after i impulse bought zarina and having been playing her nonstop. they... are cute. i’ve also been doing really bad mentally so this fic was honestly mostly for me because i just want some... happy, feel-good content where people are friends for once. also, fun game to play; try and guess all the characters i vaguely mentioned. i wanna see how obvious i was.

i might add another few chapters to this?? i have ideas at the very least. i’d love it if u guys let me know if you wanna see that. hope you’re all doing well, and stay safe y’all.

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: “You want a drink, cowboy?” The voice beside him almost startled him, making him jump to look down at the woman in the brown woollen scarf, holding two glasses of whiskey. She held one out to him, and he took it with a quiet thank you, more than expecting to resume people-watching alone and in silence, watching on as killer and survivor alike had raided his realm for a good time - a break from the killing and the madness, if only for a moment or two. But she didn’t. Instead, she moved around him and took his side, resting her elbows on the balcony and joining him. She took a small sip from her glass. “You know, it’s crazy. Soon you’re just going to go back to slaughtering us for fun.” “You assume it’s fun.” He gruffly replied, glancing down at her to meet her eyes. “Are you implying it’s not?” Caleb paused for a moment, almost thinking it over, before he chuckled. “...Yeah, no, it’s real fun.” “Yeah, I thought so.”

It was louder in here than it had been in a long time. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

 The piano wasn’t being played by ghosts this time. Among the white noise of idle chatter from the saloon floor down below him was the tickling of ivories at a fast pace, courtesy of that Macmillan guy, mask pulled up now as he ran his hand up and down the stained keys with precision, though a bit rusty at times - a well-trained pianist, in whatever past he had. That athletic survivor with the ginger braids stuck close by, clapping along to the rhythm with a smile on her face. There was another survivor on the other side of the killer, the bear on the back of her jersey clearly in view from the balcony as she tried to touch the bottom keys of the piano without getting her wrists slapped. They seemed happy enough. 

 Others were scattered among the odd tables that littered the saloon floor, creating the blanket of white noise that overlaid the music. From one, he saw the snapping movements of the spectral ghostly girl as she sat beside two survivors, a kind man in a trenchcoat and the hardy looking girl with goggles, the two of them talking and occasionally giving the spectre a chance to input - she was laughing, a wide smile distorting her face, occasionally giving the man a soft and thankful glance when she was sure he was paying her no mind. From another, many people surrounded the tough-looking survivor with the undercut and the strong killer with the rabbit mask as they partook in a battle of brute strength - an arm-wrestling match, with support from both sides of the playing field, cheering them on and clapping in glee. At the bar sat a quiet group of four - older men, supposedly wiser, he would have thought, if not for the idiot wearing sunglasses indoors and the man with the metal hand, both clearly drinking more than they could handle. Even from the balcony, the apologetic glances exchanged between the older soldier and the detective were plain as day to see, their companions too delirious from alcohol to pay that much mind.

 “You want a drink, cowboy?”

The voice beside him almost startled him, making him jump to look down at the woman in the brown woollen scarf, holding two glasses of whiskey. She held one out to him, and he took it with a quiet thank you, more than expecting to resume people-watching alone and in silence, watching on as killer and survivor alike had raided his realm for a good time - a break from the killing and the madness, if only for a moment or two.

But she didn’t. Instead, she moved around him and took his side, resting her elbows on the balcony and joining him. She took a small sip from her glass. “You know, it’s crazy. Soon you’re just going to go back to slaughtering us for fun.”

“You assume it’s fun.” He gruffly replied, glancing down at her to meet her eyes.

“Are you implying it’s not?”

Caleb paused for a moment, almost thinking it over, before he chuckled. “...Yeah, no, it’s real fun.”“Yeah, I thought so.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” She returned the laugh in kind, though hers was a lot gentler than his - less rough, less biting. The killer turned his head to look down on her, at the expression on her face as she looked down to her friends and enemies below, a smile on her face. He followed her gaze down to the arm wrestling match, where the undercut survivor was shaking his hand and cursing to himself, his opponent stretching her strong arms above her head and placing a hand on her shoulder, where the infected priestess had placed her own hand in congratulations, whispering blessings in foreign tongues that Caleb didn’t care to understand. 

 The two remained silent and just watched the occurrences on the floor below. The idiot in sunglasses had climbed into the bar counter now, in the process of removing the tan suit jacket he wore with the encouragement of his fellow drunkard before being dragged off of the bar and outside by his sober, bearded compatriot. From underneath the balcony, the quiet boy almost always armed with a toolbox walked out, carrying a large pot of bubbling liquid and placing it on one of the empty tables, the leather-masked fellow and the hunched over swamp witch following behind him excitedly, ready to show off their cooking skills to the rest of the gathering.

 The company at the piano had grown now, Macmillan having moved to let someone else take a seat - one of the survivors, the bigger woman in the pinstripe suit, whose piano playing was delicate, light and slow, accompanied now by the sound of a guitar, as the tattooed blonde survivor sat on its lid and played along and gently plucked the instrument's strings, the third member of their little musical entourage being the sound of a haunting, tolling bell from the tree-like man in the torn cloak, his addition giving the piece a melancholy vibe. Sat on the other side of the piano lid was the floating nurse, and though no expression was visible on her face due to the bag covering her face, the way she relaxed told him she was enthralled with the performance. 

 Caleb looked back down at the woman still by his side, her expression still soft as she looked among the crowd. As if knowing she was being watched, she looked up again, not fearing to stare directly into his eyes as she did. 

“You know… we don’t even know your names. You don’t know ours. Isn’t that crazy?”

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Why would it? Attachment ‘n that. Makes shit harder.”

“Like you would have sympathy.”

“Some of us have a heart, ma’am.”

She paused. “...Deep down, somewhere. I suppose you’re right. Though, it’s not entirely true. I know who you are. By chance. Maybe that’s why…”

He watched as her hand fell to the flashing device on her belt, a subtle red light blinking on and off. “...Huh. Nosey, aint’cha?”

“It gets me ahead in my line of work, Mr. Quinn.” She looked up as he flinched with a smirk, clearly not bluffing now, before her eyes fell back onto the crowd.

 Following her gaze again, which was once again placed on the arm-wrestling pair, Caleb heard her chuckle, moving her arms again to hang over the balcony in a delicate criss-cross. “Oh, David’s at it again.”

David. Must be the idiot with too little hair. Caleb looked down at him as he pressed his elbow against the table, and flexed his fingers with a pained grin, ready for another round. “...Hardy one, ain’t he?”

“I’d call it stupid. Only Nea would encourage his behaviour, and there she is.”

Sure enough, by the man’s side was the girl in the beanie, almost shouting in his ear as both beratement and encouragement - he swore he could almost see the sweat on David’s brow as she continued on. He hummed, his loose jaw cracking slightly before he snapped it back into place.

“And isn’t Jane’s music lovely?” She continued, a free and open hand signalling back to the piano. “I never expected her to be a pianist, and yet, the way she makes music with Kate is stunning.”

“...Sounds nice.” 

“Kate normally plays for us all, for a morale boost, it’s lovely. ...Ah, and look at that. The Spirit is a little less terrifying-looking like that. I never considered Adam to be the comedian type, he’s much too serious for that, and yet...” A pointed finger lead to the table of three again, where the spectral girl still giggled, her nose shrivelling up and as she tapped out her hand in defeat, the girl in goggles laughing along with her nose pinched between her fingers, a free hand nursing a glass.

 Caleb hummed again in acknowledgement, looking down at the scarved woman again, and her soft features, before nudging her softly with an elbow. “You’re not slick, ya know, missy. Tryna teach me somethin’ new an’ all. Think that’s gonna save ya?”

“Ha, guess not. Just thought I’d give it a shot.” She shrugged, twirling some hair between her fingers as, again, she stared him in the face, with no fear, and even a soft smile on her face. “And my name is Zarina. In case you wanted to know.”

He looked away, back down below - there was a commotion with the dinner plans, it seemed. He didn’t care to get involved. “Well, I didn’t.”

“Well, too bad.” Zarina almost mocked him with her tone, before she took a drink, finishing off the last of her glass as she tipped her head back, and wiping her mouth with the back of her arm in some mock-macho movement.

 There was a beat of silence. “...S’a pretty name, regardless.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” Dark eyes looked down at her again, and with another gentle snap of his jaw, Caleb gave her a lopsided grin, to which she gave him a half-hearted shove.

“Now who’s trying to get some sympathy points, huh?”

“Hey, just tellin’ the lady what she already knows.”

The odd pair shared a laugh, before the cowboy too finished off his drink in a movement similar to hers before, then holding out his free hand to take her empty glass. “One more, for the road?”

Zarina looked down at his hand, palm dried and scarred from years of working with his gun, before she placed the bottom of her glass into it. “If you enjoy my company, you can just say so, cowboy.”

“Ha. Keep dreamin’, Princess.” Heavy boots creaked against the wood of the balcony, as he descended down the stairs to the bar. 

 The night carried on, many survivors and killer alike finding it hard to stand after indulging in the rare pleasure that was alcohol in this realm. The darkness grew darker before everyone returned to their own dwellings until the trial resumed. 

Boots on the counter of the bar, Caleb poured himself one final drink, listening to the last of the footsteps behind him. “‘Night, Zarina.”

She looked behind her, finding his eyes on her as she hauled the arm of a barely conscious Dwight over her shoulder, hoping to help their leader back to the campfire in one piece. A small smile fell on her features. “...Goodnight, Caleb.”

He suppressed the small inhale and choke of his drink as she said his name again, for the second time that night, listening to the sound of her footsteps and mumbles back and forth with the messy spectacled boy grew quieter and quieter, leaving him alone again, with the creaking of floorboards and the ghosts on the piano, until the next time he was called to service here again, gun in hand. 

[mrs-dragneel-stark-solo]

Unforseen Chasm

Part 3 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together. Word Count: 1173 Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93​ what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The four of you arrived at the site – you, Shannon, Jane, and Thor. You camped out at the edge, shaking your head.

“See? I told you it’s no satellite,” Shannon informed. “SHIELD built a city around this thing.”

“And I told you that it’s extraordinary,” you stressed, bumping her shoulder with yours.

“You’re both right. It’s my hammer and I’m going to go get it,” Thor stated. “I’m also going to retrieve what belongs to you.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna waltz in, say ‘This is my hammer’, and waltz out?” you asked incredulously. 

“No, I’m gonna fly out,” he stated confidently, getting up to leave.

“Why do you always pick the crazy ones to follow?” Shannon asked rhetorically as Thor made his way through the chain link, but all you could do was watch him. From what you could witness, Thor was just plowing through every man he met. No gun, no size man, no brawn could rival his. He tore through the small forge of men as if they weren’t even there. 

But when he reached the hammer… he tried to pull on it, almost like Arthur with the Sword in the stone. The three of you looked on, wondering if he could lift it… but to no avail. When he couldn’t lift it, he seemed … crushed. As if that were the end of his existence. As if his entire meaning of life ceased there. 

The men hauled him away and the three of you looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“Jane, you go back to the lab,” you instructed. 

“What? What are you going to do?” she asked as you stood up. 

“I have no idea,” you said, making Shannon jump to her feet. 

”Y/N, what the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t know, but Thor can’t be left alone there. He just pulverized their entire squad and broke into this facility that is clearly beyond us.” Your eyes shifted to Jane. “Jane, it’s alright. Go back to the lab. If I’m not there in the morning… well…”

Jane gave you a concerned and curious look but followed your orders. She got in the van and drove away. 

“Shannon, I can’t explain it, but I need to get to that hammer. It’s drawing me towards it,” you explained as best you could.

“Oh, please, not this again. Y/N, it’s fairy tales, okay? It isn’t real! You must see that!”

“And you must see that I’ve never acted this way once in my life, so why now? Hmm? Why, when an alien lands in my backyard, am I suddenly acting strange? Jane isn’t, Darcy isn’t, Selvig isn’t, you aren’t. So why am I the only one affected? I’m telling you, Thor, this hammer, something… something is tied to me from those things and I want to figure out why. I need to know, Shannon…” You took a breath, your next words much quieter. “Please. If it’s just my scientific curiosity run amuck, at least I’ll know.” 

With a solemn expression, she nodded. She must’ve seen the desperation in your eyes, or trusted you. Shannon knew you better than anyone, and she knew you were logical. You wouldn’t be saying or thinking any of this without some sort of evidence or reason why.

“You wanna give me a little bit of fog?” you asked, praying she would take advantage of her powers for you. “Make it thick, make it dense. I’ll be in, and be out in no time.” 

Shannon eyed you peculiarly, but raised her hands nonetheless, a cloud of white mist settling over the site instantly. “Go,” she urged, “before they realize it’s not on the forecast.”

You nodded and slipped through the fence. You slid down the hill, and made your way carefully to the hammer which took a lot longer than you expected. You heard people shouting and running, flashlights being cast everywhere. Men were shouting for weather reports, shouting as to why they couldn’t see, shouting for someone to fix this… You kept low to the ground, trying to listen to footsteps, seeing as one foot in front of you was hard to see. 

Finally, you could see the small opening where the hammer was being kept. You snaked your way inside the closed off area and you glanced around to make sure no one was watching from above – but that was impossible, the fog was too thick. 

Just as you thought it was safe, you went to spin back around to pick up the hammer – only to find a man standing right in front of it. Not just any man, the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. If Thor was handsome, this man was carved by the hand of Adonis. He was tall, with raven black locks, and lean, with cheekbones that could slice glass. 

A small gasp came out of your mouth as you came face to face with him. 

He seemed troubled by your presence as the tiniest frown came in between his brows. You assumed he was working for SHIELD and was about to arrest you. You wanted to fight and say you were lost, or maybe confused, but he spoke first, thankfully, since you couldn’t find your voice.

“You can see me?” he asked in a voice that sounded as if it’d been dipped in honey. 

“Uh, yes?” you said with uncertainty, not sure why you wouldn’t be able to. 

“That’s impossible. You’re…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes raking your body. Typically, that would’ve made you uncomfortable, but his stark blue eyes and the way he examined you made you feel almost… glamorous. As if you were something to be won or had. 

“I’m what?” you asked, unsure why this conversation sounded so casual. 

“A-Asgardian” was all he could stutter before the fog suddenly lifted rapidly. 

Shit, Shannon’s powers. She probably couldn’t hold on much longer. As soon as the fog began thinning, the man before you was gone, leaving you all alone in an area where you weren’t supposed to be. And with him went the feeling of comfort, of being home. The same odd feeling that came over you when you were near Thor. Warmth, energy, safety… they vanished with this gorgeous stranger. 

You realized you needed to move, and fast, so you began bolting away from the hammer, abandoning all ideas of trying to look at it, examine it, or even try to lift it. You ran as fast as your legs would carry you, hoping the fog would stay long enough to disorient everyone at least until you could get away.

To your amazement – it did. By the time you reached the fence, the fog had totally lifted. You were panting and Shannon helped get you away from the fence. 

“So? Did you see it? Did you feel anything? Did you lift it? What is it? What did you see?” she asked. 

“I saw the most beautiful sight in the world,” you said with peculiarity as you glanced back to the site. 

tags:

@reigningqueenofwords  @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @winchester-writes @winchesterenthusiast @georgialouisea @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @dammit-stark​ @livelikeawinchester @sammysbuttcheek @bran2015 @misz-adrii @sandlee44 @womanxofletters @natsuccs @childishhoebinoo  @depressed-moose-78 @oldfreakything@expecteddifferent​​ @girl-next-door-writes​​ @fanaticfanfiction​​ @dakotapaigelove​​ @sassy-spn-knight-of-hell​​

[succubusphan]

Black Velvet

Summary: Phil is a successful photographer who just landed a photo shoot with his muse: Rupaul’s Drag Race winner, Obsidian Rose. Will he be able to win a place in her heart as well?

Rating: PG-13

Tags/Warnings: Drag queen Dan, Au, Photographer Phil, No Angst, Getting Together, Strangers to Lovers, Absolute fluff, Happy Ending.            

Word count: 4456

A/n: This fic was written for the @phandomreversebang 2019. Thank you to @snekydingdong , who created the gorgeous art piece and provided the prompt and @amazingmitchell, who was an amazingly supportive and patient beta. Thank you so much for working with me and putting up with my decaying health and messy schedule.

This is the playlist I made for this fic: Black Velvet.

[Art Link]

Read on ao3

Phil’s alarm went off at 7 AM. He bolted out of bed and started scrambling around for towels. 

He made sure to wash himself thoroughly and put on his best outfit for his big day; he needed to look as close to perfection as possible. He hopped on a taxi and headed to his studio.

He was equally excited and nervous about today’s photo shoot. It was a dream come true to be finally meeting his muse, Miss Obsidian Rose. To be completely honest, she was a big influence on his work as a photographer. Once out of University he had tried different styles and areas to focus on for his business and finally settled for weddings, but once he saw her in Rupaul’s Drag race, he knew that he would be much more excited to do fashion photography.

It had been three years since he started building his new portfolio and getting increasingly bigger makeup campaigns, magazines and high fashion shoots. His big day had finally arrived when Rose fired her previous photographer for making snotty remarks about her choice of outfit and concept for her makeup line and decided to hire him instead.

By this point in his career, he was used to celebrities, their crazy demands and larger than life personas, but there was a tiny little detail that made him nervous about this particular job: He had a crush on his client. He would have even dared to call it love if it wasn’t impossible to be in love with someone you have never met or spoken to. He smiled as he remembered the only conversation they had had.

Phil’s hands started sweating the moment he was told Obsidian Rose wanted to speak to him. 

“Hello, Phil?”

“Yes, this is Phil. H-hello!”

He heard her laugh softly. “Phil, darling, I’ve been going through your portfolio and I was wondering if you would be willing to work with me on my makeup campaign.”

“Of course, Miss Rose.”

“Please, call me Rose or Daniel, as you prefer.”

“Sure, Rose.” Phil was still a bit confused, “I- I just thought you had already stopped searching. I heard you hired Walter.”

“Yes…. let’s just say we didn’t have the same vision for the shoot. And, you see, Phil, this is my baby; my product. I’ve been working on this line for three years. I can’t have someone trying to take over my vision. I need someone who will work with me and make all of my dreams come true. Are you willing to be that person?”

“Of course! I’m more than willing to hear your vision and help you take it to the next level. What did you have in mind?”

“Do you know the song ‘Black Velvet’ by Alannah Myles?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I have paid for the rights to use that song in all the commercials for the line which will also carry that name. I will be wearing a black velvet outfit and the makeup will be the centre of attention. I want everything on my face to be extra glossy, with lots of glitter around my eyes and a smokey look. This first shoot will be centred on the lipsticks but all the makeup I wear is part of the line, this is my way to tease the other products as well.”

“That actually sounds amazing. I would use a matte backdrop, possibly black and soft focus around your face. If you would like to add extra flecks of shine I can do that in post-production.”

“Mmmm, you really get me, Phil. I think we would work very well together.”

“That’s fantastic, I think so too! I must admit I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Are you?” she laughed. “Just one more question, I’m on your website and there’s a black haired man in one of the albums. Plaid shirt, hair in a quiff, blue eyes, sometimes with glasses. Who is that?”

“Oh, that’s me. I just like to try new lightings and settings and it’s easier to just take pictures of myself to get that out of my mind,” Phil knew it was a stupid idea to add that to his website, but he figured that if he buried them in some album, most people wouldn’t dig deep enough to find them.

“Well, I really admire your work. I’m looking forward to working with you. My assistant will be in touch with you soon to discuss the contract.”

“Of course, Rose. Looking forward to working with you too.” Phil had tried not to sound eager but he had failed miserably. 

The taxi finally came to a stop. Phil paid and rushed inside to set everything up before Rose and her team could get there in about two hours. He turned the heating on, as he assumed Rose would be wearing a dress and even though the lights warmed the studio quite a bit, the weather was actually freezing. Backdrop and lighting came next. He had a variety of chairs and sofas that could work for the shoot, so he set them to the side, waiting for Rose to choose. 

Not half an hour had passed when the bell rang, insistently. Phil was still adjusting one of the lights and almost knocked it over out of sheer panic. 

He rushed to the door and pulled it open to find a young woman who was presumably Rose’s assistant and Rose herself but not in drag; it was Daniel. It felt a bit wrong to call her Rose when she was not in drag, but she had said it didn’t matter. Daniel had his curls styled atop his head, displaying his shaved sides. He liked to only wear chin length extensions and be able to go between Daniel and Rose easily. He was wearing a black and white leather jacket, ripped jeans and a fluffy black scarf. Phil felt like this was a punch to his stomach, Daniel was incredibly beautiful without makeup and even more so in person; just when Phil thought his crush couldn’t get any worse.

The pair smiled widely at him. 

“Hi, sorry to be this early! Can we please come in? It’s freezing out here,” said Daniel.

Phil blinked and realized he had been staring for a few seconds. He moved to let them in. “Of course, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you yet. Please come in, I’ll get you some hot coffee.”

Once inside, Phil led them to a huge makeup station he had set for his clients to prepare and told them where everything was so they could make use of the space as they pleased. 

“Oh, this is gorgeous,” Daniel said running his fingers through the white desk. “This mirror will help me see every single one of my pores when I do my makeup, I love the lighting in here.”

“Here’s your coffee,” Phil said handing him a cup. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank you, Darling,” Daniel smiled. “Sorry again for dropping in so early. I need to see the lights before I can properly do my makeup, especially the contour.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Don’t worry about it, it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

Daniel smiled widely. “Jane!” 

The girl who had previously been pretending to look out the window instead of listening in to her boss and smiling into her Starbucks cup rushed to them. “Yes?”

“I’m absolutely famished, please go to Starbucks and get me a chocolate muffin and one of those apple crumbles I love so much,” Daniel looked at her pointedly and smiled.

Jane smiled widely. “Sure, of course! Do you want anything, Phil?”

“Oh, no. Thank you, I’m ok.”

Jane nodded cheerily left to get the order.

Phil made himself a cup of coffee as well to distract himself from the nerves prickling his skin. “May I ask you something?”

Daniel stopped setting his makeup on the counter and turned to him. “Sure, what’s on your mind?

“I was wondering, What pronouns do you prefer when you are not in drag, or when you are for that matter? I wouldn’t want to disrespect you.”

“Oh, you find that confusing as well?” Daniel smiled. “It’s no disrespect, don’t worry. I actually don’t have a preference. Gender and labels are not things that worry me, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me he/they when I’m Daniel and she/they when I’m Rose.” He sat down to start working on his makeup. 

Phil leaned back against the counter and let out a sigh. “Oof, ok. I’m glad then, Daniel.”

Daniel turned to him again and placed his hand on Phil’s. “You are such a gentleman, Phil. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

Phil laughed, “Man, definitely man.” He blushed and realized that perhaps Daniel was flirting and that definition may not fit him entirely, so he did a quick save. “Or, I don’t know, person. What I mean is that I’m not straight.”

Daniel gasped with mock shock, “That makes two of us,” he smiled and winked before starting to do his makeup. 

Phil made himself busy around the studio and at 11 o’clock his alarm went off. It was finally time for the shoot. If everything had gone according to plan, Rose would have been arriving now.

In a way, Rose had just gotten there. She came out of the dressing room in short black velvet dress that hugged her body in all the right places with matching long gloves, her hair styled into chin length curls that accentuated her glitter-covered cheekbones and her deep smokey eyes. Phil was mesmerized, she looked like an absolute angel… until his eyes travelled down her body and he was met with those thighs. He had to take a deep breath and remember to be professional. He was not going to be having that kind of thought about a client, least of all, Rose.

He forced his eyes to travel back up to her face and found her smiling wider than she had smiled all day. She was, in fact, posing for him. She gave a little twirl for him and walked to the set with such elegance it seemed she had been born in heels. 

Rose was made to be photographed. Phil was honestly surprised that she hadn’t signed a modelling contract yet. The photo shoot was everything Phil had ever dreamed of. They worked in sync, moving together as if they were dancing. Phil might have gotten a bit carried away in the last few frames and taken close-ups of her face that were not entirely usable for the campaign but the results were amazing. 

Rose couldn’t be happier about the raw material; she even kissed him on the cheek and whispered a “Thank you,” before going to the dressing room to change. 

She stopped short before going in and looking over her shoulder, she asked Phil to help her with the zipper of her dress which he readily did, running his fingers down her back. 

Jane came through the door with Rose’s breakfast, now turned dinner. “Sorry to interrupt, I can leave. The security guy let me in.”

Rose laughed, “No need, sweety. We are done here.” She turned to Phil. “Aren’t we Phil?”

Phil cleared his throat, blushing furiously. “Of course. I’ll just put my equipment away and do some editing so you can have an idea of how the finished product will look.”

—-

Once changed into the outfit he had arrived in, Daniel removed his makeup and applied about six different moisturizers, not that Phil was checking. ‘No wonder his skin is so amazing.’

There wasn’t really that much editing required. Applying filters and subtle changes, maybe colour grading, but there was barely anything to retouch on Rose. Phil was able to get something interesting enough to show Daniel fairly quickly. 

“Daniel, I have some photos edited for you. I would like your opinion If you have a moment.” 

Daniel walked to the computer and gasped. “Oh my god! Phil Lester, you are a genius! Not to toot my own horn but I look amazing.”

Phil blushed. “Thank you. Honestly, I didn’t have to do that much, you look… pretty perfect without any retouch.”

“It’s the makeup, honey, ” Daniel laughed.

“But you are not wearing any makeup now, are you?”

Daniel looked into his eyes, “No…”

“Then it’s not the makeup.”

That was the first, but not last time Phil saw Daniel blush.

——

A week later, Phil had most of the material edited. He could have worked faster, but he had taken over three thousand pictures, and a good ninety per cent were billboard material. The fact that he kept getting lost in thought while looking at Rose in his computer screen did not help to speed up the process either. 

His phone rang, startling him to the point of making him knock his favourite mug off the desk and getting hot coffee all over his crotch.

He picked up nonetheless. “Hello!”

“Phil, is this a bad moment? I can call later.” Daniel sounded positively small on the other side of the line.

“Daniel, oh my god. I’m sorry, I didn’t check who it was. I just - I’m so stupid.”

“I’m sure you are not stupid.”

“But I am, I just knocked hot coffee all over my pants.”

“Ouch. Is everything okay… Down there?”

Phil wanted to laugh but also to get offended, he opted for the former. “I can’t believe you just asked that! Yes, if you must know. Everything is okay.”

“Great because I wanted to invite you out for coffee… if you are willing, of course.” 

“Oh, I’m not done with the photos yet,” he said distractedly as he pressed some tissues to his pants trying to absorb some of the moisture.

Daniel laughed. “Yes, I imagined that. I didn’t mean in a business setting, Phil.”

Phil couldn’t actually believe it. “Are you - Are you really asking me out?”

“If you were interested, yes.” He paused. “Unless I read you entirely wrong, in which case, I’m joking, haha.”

“Yes!” Phil stood so quickly that he knocked his chair back.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I would like to go out with you on a date or anything you want.”

Daniel’s tone dropped considerably. “Anything?”

Phil was left opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “You! You are terrible!”

“So I’ve heard,” Daniel said sounding amused.

“Ok,” said Phil, bracing himself. “I can handle it. How about Friday?”

“Friday it is.”

—–

When Phil got there Dan had already taken over a booth for them.

Phil took a moment to look at him before approaching him. His skin was positively glowing under the sunlight coming through the window. If it hadn’t been absolutely inappropriate, he would have taken a quick picture to capture his beauty.

He finally made his way to the booth and slid in. 

Daniel looked at him with a gentle smile. “Hi, how are you doing?”

“Great, I was looking forward to seeing you again,” Phil said as he removed his jacket. 

Daniel’s eyes gave him a once over. “Would you like me to order for you?”

“A caramel Macchiato with a chocolate muffin, please.”

Daniel laughed carelessly. “Oh. Thank god, Phil! I thought we were going to do that thing where we pretend we are aliens who don’t eat to impress each other.”

Phil gave him an amused look. “I mean, I think you are adorable but I love my desserts. I don’t think we would work out well If you tried to keep me from my sweets.”

Daniel placed his hand on Phil’s briefly. “I wouldn’t dream of it!” he said before finally going to the counter. 

They enjoyed their coffees with a variety of pastries Daniel got them much to Phil’s content. The conversation flowed effortlessly, jumping around from their tastes in video games, tv shows, anime, art, food and drinks. Things were not as easy when they somehow ended on the topic of failed relationships. 

Daniel sighed. “The thing is that I love being Obsidian Rose, she is a powerful woman who can get anything she wants, but at the end of the day, I am also just Daniel. I don’t think I’ve found the person who can love Daniel as much as Rose, if that makes sense.”

“No, it does. It totally does,” Phil extended his hand to Daniel in an open invitation. Daniel placed his own on it and linked their fingers. “I understand that being a public personality may get in the way of people getting to know the real you and not some idolized version they had of you.”

Daniel frowned and looked out the window. “Yeah, I have honestly stayed single for the past year because I got tired of it all. It is tiring to get your heart broken over and over again, you know.” He finally looked at Phil again, searching.

Phil knew at that moment that he would need to work hard to earn Daniel’s heart and he was willing to do that. “I am as interested in Daniel as I am in Rose.”

“Are you sure? You’d have to put up with my grumpy mood, see me in messy hair and pyjamas, eating pizza on the couch during the weekend instead of going to parties. I am not a glamorous person.”

Phil smiled. “That sounds exactly like the kind of person I would date. I can’t wait to join you on the couch and not go to parties. For now, I think we should take it slow, get to know each other and finish the campaign before we decide to see where this goes. Deal?”

Daniel smiled back, “Deal.”

——

Two weeks later, one coffee date and two movie nights at Phil’s later, the second photo shoot finally arrived. 

Daniel was finishing his hair as fast as he could when the doorbell rang. He set the hairdryer on the vanity, hitting his toes against the legs and almost knocking his makeup the ground. “FUCK! Fuckfuckshit, motherfuckingggg-”

The doorbell rang again. 

Daniel interrupted his tantrum and limped to his front door, checking who it was before opening it.

Phil smiled widely with a huge bouquet of red roses in his hands. “Hi!… what happened?”

“Hi.” Daniel pouted, “I stub my toes on my vanity and almost broke a lot of my makeup.”

“Awww. Poor baby,” Phil said before kissing him on the cheek and stepping in.

Daniel couldn’t help but smile. “Are those for me?”

“Yes, I hope you like them. I just saw them and thought of you.”

Daniel nudged him gently, taking the roses. “Sap. Thank you, I love them.” He put them in a vase with fresh water and set them on his desk. 

“Do you need me to help you with anything or are you ready to go?”

“Not quite ready. Mmmm, you could pick one of the outfits I have out for today, I can’t decide,” Daniel said, pointing to his closet.

There were three dresses hanging on the door. Phil took each of the hangers and examined them carefully. The long black velvet dress followed the theme but it was too similar to the first outfit and the short black vinyl dress would be tricky to photograph and would take eyes out of makeup. He smiled as soon as he saw the last dress, a black lace dress that would accentuate Rose’s waist and had an intricate yet delicate skull pattern. 

“This one!” Phil said displaying the dress.

“That was what I had in mind! I just started overthinking it and then doubt drove me a bit crazy,” Daniel turned and shoved all of his makeup in a case along with his hair dryer, he knew he would hate himself for it later, but they needed to go. “Ok, let’s go, I’ll finish my hair in the studio while you set up.”

“Are you sure? I can wait.”

“No, it’s fine,” Daniel said, before leaning closer “Thank you,” he said before kissing Phil’s lips softly. 

Daniel looked into Phil’s eyes unsure if he had overstepped their boundaries, but Phil smiled and went bright red before hugging him. He placed his hand on Daniel’s cheek and gave him a soft kiss, sighing. 

The doorbell rang again. Jane didn’t make any comments about Phil being in Daniel’s flat but did send her boss a few amused looks which he absolutely ignored. 

The photo shoot went incredible; even better than the first one. Rose decided to change her makeup quite a few times. For the eyeshadow palette, she kept the black lipstick that was the staple of the collection and a crescent moon of silver and gold glitter wrapping around her eye with a variety of looks to display the different pigments. Rose decided to use the pictures of this shoot for the main billboards and magazines and reserve the previous ones for buses and smaller advertisements.

They worked late into the night, stopping a few times to rest and eat. 

Phil pretended not to notice the amused looks he was getting from Jane, but when they finished with the shoot and Rose went into the dressing room, there was no escaping her.

Jane was only 5”2’ but when she stood right in front of Phil with an intense look and put her hands on his shoulders making him sit, he didn’t dare to say no. “Phil, you look like a nice guy-”

“I am!” Phil interrupted her. 

“Shush! You look like a nice guy, but if you hurt Daniel I will chop off your legs and throw you into the river! He has suffered enough because of star-struck twats!”

“No, I promise. I really do care about him!”

“Really? Or are you just using him for sex!?”

Phil was absolutely outraged, “We- We haven’t! I - I wouldn’t do that!”

“You haven’t?” Jane gasped.

Phil blushed realizing he had revealed too much. 

“Why?” Jane asked in a much softer voice. 

Phil raised one eyebrow. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we decided to take things slow.” 

To Phil’s surprise, Jane smiled. “That’s nice. Just remember what I said. Legs, river.”

“What is that now, Jane? Are you tormenting poor Phil?” Daniel said, making Jane jump and Phil stand up. 

“We were just talking, Dani,” Jane smiled sweetly.

Daniel sighed. “I’ve told you not to call me Dani, we are not 16 anymore.”

“I wouldn’t know, you age backwards,” Jane said.

“Flattery doesn’t become you, Darling,” Daniel smiled and turned to Phil. “Do you have dinner plans?” 

“No, would you like to order some pizza and watch a movie?”

“Yes. I’ll leave my stuff at my flat and meet you there,” Daniel said and leaned in to kiss Phil but stopped short when Jane squealed. “Why are you still here? Stop meddling and go. See you on Sunday for lunch.”

“Rude!” Jane stuck her tongue to Daniel. “I’ll tell Karen that you are mean to me.”

“I’ll stop giving you the makeup I get sent.”

“Fine, see you on Sunday,” She said, kissing Daniel on the cheek and leaving.

Daniel sighed. “Now, where were we?” he put his arms on Phil’s shoulders. “Oh, yeah.” He smiled and kissed Phil softly.

——

That night they had a full Pixar marathon, they laughed, they cried and kissed, cuddling on the sofa under a fluffy blanket. Finally, at 2 am, they could barely stay awake, Phil didn’t want Daniel to leave but he knew it was still all too new to take things further. Then, he had a brilliant idea; he had a guest bedroom, so there was no need for Daniel to leave, he could just stay the night.

“Do you want to stay the night?”

“Oh? Yeah, yeah,” Daniel smiled.

“In the guest bedroom, of course, I’m not trying to …”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Daniel said looking a bit unhappy about the arrangement, but Phil knew it was for the best. 

He got Daniel extra toiletries, blankets, an extra pair of pyjamas, tucked him in and kissed him before leaving.

Daniel tossed and turned unable to sleep for about an hour until he finally gave up and knocked on Phil’s bedroom door.

“Come in,” Phil croaked.

Daniel opened the door and smiled at the sight of Phil in glasses, hair dishevelled, with a book in his hands. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” admitted Phil. 

“Can I sleep here with you? Just sleep, I - I feel lonely.”

Phil set the book and his glasses on his nightstand and opened the covers. Daniel took a short run and jumped in, making Phil laugh.

Once they had found a comfortable position to cuddle, Daniel finally yawned. “Good night.”

“Good night, Daniel.”

Phil turned off the light and kissed Daniel’s forehead before drifting off to sleep.

——

Once they had left their fears behind and had a very serious conversation about the future, schedules, trips, work commitments and what they were looking for in a relationship, they made it official. 

The launch of the Black Velvet makeup collection came 8 months later. Phil walked the red carpet with Rose when he was asked to, but he was absolutely happy to sneak into events and just spend time with his boyfriend without being in the spotlight.

It was not always easy to have quality time, but they took every opportunity to be together they had. Phil had planned to surprise Daniel for his birthday by visiting him in Mallorca, where he was working for a month, but he had to scrap that idea. Daniel called him crying, because he missed him and Phil had no heart to keep the secret from him, so he texted him the picture of his plane ticket. 

Realizing that spending time apart was more painful than was worth it, they started to plan their schedules together. Everything became a joint effort, they started to develop concepts for new makeup launches together, Daniel handled Phil’s Instagram account and Phil, of course, took Daniel’s Pictures. They still had their solo projects and careers but they mostly travelled together and took work in the same places when possible.

Daniel cancelled an interview in Germany to join Phil at a family wedding. Phil rescheduled an important business meeting to meet Daniel’s grandma when she was in town. And together they discarded all of those unsatisfactory jobs that they would have taken before just because they had nothing to do with their time than bury themselves in work.

They had finally found their other half; someone to love and be loved in return. They were business partners, friends, lovers, soulmates; and a year later, in a luxurious yet discreet hotel, among their family and friends, they finally became husbands.

[shreddedparchment]

The End of the World Pt.4

Thor, the Hulk, and the Lab

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Word Count: 2,057

Warnings: Light profanity, bromance feels

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5

Masterpost

A/N: I cannot begin to express how much fun I’m having with this fic. I am so grateful to anyone reading it and I’d love to get some feedback! Even if you don’t want to leave a comment, thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read my little fic. xoxo

I could not find the link to the first gif as I found it on google.

“Thor, you’re back!”

“Banner, it’s good to see you again.”

Both Thor and the man called Banner move towards each other eagerly as you follow Thor into the most massive lab you have ever seen. The walls are smooth white concrete, on the largest wall is etched a large ‘A' which your recognize as the same ‘A’ that emblazoned the old Avengers tower in New York. The floor is a darker shade of grey, concrete, with patches of what looks like metal grating. The place gives off a sterile, hospital vibe, as all good and clean labs should. There's a corner where three Iron Man suits are on display with one piece or another missing from each. Works in progress? Or perhaps being fixed. Behind these normal ones is the large iron suit you saw Iron Man use on the news when the Hulk went crazy in Johannesburg back before you’d met Thor. You’d met him shortly after that when he had still been with Jane.

Another part of the lab is taken up by a series of tables with stools. The tables are scattered with lab equipment. Beakers and microscopes and other more high tech gadgets that you’ve never seen before. There's even a shiny and beaten circular shield with faded red and white paint half hidden beneath a messy pile of papers. The center of the lab is taken up by a large circular table with an open center where someone might stand. The area where Banner has clearly been working has several computer screens and a strange metal box with smaller metal boxes along its top and sides along with a large satellite dish pointed up at the ceiling.

Thor and Banner grasp forearms in greeting and genuinely look happy to see each other.

Banner turns his gaze on you. He takes his arm back and pushes the left sleeve of his grey button up shirt as he moves towards you then stops a few feet away. He scratches at the inside of his elbow as he looks from you to Thor and back to you with one of the sweetest and pleased smiles you’ve ever seen. His wavy hair is in disarray and you can’t help but wish he had glasses and a lab coat. He would look every part the mad scientist.

“And who’s this?��� Banner asks.

“Banner, this is Y/N. She's my…er…” Thor stops.

“Your girlfriend?” Banner finishes.

You look at Thor with a small frown. Why couldn’t he say it? He smiles however a small sheepish smile.

“Y/N this is Bruce Banner. He's an amazing scientist and a good friend.” You reach out towards Bruce to shake his hand. “But you might know him better as the Hulk.”

You freeze. Your eyes dart to the hulk sized iron suit and then back to Bruce. This tiny man is the Hulk? His size isn’t the only thing that shocks you. You’ve seen the Hulk on the news and only once in person but he’d been far away. And yet, when he'd yelled back then, even so far away from you, you'd felt the reverberations of his war cry in your body. Fear suddenly grips you and you try not to let it show in your expression as you give Bruce a tight smile as he takes your hand and shakes it.

He seems to see the fear however because he gives you a grimace. A tight smile of his own, guarded as he realizes where your thoughts are. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Don’t worry, I haven’t been able to get the Hulk to come out since Thanos showed up and kicked his ass.”

You let yourself relax and let a nervous laugh escape through your lips as your fear slowly dissipates. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Fear is a perfectly reasonable response to Hulk. He’s unpredictable.”

Bruce takes his hand back and begins to move back towards his table and his contraption but keeps his eyes on you and then looks at Thor. He points at Thor, gesturing at him with the pen in his hand.

“Besides, even if he were to show his cowardly face, Thor would be the best person to protect you.” He turns to his table then reaches down and slips a pair of glasses on as he picks up a small metal box with strange small computer chips of some sort made of shiny bronze wafers.

He replaces the pen with a pair of very small tweezers and begins to prod into the box.

“Barely.” Bruce finishes then looks at Thor over the rim of his glasses, a smug smile on his face.

“I beat him in that fight, Banner. If I hadn’t had that damn contraption on my neck I would have been victorious. Cheater.” Thor moves towards Bruce's table and looks over his shoulder at what he’s working on. “Have you made any progress?”

Thor stops slightly behind and to the left of Bruce as he works, his arms move up to cross over his chest. Despite the inappropriateness of it in the moment, you admire the way his chest bulges and pushes against the light blue and white striped t-shirt he wears over a pair of plain jeans.

“Sort of.” Bruce sighs. “Jane and I were able to piece together the scanner from the scraps of the ship that you and Rocket brought us. We also took a few things from some of the broken suits Tony leaves lying around. Since he’s not really around to tell us not to we figured it would be fine.”

There was that name again. You try to push past the childish jealousy and focus on the important things.

“Perhaps we just won't tell him we took anything.” Thor suggests seriously.

“I think that might be a good idea.” Bruce agrees then leans to the side as Thor leans forward so that he can get a better look at Bruce's work. “What do you think?”

Thor looks at Bruce who then gestures to the innards of the scanner with the hand holding the small cube. Thor leans back again, his eyes narrowed as he nods.

“It, uh…it looks like you’re doing well. Getting it all built.”

Bruce stares at Thor quietly before giving you a smile and then going back to his work. You're both sure that Thor has no idea what he's looking at.

“Do you know how it works?” Bruce asks. There's a small glint of pleasure that passes through his eyes.

Thor looks at you. You’re still standing closer to the entrance of the lab than Bruce’s work station. He gives you the widest and possibly fakest smile you’ve ever seen. It reduces his eyes to near-slits and crinkles the corners. He looks back to Bruce. You finally move to the round table and take a seat, resting your arms on the cold surface.

“Of course I do. But maybe you should explain it to Y/N, in case she doesn't know?”

Bruce looks up at Thor over the rim of his glasses again. Thor looks to you, gives you that goofy smile again, then back to Bruce as his right hand comes up to scratch underneath his chin.

“Right.” Bruce says. He looks to you and gestures to the box. “We took the pieces of the ship that Rocket and the rest of the Guardians were able to recover when they rescued Thor, and Jane was able to extract a mineral specific to the ship's construction. Something we don’t have here. I’m calling it Particle U. Jane had a fancier name for it but it was too hard to remember.”

Of course.

The door of the lab suddenly opens and in walks Rocket. He doesn’t look at any of you as he moves to the tables with the custom equipment, then begins to rifle through it. Bruce and Thor also watch Rocket until he reaches the table.

“We built the scanner around Particle U so that it’ll scan space and hopefully we can find the ships that the Asgardians were able to escape on. Hopefully we'll be able to reach out far enough. I’ve never had to scan space in search of a ship before.”

You nod understanding the general idea but you cock your head to the left as a thought occurs to you.

“What is it, love?” Thor asks. He crosses both arms across his chest but his goofy smile is gone as he considers you seriously.

“Scanning for Particle U in all of space, how do you know it’s the ships you’re going to find? What if you scan and there’s some planet with a large deposit of Particle U? Wouldn’t that just send Thor on a wild goose chase?” Your eyes are on Bruce.

“She has a point.” Thor agrees with you and turns back to Bruce who finishes fitting the small square he’d been working on back into its slot.

He removes his glasses before he answers you. “We've calibrated the scanner to pick up only the amounts of Particle U that we estimate the ships to have together collectively. If by chance they got separated we'll alternate between the multiple ship estimates and the single ship estimates. But you're right. It is a possibility.”

You get up from your seat and move over to Bruce's work station to get a look at the scanner. It’s complex looking. It has a small screen that is currently completely black and unlit.

“Here goes nothing.” Bruce reaches around to the back of the scanner and flips what must be a small switch. You hear the click. The screen suddenly flares to life.

Well, it’s on anyway. You can see the small amount of light along the edges of the screen indicating it’s on but nothing populates the black screen.

Thor's expression changes as he too stares at the screen. His brow is furrowed and his lips squished into a straight line.

You all wait for several minutes before Bruce finally releases a held breath, Thor's shoulders slump, and he sighs as he looks down at his feet.

“What’s wrong?” You wonder.

“We don’t have a transmitter large enough in space for us to receive this specific signal.” Bruce shakes his head. “If I had more time I might be able to build something…”

Thor turns away, literally walks away from the problem. You move to replace his spot and stare at the blank screen.

“Isn't there something you can do?” You ask, desperate to see Thor smile and have his stress lessened.

“Nothing.” Bruce admits. “It's hopeless.”

"How can you know what a collapsing neutron star inside an Einstein-Rosen Bridge looks like and not know how to make this scanner work?" Thor's tone is hard and impatient, disbelieving. Like he cannot believe that Bruce has failed him.

"I'm sorry, I've never done this kind of specific scanning before. I've never had to build anything to scan outer space before."

Bruce reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes.

You turn to look at Thor, his wide shoulders hunched with his disappointment. You consider going over to him to hug him but that’ll only make you feel better. In order for Thor to feel better the scanner needs to work!

The stressful quiet is suddenly interrupted by a series of scrapes and bangs.

“Hey!” Bruce suddenly protests.

You turn back quickly and see the tip of Rocket's ears disappear behind the tall table as he steps off of a stool just behind the scanner.

“Humans.” You hear Rocket grumble.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

You imagine yourself crazy for a second before you notice that the black screen is no longer blank and a code of coordinates followed by strings of numbers are filling it.

The computer to Bruce's right is also diligently recording the numbers before it wipes it and then replaces them with another.

“How'd you do that?!” Bruce bolts from his seat and rushes around to the back of the scanner to see what Rocket had done.

Rocket himself is no longer nearby having retreated back to the tables with equipment.

Thor rushes forward and bumps into you in his excitement to see the scanner's screen and the computer monitor as well.

“It's working. It's working!” He turns to you, wraps his arms around you, and lifts you up as he laughs excitedly and spins you.

Your heart soars for him, his happiness is yours until he sets you back down on your feet.

He calls Bruce back to the computer monitor to explain what he’s seeing.

As you watch them eagerly sift through the numbers on the screen you realize that soon Thor will leave you again.

@bionic-buckyb @ulired @mdgrdians @biawol

[blackdahlia05]

15 Years

Ahhhh! This was amazing to write. This Tom Holland/Spiderman fic was based on the song Same Auld Land Syne by Dan Fogelberg, if you haven’t listened to it, you must!

Enjoy my another one of my sappy writings!

Word Count: 1741

Warnings: none.

I searched through the aisles as I searched for the one thing that could make my night better. Alcohol. The thought of my husband at home, possibly shacking up with a party guest hardly phased me. I had been dealing with this for almost 12 years. Our anniversary was coming up in a month. I cringed at the thought of how long I had been married to this man. I had given up my dreams of becoming a reporter because he told me I should stay at home, that he would provide. I had been stupid and young then to believe him. Lost in my own thought, I barely felt the tug on my sleeve. I turned around a little confused at the man who had just gotten my attention. In a split second, my eyes flew open wide, realizing that Peter Parker was standing right before me.

“Peter!” I exclaimed. I threw my hands out, going to hug him and ended up spilling my purse all over the floor. “Drat!” I went down to pick up my mess and noticed that Peter had as well.

“Still clumsy I see, Janey.” My breath hitched in my throat when he spoke. Partially because his voice had grown deeper, and partially because I hadn’t been called ‘Janey’ in 15 years. I brushed off my embarrassment with a laugh, Peter joining me. Soon we were just laughing incredibly hard we had tears running down our faces.

“I wouldn’t be the same Mary Jane Watson if I wasn’t clumsy.” I giggled.

“Of course not.” He agreed. We made our way to the checkout stand and waited patiently in silence while the lady bagged up my items. It seemed like we were standing together for only seconds when we walked outside.

“Peter,” I blurted, not wanted to lose him just yet. He turned back, a hopeful look on his boyish face. “Do you want to maybe go and have a drink somewhere?”

“Yeah. I mean yes. I would like that.” He sputtered. I smiled and motioned for him to follow me. Once inside my car, I immediately turned on the heat. The New York snow on Christmas Eve was dreadful. We drove around in a comfortable silence looking for an open bar. To our dismay, we couldn’t find any open bars. The closest thing that we could find was a liquor store.

“It’s the only thing we got, and I really want to catch up with you, Peter.” I mumbled looking at the store.

“I’m not complaining. Be back in a minute Janey.” Within a flash he was in and out of the liquor store with a 6 pack. I quickly moved to the backseat where Peter joined me. He opened a bottle for each of us and we clinked them together before taking a sip. “So how have you been?”

“I’ve been well. I uh, don’t report anymore.” I muttered, ashamed of the confession.

“Really? That was your passion!” Peter exclaimed.

“Well, I got married.” The look on his face made me want to cry. “His name is Michael, Michael Lannister. He makes a good swell of money and told me I would never have to work as long as I was with him.”

“But its what you love, Mary Jane. How could you give it up?” He seemed to mad that I had given up reporting.

“Because I was in love, and I wanted to make my husband happy. I wanted a simple life I thought. I thought if I made a sacrifice unlike you, I would still have fulfillment.” I droned on. “I thought that if I had given up something that I loved, for the person I loved, then I could show you that it was easy.”

“You were mad at me then.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Of course, I was mad at him. I didn’t want to deal with worrying if Peter he was going to die, or get injured, or get lost in space. I couldn’t live like that. We were 17 when I told him it was either the Avengers or me. He told me he couldn’t give up the Avengers, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love me.

“I was terribly angry with you. You were the love of my life. And I wanted to marry you, but I also didn’t want to deal with the crazy. I realize now that I was selfish.” I sighed.

“I can’t blame you,” He looked down. “I put you through so much back then.”

“Well enough about that Peter.” I smiled. “How have you been? I heard from the news that Peter Parker is a big CEO of Stark Industries.” I wiggled my eyebrow at him, making him laugh.

“Yes, that’s all true. Mr. Stark has been great to me.” His smiled lit up across his face as he talked about Tony Stark. This was the man he had utmost respect for.

“What about the dating scene? Any hopefuls?” I questioned. His face went sour.

“I met a girl and her name was Gwen Stacy. Remember her from school?” I nodded. “Well we were together for a year, and she was so involved with my life as Spiderman, that she got in too deep. I just couldn’t save her.”

“I’m so sorry Peter.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. He had tears in eyes but quickly blinked them away. I remember reading somewhere that Gwen Stacy had died, five years ago in an accident, but I never paid much attention to the article.

“She was a great friend honestly, but I don’t think I ever loved her the way I loved you.” Peter mumbled, looking down at me. A blush had creeped its way up on my face as we stared in each other’s eyes. “You look the same as you did 15 years ago, Mary Jane. Beautiful. Your eyes still shine as bright too.”

He started to lean down to my level, not breaking eye contact. His hot breath hit my face, making me warm. Without hesitation, I leaned up making our lips connect. My arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. It had been 15 years since I had kissed Peter Parker. 15 years since I had been in his arms. 15 years that I never stopped living him. Not even for one second.

Our lips moved in sync just like they did all those years ago. Peter held me tight against his body. His frame had gotten wider, my body melding perfectly into his. It felt like hours that we were entwined by the lips, neither one of us wanting to pull away. The need for air is what forced us apart, just barely. I looked up at the brunette before me, with a wide smile on my face. I went to lean back in for another kiss, when I remembered I had a husband, and that even thought he had repeatedly cheated on me, I was a loyal person.

“Peter.” I whispered, stopping him from kissing me. “I have a husband at home.”

“Oh.” He didn’t try to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I’m sorry Peter, I just can’t” I choked on the words. His hand went to my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.

“I’ll never pressure you to do anything you don’t want to.” He whispered, planting a kiss on my forehead. “It’s getting late anyway.”

“I’m sorry Peter.” I said again.

“I love you, Mary Jane.” Peter said as he reached for the door. He was waiting for me to respond, when I didn’t he opened the door, got out, and walked away.

“I love you too.” I mumbled. For a moment, I went back to the night that I had left Peter. 17, my hair was dyed a bright red. Tears streamed down my face as they did that night. Peter had stood before me, begging me not to leave, but I knew I had to. I wanted Peter Parker, not Spiderman. I had broken down when I closed his apartment door, his sob rang through the entire hall. The same pain that I felt that night filled my chest again as I climbed into the driver seat of the car.

My entire drive back to my house consisted of me wiping tears from my eyes so I could see and would not crash. I had let him slip through my fingers all because I was loyal to a man that had never been loyal to me. When I pulled up into my driveway, the party had seemed to have ended and the lights were off from what I could see. It was quiet when I walked in, I hoped that Michael had gone to bed already.

I went up to my bedroom, opened the door to see a horrific sight. Michael was on top of a girl, blatantly having sex with her, in my own bed. They had not realized that I was standing there until the girl shrieked. Michael looked behind him and gasped. I felt the lurch in my stomach, but it wasn’t as big as it was when I had first found out.

“Mary.” Michael started.

“My attorney will be sending you divorce papers.” I snapped, turned away and made my way back downstairs. My heart pounded as I ran out of the house, not bothering to grab a single thing. I didn’t want anything that was his. I wanted my freedom and I never wanted to see him again. Once in my car, I started driving again, not knowing where I was going, just knowing that I was getting the hell away from Michael Lannister.

I reached into my coat pocket to grab my phone and ended up pulling out what looked like a business card out with it. I examined to see that it read,

Peter Parker

CEO – Stark Industries

(123) 456 7890

I almost squealed with delight. He must have done it on purpose. When we kissed, he must have slipped in into my pocket. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips as I dialed the number as fast as I could. It rang a couple times before his voice flooded my ears.

“It’s Peter.” He said. My hands were shaking, and I was smiling from ear to ear as I spoke the words I was too afraid to say earlier.

“I love you too.”

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Trouble in Gotham

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam, The Flash - Jason Todd/Red Hood, feat. Barry Allen/Flash, & BatFam

Rating: PG

Original Idea: This is what happens when you’re still over-obsessed with the BatFam but try to catch up on the Flash TV show at the same time... (Season 3... I’m way behind.)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This is what is referred to in the Sanders Sides fandom as a Mud Fic---or a muddled fic---because I didn’t want to write any context.  Also this one is LONG! @welovegroot @batboys-and-other-messes

^^^^^

I slid to a stop next to the Batmobile in the Batcave. "Whoo! That was fun!" I said brightly.

"Welcome back, Volt. Decent patrol, I assume?" Batman asked from the computer.

"What do you mean? I was out for two days. You didn't seriously assume I was patrolling the whole time, did you?" I asked.

"You okay, Volt? Did you hit your head?" Tim asked. "You were only gone for like two hours."

"Sorry. I guess it felt like two days. That happens when your mind can run as fast as your legs," I said. "So where's Jason? I thought he'd wanna give me a welcome-back kiss."

"Who?" Damian asked, not looking up from where he was sharpening his sword.

"Jason. Jason Todd? Brash, impulsive, flirty in the right mood, complete literature nerd who could probably quote the entirety of The Complete Works of Jane Austen? Red Hood? Ringing a bell?"

"Volt, I think Alfred needs to check you for a concussion. There's no Jason Todd here. The last member of the Red Hood Gang fell into a vat of chemicals and then reemerged as the Joker, like, decades ago," Tim said.

Dick pointedly ignored me.

"I know that. And then Jason took up the name when he came back from the dead. He replaced Dick as Robin and then the Joker killed him," I said.

Bruce, Tim, and Damian all glanced at each other. Dick continued to ignore everything---which seemed really unlike him. The three of them looked back at me. "Volt… Tim replaced Rich as Robin ages after Rich took up the name Nightwing," Bruce said. I blinked in confusion, looking between the three of them.

"Rich? Since when has Dick gone by Rich?" I looked over at Dick for an explanation, but he continued to act as though I wasn't even there, turning in his chair so he back was to me. I scrunched my eyebrows.

"Since he was twelve," Bruce replied. "Kids at school made fun of him so he changed what he went by."

"What about the kid that tried to hit you with the tire iron after you caught him stealing tires off the Batmobile?" I pressed, zipping over to the computer.

"That kid didn't try to hit me with a tire iron. He'd been on the streets for a while and it traumatized him. He was scared and alone. I took him to the orphanage three blocks away from Wayne Tower."

"No, you took him in and trained him to be Robin so he wouldn't turn to a life of crime, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Volt. Go get some rest. You're obviously confused. You might have depleted your blood sugar so much that you're hallucinating."

"Guys, seriously. I haven't run back in time recently and screwed with the timeline or anything. Stop messing with me. Where's Jason?"

"You know just as well as the rest of us that we and Father do not 'mess with' each other," Damian said, attention still on his sword.

I scrunched my nose. "Uh… right. Be right back," I said.

I bolted out of the Batcave at top speed.

The wind whistled through my hair. I tapped my comm link. "Hey Bruce, can we talk for a sec on a private line?" I asked.

There was a click. "Private line established. What's on your mind?"

"Why is Dick ignoring me? I mean, usually he's, uh, all over the place."

"The two of you broke up three weeks ago. Give him time," Bruce said.

"Broke up? I never dated Dick!"

"Volt, you and Rich were in a relationship for two years."

"No, I dated Jason for this past year," I muttered. "I never dated Dick."

"Young lady, I want you to return to the cave right now, take off your suit, eat a decent meal, and go to bed. You're talking nonsense. There is no Jason Todd in this family, and there never has been."

My heart cramped, so I slid to a stop. Panting, I leaned against a building for support. "I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, killing the comm link connection with a whack at my ear, ignoring Bruce protesting.

I looked at the building across the street.

The orphanage three blocks away from Wayne Tower.

It took me all of five minutes to find Jason's records from the orphanage, trace them through the foster system, and find where he ended up. I felt like I was going crazy. At least Jason Todd existed. I ran all over the city trying to follow his life, and finally skidded on the pavement in front of one of his current places of employment---according to bank records, he had two jobs.

Buuuuut it was one in the morning so, obviously, the place was closed.

I sighed, shook my head, and sped back to Wayne Manor---where I got told off by Bruce for five minutes (that felt like five years) about keeping my blood sugar up and staying well-rested before being sent off to eat and go to bed.

Alfred tried to say something to me, but obviously wasn't sure of what to say so he just told me he hoped I'd enjoy my meal and left the kitchen.

I ate at a normal human pace---because if I didn't I'd get a stomachache---and went to bed.

^^^^^

I slid to a stop around the corner from where Jason worked at ten the next morning and fixed my hair so it wouldn't look like I'd just run five miles at nine-hundred-miles-per-hour. Painting a neutral expression on my face, I strolled around the corner and looked at the sign.

Harper & Todd Garage---Car and Motorcycle Repair

There was Jason, looking the exact same minus the white streak in his hair, sitting on a low stool and using a wrench to twist a bolt on a huge Harley Davidson bike. He didn't have headphones in nor was there music playing from speakers. He didn't even see me approach because he was so focused on his work.

"'Scuse me?" I asked, tilting up onto my tiptoes and back down again.

He glanced over at me shyly and went back to looking at the motorcycle he was working on. "May I help you, miss?" he asked.

"You're Jason Todd, right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said quietly, not looking at me.

"I don't mean to be rude, but do you know who I am?" I took a few steps closer and crouched down so we were closer to the same eye level.

He snuck a quick peek at me---but not one fast enough for a speedster to miss. "Should I know who you are?" He spoke as though he didn't want me to hear, and shied away from me, trying desperately to shrink into himself to avoid this interaction.

It was weird, seeing a six-foot brick house of a man try to occupy as little space as possible. It was nearly impossible. He was just built to be huge.

"Well yeah. I mean, we've been dating for a year," I said.

For the first time, Jason looked at me for longer than a split second, though he still preferred to look at my forehead than my eyes. His eyes swept me up and down and he went back to looking at his motorcycle.

"Miss, I think I'd remember dating a girl like you," he mumbled timidly. "But I've never even had a girlfriend. I think you have me confused with someone else."

"I guess I must. My apologies, Mr. Todd." It broke my heart to call him something besides Jay or Jason. "Excuse me for a moment." I pushed myself back to a standing position and jogged over to the end of the parking lot so I was out of earshot of the man who I'd shared countless moments with who now no longer even remembered my name.

I pulled my phone out and searched my contacts for a familiar name. Selecting it, I held the phone up to my ear.

"Hey what's up?" a familiar voice asked when the call connected.

"Heeeeey Barry… so… did you run back in time recently?" I asked, striving for casual. "Like, say, maybe fifteen years back or so?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. I did. But it was an accident. Why what's up? How did you know?"

"I'm, uh… I'm having a little trouble in Gotham. Because my boyfriend is no longer my boyfriend. He doesn't remember who I am, he was never adopted by Bruce and never trained to be Robin or Red Hood, and he has the exact opposite personality to the one he's supposed to have. He's supposed to be brash and loud and impulsive and flirtatious when he's in the right mood and now he's scared of me---me, a five-one pipsqueak who looks like a middle-schooler---and acting shy. Jason is not supposed to be shy. Jason is the bravest and one of the most gregarious men I've ever met. Oh, also, supposedly I just broke up with his older brother---who I never dated and is now not his older brother---three weeks ago," I ranted.

"Wait. So, if the timeline shifted and changed, how come you can remember it? Usually I'm the only one," Barry said.

"I don't know, and I don't care. I want my life back. I want Jason back. Am I particularly angry at the fact that he's no longer a somewhat-reformed killer? No. But I want my Jason back."

"Volt, you know I can't go back and try to fix it. You know that awful things happen when we meddle with time too much. If I go back and try to fix what I did yesterday, I might just make things worse."

"What if you just go back to yesterday then and stop yourself from jumping back in time farther?" I suggested.

"I, uh, I don't think that will work either."

"Fight me, Allen. I'll do it," I snapped.

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Don't do that. You're just going to mess up the timeline even more."

"I doubt that. I'm doing us both a favor." I hung up my phone, shoved it in my pocket, tied my hair back in a ponytail---that I tucked down the neckline of my shirt---and glanced over my shoulder. Jason was still working on the motorcycle, covered in grease, and paying me no attention.

I bent my knees, shook my head, and bolted forward.

I ran to Central City first, skidded to a stop in front of Barry, slapped him for being an idiot, and then sped off again before he could catch up to run through time. Just to yesterday to stop Barry from running back even farther.

Which I did. I tackled him into the pavement, both of us going sprawling. "What is your problem, Volt?" yesterday-Barry demanded, staggering to his feet. "What are you even doing in Central City? I thought you lived in Gotham."

"Listen Flash, you were just about to run back in time way too far. Tomorrow-you told me it was an accident. I'm choosing to believe him. But by running back by accident, even if you didn't change anything, changed my entire life. So don't. You. Dare," I snapped. "You made my boyfriend lose all knowledge of my existence---and become the exact opposite of who he's supposed to be. Whilst also changing it so instead I was dating his older brother and just broke up with him. A relationship I don't even remember! So don't even think about breaking the space-time continuum today."

"Okay. I'll slow down," Barry said. "I really wasn't intending to travel through time today."

"Good. Keep it that way. Because if you do run back in time, you'll ruin my life."

"I won't. Sorry, Volt."

"I'll accept your apology tomorrow when my life is back to normal," I said before taking off again.

I ran back to tomorrow, the right day, and left Central City, heading for Gotham.

I slid to a stop in the Batcave. It was empty of people, but the equipment was still present. "Bruce? Dick? Jason? Tim? Damian? Cassie? Alfred? Steph? Babs? Anyone here?" I shouted.

No response.

I ran through the city to the place where I'd last seen Jason---the garage.

It was boarded up and rundown with Gio's Garage painted over the door.

I bolted back to the Batcave, up the stairs, and through the manor, looking for my family.

"Miss Watts, what has Master Bruce told you about running in the house?" Alfred asked as I slid on my socks all the way across the ballroom with my momentum. I stumbled and fell over before scrambling back to my feet.

"Sorry Alfred. Where is everyone?"

"You've all been out for two days on a mission. The rest of the family went out shortly after you did with no way of telling you they were also leaving. You're the first to arrive back. I suggest you eat something and get some rest. I shall alert you when the others return."

"Thanks Alfred."

I did as he suggested. Ate a lot of food and then went to take a nap---but I did it down in the Batcave on a gurney so that I'd know when the others came back.

^^^^^

The roaring of Jason's motorcycle engine woke me up---I'm not sure how long after I went to sleep.

The Batmobile followed right behind it into the cave.

I leapt off the gurney as Jason slung his leg off his bike.

At a normal human speed, I ran at him. "Jason!" I exclaimed.

He threw off his Red Hood helmet and held his arms out.

I jumped on him, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, peppering his face with kisses before drawing him in for one long, relieved kiss. His hand found the back of my head and he kissed me back enthusiastically.

"Ugh. Get a room you two," Tim complained.

"For once, I agree with Drake. Todd, Watts, you are revolting," Damian said.

"What was that for?" Jason breathed against my lips, ignoring his brothers.

"Two days apart is twenty-one-hours too long," I whispered. Jason held me close.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You're not usually like this. Even after missions longer than two days."

"I'll tell you later," I promised. "For now, just hold me. Please." I let my legs down, so I was no longer climbing on him like a jungle gym, but I didn't let him go. He wrapped his arms around me.

"Okay lovebirds," Dick teased. "You're not the only two people in the world you know!"

"Shut up, Dick!" Jason snapped, a smile in his voice.

Everything was okay. For the moment, everything was perfect.

[love-for-ever-more]

I wanna feel love: Part 2

A deacury fic

John's POV

3 years ago -1971

It was raining heavily as we walked down one of the most crowded streets of London. My mood was at it's lowest and the dreadful weather wasn't helping a bit. It had only been a couple of days since Jane, my girlfriend at the time, broke up with me saying we weren't good enough together. She also abandoned her studies and London city, to go back to her hometown.

We arrived at the bar at 9:30 pm, soaked to the bone. The frozen air made us shiver and I had already regretted my decision of going out and try to have a nice night out. The people around us wasn't anything special and the performing band wasn't as great as my friend had promised. Nothing seemed able to cheer me up that night.

It was shortly after 10:00 pm when another band stepped on the stage when I started enjoying my night there. The way those guys were performing made me think that I wanted to be up there performing with them as well.

The guitar player was the tallest man I've ever seen and the way he was playing was amazing! I couldn't quite see the drummer but his sound was so powerful even though the one who entirely caught my attention was their lead singer. His voice was electrifying, so passionate and so strong! He seemed unstoppable! The bass player, on the other side, wasn't as great as the rest of the group. I thought he was trying to make his presence more noticeable through his appearance and his look than his talent. It seemed to me that he was in a sort of competition between himself and the singer of the band. Despite this, their music was brilliant and I wished I was sitting somewhere closer to the stage so I could get a better look at them.

Some days later in 1971

"Don't be so nervous John!" my friend Steve told me for the tenth time that afternoon "you're only meeting them today and they're gonna love you!"

It was almost 2 weeks after I had seen those guys perform when I learned that they were looking for a bass player. I contacted them and they invited me to a local bar near their flat to meet me. If everything went well I would soon be auditioned for their band. I hadn't got the chance to hear them play since that night but that memory was still very much alive inside me.

"Tomorrow they're gonna see that you are a great bass player and ta-da! That'll be it! So, stop worrying and try to relax!"

I arrived there on time and I spotted the tall guitarist right away. "Hello! I'm John!" I was trying to sound and look confident enough "we spoke on the phone yesterday!"

"John hi! I'm Brian and this is Roger the drummer" Brian shouted to be heard.

"Nice to meet you, John!" Roger smiled kindly and offered me a seat at their table. "Freddie is somewhere here, too. You'll meet him soon" he told me.

We were talking for some time about general stuff, drinking our beers when my eyes caught him coming over, hastily but still in such an elegant manner a supermodel would envy. Dressed in a pair of tight, white jeans and a tight, white t-shirt with red stripes and a slightly deep v-neck and having a deep red, velvet scarf draped around his neck...he looked gorgeous!

I took a heavy breath as I felt stupefied by his appearance, by his aura.

Have you ever felt what people describe as 'everything froze and the time stopped?' Yeah.. I was feeling like this when I was watching him approach us.

No one I've ever met till that day looked like him, no one till this very day to be precise. Stupefied is an understatement...

"Hello dear! I'm Freddie Bulsara!" he chanted and took my breath away. Effortlessly. "You must be John!"

"Yes. John. Umm John Deacon"  I muttered. My awkwardness far too obvious to hide it and my voice hardly audible even to myself. My eyes were fixed on his face, on his eyes. He was wearing black eyeliner and he looked even more beautiful.

"Nice to meet you, John! John Deacon!" he smiled and stretched his hand to make a handshake with me, sealing our acquaintance. I tried to conceal the tremble inside me but I ended up giving him a rather reluctant handshake and a shy smile.

He must have understood the uncomfortable place I was in, cause his smile widened as he patted me on the shoulder. I felt my cheeks blushing heavily cause I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. I didn't know what came over me but I couldn't keep my eyes off of him!

"Come! Let us sit here for a bit, dear!" he invited me to sit on a nearby sofa.

I was still lost on him and it took me several seconds to understand where he was going. I started walking only when he was already sat there, looking intently at me. The two beers I had weren't enough to make me dizzy but today wasn't a regular day. The lights were into the same crazy fast rhythm as the music, the people around us were dancing in a frenzy and I was sitting next to him without being able to calm down.

"John is everything ok?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm.. yeah. Yes everything's fine" I tried to sound ok but I knew my uneasiness was clear enough. He, on the other hand, was really cool. It was as if he knew I couldn't help myself stop gazing at him like that and he was acting as if everything was ok with me staring at him like that.

What was happening to me? I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought that this must be how someone feels when he sees the sun as a free man, for the first time, after having spent his whole life being incarcerated. Mesmerized by its magnificence and beauty.

"So I had to walk on my clogs for forty-seven fucking blocks to the uni!" I heard him say, bringing me back to reality. "Not only did I miss the fucking bus but I almost lost my damn fingers from the cold!" he started laughing with his left hand trying to hide his teeth from me, something I found unnecessary for him to do. His smile was as unique as his whole existence to me! His protruding teeth were fitting so perfectly his facial characteristics!

We both laughed at his little misfortune and continued drinking our beers having a casual conversation. He asked me about my studies and my hometown before turning his interest in my bass playing, something I found really helpful in order to relax before getting into a serious talk.

A blonde girl came hurriedly and grabbed him by his hand, taking him away just as I started to enjoy his company without feeling stressed. "Com'on Freddie!" she yelled "we gotta dance!"

He tried to apologize to me but he was quickly surrounded by other people and I lost sight of him.

I spent the rest of the night talking and drinking with Brian and Roger, though I couldn't stop looking around hoping to get a fleeting glimpse of him.

I decided to leave at around 01:30 am having arranged an early audition at the flat all three of them shared.

As I was putting my coat on I got a glance of him for a brief moment and saw that girl hanging from his arm and dancing. I was almost at the exit when I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I turned around and saw him, looking quite drunk.

"I-I'm s-sorry about e-earlier darling!" he muttered and caught my arm to steady himself.

"No. It's ok" I smiled.

"Wi-Will you audition for us?"

"Yes! Tomorrow morning at 8:30"

His eyes gleamed as he said "I-I hope you b-be our bass play! Play-player I mean" He tried hard to sound articulate but failed.

"Thanks!" I said shyly again "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Of courssse de-dear!" he smiled and pulled his hands off of me. "G'Night John!"

"Good night!" I smiled back and exited the bar.

As I was walking back home I tried to think of something else rather than tomorrow's audition or the stress I was feeling because of it. Something completely irrelevant to everything that happened tonight. Something else than the guy with the skinny body and the raven hair that I met tonight. The advent of spring, maybe? the temperature will finally start raising, the flowers will start blossoming..

"Just imagine how beautiful.. he would be with a wreath of white and yellow daisies on his hair.." I said to myself out loud, closing the door from my flat. His image, wearing the wreath stayed on my mind the whole night after I had met him.

Now -1974

John smiled widely to himself at this memory of his and slowly opened his eyes. "That was the day I met Freddie. 3 years, thirteen days and... 4 hours have passed" he said to himself while looking at his watch "since I fell in love with him. Irreversibly and uncontrollably in love with Freddie."

"What?"

John sprang out of the couch with such a rush that he felt a little dizzy. He saw Roger standing near the kitchen door, his eyes wide open, full of surprise.

"Rog! What-what are you doing down here?" he asked, clenching his chest. "You scared the hell outta me!"

"I was thirsty so I got up to get some water. I thought you fell asleep on the couch..sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" he apologized. "But..what did you say? Is it true?"

"Did you hear me?" John asked, looking down.

"Well, at first I thought you were talking in your sleep but then I saw you looking at your watch" he said quietly. "Is it true though? Are you in love with Freddie?"

John took a deep breath and considered his options. Was there any reason to lie to his friend? Of course not. "Yeah..it's true" he admitted "I'm in love with him"

His voice was steady and clear and he was looking Roger directly in the eye.

'How strange' John thought. He could remember every time he had imagined, opening up his heart to Roger or Brian and he couldn't recall for once his voice to be that stable.

"Deaky!!" Roger squealed and made his way to hug him. "When did this happen? I mean- never mind.." he suddenly stopped talking and smiled widely at his friend. "You don't feel ashamed of it, do you?" Roger asked.

"No. Of course not. Why would I?"  John said, looking quite pleased with the turn of the events. "I don't know what kept me from saying it to you Rog.. but I feel relieved that I did. Even under these circumstances."

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Roger kept squealing like a little girl who has just been asked out by her crush "I can't believe I missed it! There are so many things I wanna ask you!"

"Roger shhh! Calm down..you are gonna wake Brian up!" John put his hand on Roger's mouth.

"Too late for that.." Brian yawned from the top of the stairs. "What's the matter anyway? Why are you making so much noise Rog?" he asked.

"Aww Brimi!! Did I wake you up?" Roger pouted for a moment and in the blink of an eye, he was pulling Brian from the neck of his t-shirt to get him down the stairs quickly and sit him down on the couch. "Come! Come Bri! Sit down! Here!" he patted the seat next to him.

"Roggie!" Brian laughed, "stop talking to me as if I'm a bloody dog.." he exclaimed and tickled Roger on his armpits, playfully.

"Ok, ok I surrender!" Roger laughed and pulled himself close to Brian. "John has something to announce. So please listen to him." he said in his most serious tone.

"Oh? What is it Johnny?" Brian glanced at John in concern.

"Well.. I didn't.. I wasn't gonna.. umm ok.. I guess it's better this way.. I'm in love with Freddie"

"What?" Brian was taken aback. "How can- what about- since when-" his mind was working really fast to understand what John just said to him.

"Wow!! Take it easy Bri! God!! you're even worse than I am!" Roger taunted making both of them burst out laughing.

They took a moment to compose themselves from Roger's remark and then John spoke.

"It's true Brian. And.. I'm happy to have finally admitted it to you two."

"We're happy too Deaky!" they both said simultaneously. Happy grins were formed on their faces.

"And.. I'm sorry that I made you come out, this way Deaks" Roger said "for making you admit your feelings for Freddie as if I was interrogating you.." he stopped and swallowed "and.. I'm sorry for making you tell Bri about it too.." he ended.

"Roger! you have to stop meddling with people's lives!" Brian laughed and pulled him closer by his waist.

"Aww shut up dear!" Roger mewled and put his arms around Brian's neck, hugging him. He turned to John and asked quietly "are you mad at me?"

"No Rog. We all know you, after all!"

"Good." Roger smiled "So, tell us how did it start? Do you think he-"

"I think it's time to get you back to sleep" Brian interrupted him, pulling slightly a golden lock from his hair "if John wants to tell us by himself anything more, he will Rog. There's no need to press him, is there?"

Roger sighed "but Bri I wanna know-"

"Roggie, let's give John some space. Ok?" he said again and got up from the couch taking Roger by his hand.

"Oookk" he finally agreed.

"We'll talk in the morning guys!" John laughed.

"Night Deaks!" they both said.

John was looking at them, getting up the stairs and couldn't help but call Roger back.

"Rog, can I ask you something before you go?"

"Sure" he said and got down again.

"You aren't gonna meet any girl in Newcastle, are you?" he asked with a huge grin on his face once Brian was out of sight.

Roger's eyes widened for a second but he got over the shock quickly and grinned back at John. "Noooo" he whispered with a devilish look. "Is it that obvious?" he asked with his voice reach it's lowest tone.

"Well, let's just say I'm really observant" John laughed.

"Fuck off Sherlock!" Roger laughed and climbed up the stairs again.

When John went to bed it was 03:00 am. Freddie hadn't returned home yet. He wanted to see him come back safe and speak to him but it was really late and he couldn't keep his eyes open. He decided to pack his suitcase tomorrow after Roger's and Brian's departure. His train would leave at 6:20 pm and he would be back next Tuesday.

He already missed Freddie. Freddie was always in his mind, always pinned there night and day, always next to John even if he was absent. He sighed deeply "where are you?" feeling the well-known pung of jealousy take over him. 'Maybe he's at Mary's' he thought. "At Mary's flat, at Mary's bed..." he sighed loudly again and tried to push this thought out of his mind.

But then something else came into his mind. "What about her?" he remembered Freddie saying earlier. "Why do you keep asking the same fucking question?" he had also said.

'He looked upset too, during Roger's questions..why did he react like that? He knows that Roger can be curious or even nosy at times and he used to be ok with that..'  John thought.

'Would it be possible for Freddie to have stopped being in love with her?' John smiled at his last thought. 'But then... if he isn't with her, where the hell is he?'

He was in his bed, trying to answer his own questions, turning from side to side under his covers until he fell asleep. He drifted away in a new world, a colorful and sunny one, where Freddie's voice and Freddie's laughter resonated across it and made him enjoy every minute of his stay there.

[pegasusdragontiger]

The Stupid and Moronic things Steve Rogers Has Done List

Pairing: Pepper Potts/ Tony Stark, Thor/Jane hint at Darcy Lewis/James Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating: G

Warnings: Fluff and feels, Laughter.  

Summary: Well someone hands Bucky a list and things don’t turn out so well. No Super Soldiers were harmed in the writing of this fic.

Okay so I got this Idea from this post that was sent to me by @queendivaofthedark pegasusdragontiger sent a photo post omg #22 whoever created the cartoon is a gem and I want to hug them so much! Cause it was like an idea buzzing in my head and told @bolontiku about and she said to me write it and tag her! Also I like to shout out to @glynnisi I sent out a call like months ago for a list of all the Stupidest and moronic things and funniest things Steve has done from the moment he rescued the Howlies and Bucky to meeting up with Bucky again and it must have been a day or too afterwards or maybe three? Anyway I tagged @mcgregorswench to help and she was like the one person to ask @glynnisi and it must have been like 4 mins later BAM I HAD THE LIST! which I have copied and saved so the list I give credit to her so If you want said list I can post that too. Lastly to my bestie/my friend/ my sis from another mother she is like a rock filled with sunshine you is has been and meant so much to me we met on Ao3 randomly and been besties ever since. By the way still planning on ruling the world or plotting can’t remember which but we will get their with our fics! This awesome funny, hilarious person beta’d this fic which I hope, I hope lives up to everything. anyway to my beta @littleplebe HERE IT IS PEOPLE!

 It was early morning when Steve and Bucky came in from their daily morning run, all tall, sweaty, gorgeously built men slightly puffing from their 15 km run. Sam hunched over, trying to drag air into his lungs. “You guys do this to me all the time, god… damn you both! I can’t breathe, I can’t move!” He collapsed on the floor. “I’m dying! I’m dying!”

Chuckling at Sam lying on the floor gasping for air, Bucky teased, “Sure you are, birdy!” He walked into the kitchen to get started on breakfast. It was his turn on the roster of kitchen duty. As he bent down getting all the pans, knives, chopping boards and the ingredients needed for what he was going to be cooking, he asked Jarvis to wake the others and notify them about breakfast.

Only a select few of the Avengers could cook. Steve, Bucky, Nat if she ever felt inclined to, which wasn’t often, and Bruce. The other person was Darcy, who was not an Avenger but her food and deserts were legendary.

While Steve prepared the pancakes, Bucky worked on scrambled eggs. He chopped the onion, bacon, tomatoes, cracked the eggs, added milk and a bit of butter, His left hand quickly whisked all the ingredients in a bowl Once the pans were hot, they started to cook.

“Jarvis, can you heat up the oven please?”

“Of course sir!”

Bucky heard the sound of the ovens turning on and watched the pans while waiting for everyone to arrive.

The smell of scrambled eggs and pancakes brought in Nat, Darcy and Thor with a struggling Jane behind him. The scientist was still in sleep mode and mumbling science equations under her breath. Next came Bruce, also drowsy from the all nighter he had pulled with Jane and Tony.  All threw a half-hearted good morning to each other before grabbing a glass of juice or a mug of coffee to start their day.

Sam, having just recovered from their morning run, got up from the floor and greeted everyone before heading off to his room to have a shower before breakfast. He walked a bit bowlegged, which made Bucky look up and smirk.

Rhodey and Pepper ambled in. Pepper had her power suit on for her meeting with her team in the morning before she was due for a conference with Stark Industries’ board for their annual meetings.

The last person to shuffle in was Tony, hair all over the place, eyes half lidded, with two posted notes on his face which he didn’t seem to notice. He made a beeline for the coffee machine, simply grunting at everyone as a form of greeting.

Plates and silverware were placed on the table; Sam and Nat started removing the food from the oven, placing them on the table; and Bucky finished the last lot of bacon in the pan. Steve flipped the last pancake and placed it on the already towering stack. Making sure everything was on the table, they moved to take their seat when the vent above him popped open and out dropped Clint, looking like he’d just woken up, hair tussled, yawning and rubbing his eyes. When his eyes landed on Bucky, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a booklet which looked like it had been stapled together. He handed it to Bucky with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Here’s a list of all the stupid things Steve has done while you were gone!”

All conversations at the table stopped, eyes wide and forks with food hovering in the air, every gaze fixed on Clint and the two super soldiers. Grinning like a loon with a death wish, the archer quickly went and took his seat at the table, greeting everyone and piling food in his plate, making sure it rivaled the mountain of food set before Thor.

Nat looked between Steve and Bucky with open interest. She nudged Clint and tilted her head towards the two men yet to sit at the table, her amused eyes silently asking ‘what is that booklet?’ Clint simply winked and tapped his nose in a secretive gesture.

Steve gaped at Clint, then at Bucky, seeming nervous to utter a single word. Bucky frowned and turned the booklet over to see Clint’s recently uttered words in block letters like a title. Underneath, it said, ‘Written by Agent M. Carter, Howling Commandos , Col. C. Phillips. Edits by N. Fury, Agent M. Hill and Agent N. Romanoff.

Bucky’s mind was going a mile a minute, his brain trying to compute what the hell kind of things the list would reveal. His Winter Soldier side scoffed at the silliness, thinking this was the most ridiculous thing he had heard of! But his Bucky side, once he had skimmed down the detailed list, tried to calm his mind down, reminding himself to take deep breaths, to force the air from his lungs, to breathe in and out. In his poor mind, the Bucky from forties was in shock but also wanted to stare really hard at Steve and give him a scolding.

No, that won’t work on Stevie, Bucky thought. I need to do what Steve’s mom used to and cuff him over the head for his stupidity.

“Bucky? Buck?” Steve’s worried voice sounded as if from a distance.

Bucky looked up at his friend, his expression changing from cool best bud to dark and stormy like the Winter Soldier in a span of a few seconds.

“You okay, Buck? You need to breathe?”

Not realising he was holding his breath, Bucky took in an unsteady breath. He locked eyes with Steve and finally spoke, forgetting their audience, “What’s this, pal?”

Steve looked nervously at the booklet. “Um… I don’t know.”

“Whaddaya mean ya don’t know, you punk?”

Steve looked shocked at Bucky’s tone, then narrowed his eyes. “Means I don’t know, ya jerk.”

Both glared at each other. Then Bucky shoved the booklet under Steve’s nose and demanded, “Then why does it say Here Is A List Of All The Stupid And Moronic Things Steven Grant Rogers Has Done While He Was Captain America?”

Steve gaped at the booklet like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing, eyes wide as they carefully read the title and the names below it.

Bucky was on a roll as he continued, “Why does it say written by Agent. M Carter? Huh! And Howling Commandos? Col. C. Phillips? What the hell, Steve?”

Steve’s mouth was set in a comical O. He shook his head in denial, trying to form words to answer Bucky. At that moment, an old memory hit him like a bullet. A conversation between Peggy and Gabe, long ago, when they were planning an assault on Schmidt's base in the Alps. They were all sitting together, laughing and joking, when Gabe teased,  “Wouldn’t it be funny if we made a little booklet on the stupid things Cap has done since he rescued us?” Everyone snorted and Peggy shook her head before letting loose a smirk which hinted that she might already be planning on making such a silly list! At the time, Steve had thought Bucky would have liked that even though it would have gotten him into trouble! Now, though, after having done several more ‘stupid things’ as they said, Steve wasn’t so sure about Bucky calming down so easily and seeing the humor in it.

Steve shook the memory from his mind and realized Bucky still stood before him reading the booklet. Steve couldn’t believe they did it. The loons actually made the list! They actually sat down with each other and wrote all the crazy things he did, with a few updated things added. Mind racing, yet his breathing staying calm, he oh so slowly backed away from Bucky, knowing what was going to come. He decided a quick getaway was in the cards, knowing Bucky was reading the list, he backed further and further away.

His stupid shoe made a squeaky noise and Steve sighed in frustration, wanting to burn his shoe into nothing but ash. He looked up as Bucky’s head slowly glanced up, eyes blazing, mouth turned in, eyebrows scrunching up. Bucky slowly counted one to ten in his head before saying incredulously, “It’s twelve pages, Steve, twelve pages!” He looked down and when he looked up again, Steve had made more progress in moving away from him. “It’s double sided, Steve! DOUBLE SIDED!”

Steve stayed where he was. “Ah hehe,” he tried to laugh it off, pulling the innocent smile he used on all the ladies in the neighbourhood, the smile that got them both out of trouble a few times back in the day when they were kids. That smile could get him away with anything and everything; all he had to do was the “aww shucks ma’am” routine and bam! The little old ladies didn’t know what hit them. Even Bucky’s own Ma didn’t catch on till Stevie’s Ma talked to his, and then little Steve and Bucky didn’t get away with some of their stuff anymore in his home.

“Now Buck, it’s,” Steve started eagerly. “It’s not that bad, really. Only a few... just a few things I may have done? Nothing like near death experience!” He moved to put himself past the table and behind Darcy who was raptly watching the morning’s entertainment.

Bucky took murder struts closer to Steve and the table, waving the booklet that he got turned to page 4, or was it 5? Who cared? “Nothing near death?” Bucky’s voice rose. “Not too bad?... Just a few things, right? So jumping out of a plane while said plane was being shot at isn’t near death? How about signing up for an experiment program without knowing if you will live to see it through or DIE?”

“Now hang on a minute,” Steve interjected quickly. “That was Dr. Erskine and he was confident.”

“Confident, eh? His only other test subject was Red Skull and if I remember correctly, his SKULL WAS RED! AND HE HAD ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES PLUS BEING INSANE! Oh but wait there's more! YOU CRASHED A PLANE IN THE ARCTIC? WHEN DID YOU LEARN TO FLY A PLANE? Look at these, Stevie, look at them! This is insane!” He waved the booklet around everyone at the table.

They were all watching the scene like a tennis match, eyes flitting back and forth, seeing who won each point. Tony was so riveted, he had asked Jarvis to slyly keep score. Clint wiggled giddily in his seat and smiled while shoveling food in his mouth.

“I didn’t! I just took a guess is all!” Steve stammered, fidgeting under his best friend’s furious gaze.

“GODDAMIT STEVE!” In a bid to calm down, Bucky closed his eyes. “And don’t you dare move from that spot, you punk! I’m not through with you!” He remembered something and his eyes opened in a glare. “YOU JUMPED OUTTA PLANE WITH NO CHUTE YOU ARE A GODDAMN MORON!”

Steve, looking suitably ashamed, nodded his head. “Okay, that one I admit was stupid but it was in the middle of the ocean it was reckless I admit.”

“Oh, reckless now, is it? Didn’t ya Ma tell ya to not be so damn stupid? You could have died, you have a death wish huh, Steve? Jeez, you have more sense when I’m with ya than when I’m not!”

“Look at this, STEVE parachuted (on plus side, he used a parachute!) into the middle of a pissing contest between Iron Man and Thor; argued with a somewhat unstable narcissistic philanthropist playboy genius to the verge of fighting him in armor; nearly plunged to death off back of helicarrier, but managed to hold on by one tiny strap while dodging bullets; broke into super top secret Phase 2 SHIELD weapons storage (should have been guards there); aced down an entire squad of alien army guys and got blown out window to crash onto car; let Tony Stark blast shield with repulsor rays in hopes they would bounce off and hit baddies (yay! it worked even tho we had no time to practice/test that); and this one has to be my favourite of all -- elevator fight, 10 men and one hand behind his back most of it, then elevator JUMP through girders to marble floor nearly 150 ft below with only shield to dampen fall.” Bucky paused and turned wide eyes to Steve. “WHAT POINT IN YA GODDAMN MIND MADE YOU THINK JUMPING OUT OF A LIFT WAS OKAY?”

“I had no choice--”

“No choice! STEVE, YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE! IT’S JUST THAT IT ENTERS YOUR BRAIN BUT IT WON’T COMPUTE!”

“IF YOU’D LET ME FINISH, YA JERK! I HAD NO CHOICE! THEY HAD HYDRA SWAT COMING DOWN THE HALL TO THE LIFT AND I HAD NO WAY OUT. JUMPING OUT WAS MY ONLY OPTION!”

Both of them huffed and puffed, staring each other down, too furious to say words. Bucky threw the booklet on the table and moved toward Steve, who jerked and darted away as Bucky chased him around the table.

It was a funny sight,one man trying to escape and the other trying to catch and whack him hard for his stupidity. Not really hard, but to cuff him over the head for being a moron and to make up for what his Ma couldn’t do! God bless her soul, she would be rolling in her grave for sure at Steve for being so careless.

The rest of the Avengers watched  with varied degrees of shock and amusement while their food sat uneaten.

Clint giggled like a loon and said to Nat, “Wanna bet Barnes gets Stevie good?”

Nat, looking on in her Black Widow way, side-eyed Clint. “How much you willing to bet?”

Tony, having heard them, piped up, “Hang on, hang on, are you saying that Barnes will be the winner of this esteemed fight, not our fearless leader?”

Clint smirked as if he was seeing dollar signs before his eyes. “Yes, got something to say about do that, Tony?”

Pepper looking between the three of them. “Tony, don’t you dare!” she warned. “Every bet you go into with Clint and Nat you never win! And I have to listen to you whine and complain for three weeks, Tony! THREE WEEKS!”

Tony looked affronted. “But...but Pep, I can’t not support our Cap!”

Clint and Nat were grinning like a grinch at Christmas time. “Scared, Tony?” Nat asked slowly, chewing on her piece of bacon.

“No! Jarvis you will look after the bet and the money.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I bet 150 on Cap to kick Barnes’ ass!”

Clint rubbed hands together. “Oh yeah, 250 in favor of Barnes, Jarvis!”

“Of course. Anyone else want to place a bet?”

“Goddamnit, Tony!” Pepper looked pissed with each minute passing by.

Rhodey looked on in equal horror and entertainment. “Now I can’t let you say that without backing my buddy! Jarvis, make note, 100 on Cap!”

“Noted, sir.”

Thor laughed. “This is the best entertainment I’ve ever had during a meal” Smiling widely at Jane, he asked, “I would also like to make a bet my love, do you approve?”

Jane was shoveling food into her mouth and chewing while muttering equations. She took a while before her head came up and said, “Hmm what...what?”

“Tony, Rhodey and Clint have made a bet that either Barnes or Steve will win this mighty battle, was wondering if I could make one?”

“Oh ..um? 200 on Steve.”

“Oh a good suggestion, mighty Jarvis, I would also place 500 Asgardian gold coins!”

“No, no! Jarvis, place 150 US dollars on... who did you pick?”

“Oh, can’t I use Asgardian coins?”

“No, Thor. Asgardian currency doesn’t work here!”

“Such a shame. I was going to pick mighty fair Steven!”

“Jarvis! Please can you?”

“Done, of course, Dr. Foster”

Sam was looking on in amazement. He grinned and said, “100 on Steve please, Jarvis.”

“Done, sir.”

Darcy was trying not to daydream and moon over the hot men chasing each other around the table. “200 on a draw!” she said.

Everyone looked at her in disbelief.

Tony complained, “That’s not fair!”

Bruce said, “I’m not getting involved.”

Tony and Clint whined, “Please come on, it’s not fun without you!”

Bruce sighed, giving in. “Fine. 50 on Barnes! Okay can I get back to my food, please?”

Tony and Clint jumped in their seats. “Pepper, darling Pep, are you going to…?”

“No Tony! You know betting isn’t my thing! 50 on Barnes, Jarvis.”

Tony stared at her, stunned and betrayed. “You? You went against me!”

Pepper smiled. “I did it to teach you a lesson.”

Nat, still not having bet, said, “250 on a draw, Jarvis.”

“What?” Clint exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”

Natasha looked over at Clint with her murder stare. “I can and I just did!”

Clint sulked while going back to the action going on around him. “It’s not fair.”

Steve took a chance and ran for the lifts; Bucky noticed the slight change in direction and did an impressive leap over the table and over people’s head to go after him, yelling, “YOU CAN’T RUN OR HIDE FROM ME, STEVE! I WILL GET YOU, MARK MY WORDS!” He caught him before the entrance into the hallway and with his strength on display pulled him back in a wrestling move to the floor. Everyone at the table all stood in shock, including Clint with mouth open and food tumbling out, stood to watch as the two very grown and adult men wrestled like 4 years olds over a toy or the last piece of Mrs. Barnes or Mrs. Rogers’ cake. Grappling with each other... hits, kicks, and punches thrown in with the occasional grunt.

Their Brooklyn accent came out as they yelled at each other and Tony asked if Jarvis was recording this for movie night in the future.

“Of course sir, would I ever let you down?”

Thor said to Jane, “This is the best breakfast I have ever had, we should do this more often!”

Darcy finished her food and looked at the two men she had a crush on for so long! It wasn’t everyday you see your crushes get all annoyed, mad, pissed to the point they were fighting on the floor. Everyone got up and cleaned everything up, leaving them some food for when they finished their little fight.

One everyone went their separate ways, both Steve and Bucky slowed down to a stop. Exhausted, they stayed on the floor, looking at each other. “This is why you don’t ever do missions without me! I stop your stupid from taking over and making you do moronic things!” panted Bucky.

Laughing at each other, Steve nodded. Nat, walking by, shot them a grin and said, “ You really think, Steve, that all that stuff would only take 12 double sided pages? Really? Oh Steve, we have so much more to share with everyone!” Smiling serenely, she turned around and walked out with a spring in her step, calling out to Clint to wait up.

Bucky looked at Steve as if to say what! Darcy coughed to let them know they weren’t alone. “We left you some food on the table. Just make sure you clean up after yourselves!” Smiling at the both and praising herself for not making an absolute fool of herself, she sauntered out of the room not noticing the two soldiers watching her walk away. Two dreamy sighs were heard as they watched the one person whose opinions mattered. Darcy Lewis made them feel warm and homey.

Bucky laughed at the expression on Steve’s face. “You’re mooning again, punk, stop it.”

Steve huffed in annoyance.“I’m not mooning, you are.”

“Am not, you are.”

“No, you!”

“You!”

“You!”

They glared at each other, not moving. Then, sighed and pulled each other up from the floor and walked to the table to have their hot breakfast.

Bucky chewed his food and said, “I know you love her, ya punk. Just make a move!”

Steve sighed. “I will. Just let me get a chance to work up to it!”

“What in heaven's name do you have to work up to? Just walk down there and tell her how we love her to bits and bits! And want to date her that will lead to an Asgardian marriage and then little Darcy/Steve/Bucky toddlers running around getting into mischief like we did!”

“If you’re so confident of saying all that to her then why don’t you do it?” Steve challenged.

“Cause I’m a deadly assassin and she wouldn’t like to hear it from me.”

They stayed there for a long time, arguing over who should go down there once they are done to ask out their dream girl.

The End

Tagging: @bolontiku @magellan-88 @always-an-evans-addict @ilovethings-somuch @littleplebe @mcgregorswench @glynnisi @ryverpenrad @aenariasbookshelf @anais-ninja-blog @phoenix-173 @wahwahwaffles @mee2themoo @idontgettechnology @theycallmebecca @mycapt-ohcapt @cinnaatheart @leftennant @hollyspacey @holdmecloseandfast

[iamartemisday]

To all fans of Lokiday

I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past few months, weighing the pros and cons and wondering how you would all feel about this.  It was a difficult decision to come to, but I think now is the right time to do a full rewrite of Lokiday.

Below is the new first chapter as I have redone it.  You may notice some significant differences between the original and the new version.  I would like to know your opinion either in a reblog or an ask.  

I understand some of you might not like these changes, but I think if you keep an open mind, you will see why I concluded that it was in the story’s best interest to improve on it in this way.

Thank you, and I hope you all enjoy the brand new Lokiday:

Day 65: Jane Foster

Jane gets a paper cut.

She pauses turning the page of her magazine, and brings her index finger level with her eyes. A neat trail of red blood slides down the pad. She presses her thumb against it.

The wound stings.

She presses harder.

As Shakespeare once said, there's no better start to a story than masochism.

Okay, he probably didn't say that. Would've been fitting if he did, though. Did you guys know he once had a character off herself by swallowing fire? That's almost as cool as when I ran that guy over with the Zamboni.

In case that obvious film reference didn't give it away, this is Deadpool! Here to offer my insightful and witty remarks about this lovely fanfic that is still incomplete despite having begun in 2012.  Because what kind of lazy ass bitch does that? 

Anyway, lso, as I'm sure you've already figured out, this is an April Fool's joke and she's not actually going to rewrite this fic. Just wanted to clear that up in case some of you are nerds who totally fell for it.

If so, hahahaha! You're the butt of the joke. Ha.

When she's done, her fingers stick together, and she meets slight resistance separating them. Her thumb is stained with blood. She flexes the joints experimentally, lips puckered. Jane kisses the air and sucks in a breath. Then, she's on her feet and off the tall lab chair.

Suspense! I love suspense. I need some popcorn. And a chimichanga.

(OBLIGATORY CHIMICHANGA REFERENCE QUOTA: FILLED)

All around her are half finished equations and equipment strewn around haphazardly. The walls are covered in pictures of various constellations she learned about in elementary school. Those not on the wall stick to her shoes when she steps on them. She hasn't cleaned up her lab in a long time. There's no point in trying anymore.

She reaches the sink and runs cool water over her entire hand. She entertains the idea of rubbing soap into the wound. That would hurt like hell.

Oh yeah baby, you do that. Ooooh yeeeeah! You dirty girl.

Jane doesn't do this, but she does marvel at how far gone she already is for the millionth time in what feels like days.

Feels like, because it really should have been days.

It's not, though.

It's just one.

Just one, single, solitary day that's gone by.

Mmphf! Mmphf! Mmphf-mmphf mmpfh.

TRANSLATION: That's some damn good popcorn. Tastes like chicken if chicken was popcorn.

(OBLIGATORY OBSCURE REFERENCE NO ONE WILL GET QUOTA: FILLED)

Mmphf!

TRANSLATION: I'm on a roll!

Jane snorts and walks back to her seat. She swipes the magazine off the table, throwing it at the opposite wall. She doesn't care, she can't read the damn thing anyway.

SHIELD had been so accommodating when sending her off into thinly veiled hiding. They set her up with colleagues that spoke fluent English, and were fairly close to her in age so they'd have plenty to talk about. Her bed had nicer linens than a five star hotel, and the equipment she'd been given to work with had reduced her to an excited child at Disneyland the first time she saw it.

And yet they still couldn't get her one measly magazine in English. How typical.

That reminds me of this one time when I was hunting down this guy in one of those back alley dive bars, and I caught him, and I was like 'Where the fuck is Francis?' And he was like, 'something something not English but probably in the area of please don't kill me Deadpool something.' So I was a bit perturbed and then he tried to run away. I was like, 'fuck no, compadre!' And then I shot him in the dick. Like right in the dick. Wasn't even on purpose. Just a lucky shot I guess.

So yeah, kindred spirits me and Jane right here.

The useless ream of paper hits the floor with a satisfying 'flop', and then Jane feels an icy chill run through her. She shivers, more at the temperature drop than low, ominous chuckle that follows.

Oh oh! I know! I know exactly who it is!

It's Hawkeye!

"That's not polite."

Jane closes her eyes. She doesn't want to look in that mirror on the opposite wall and have to stare at his smarmy face right now. Maybe if she keeps quiet, he'll go away and never come back. Or maybe he'll just talk more.

Wait no, not Hawkeye. No one would ever not be happy to see him. Have you seen his biceps? So dreamy…

"Someone's going to have to pick it up."

"No one comes in here but me," she says. "Even if they did, what do I care?"

Yeah, Loki, what do you take her for? A neat freak? She's a scientist. Scientists and neat freaks go together like fish and cheese. Like Al and workable eyeballs. Like Francis and life.

He tsks. If Jane were two feet taller and a million times stronger, she'd punch his face all the way in and then maybe rip his tongue out for good measure. Let's see him tsk at her then!

Fuck me, that's hot! Hey, what if we made a few tweaks to this story? Like making it a Deadpool/Jane fic? I'm down with that!

Just need to think of a ship name…

"Now, now, Jane Foster, you don't wear apathy well."

I can think of something better for her to wear! It starts with an 'L' and rhymes with 'schmeather bustier!'

She turns around. She was going to eventually, so she might as well get it over with. His bright green eyes stare down at her, a small smile gracing his features. His stance is calm, collected and arrogant. In short, everything Jane expected of him.

Loki was a lot of things, but never a disappointment. Not to her.

Eat your heart out, Ironman! No performance issues here as confirmed by a reliable source!

Now fully facing him, Jane notices he's in full battle garb. He even has that crazy helmet on. Maybe he's going to fight again, or maybe he's got another trick for her up his sleeve. She'd put neither above him. At least now she has a comeback.

"And you don't wear those antlers well, but it's never stopped you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

Burn.

His smile vanishes, and Jane smirks, feeling accomplished. Full blown laughter builds, but she doesn't let it out yet. He exhales through his nose, fingers curling into a ball. A long time ago, this used to terrify her. Now, she just wants to laugh harder.

So what about GunScience? That a good ship name.

Hmm… seems a little plain to me. I'll keep working on it. Back to the story!

She doesn't feel like alienating him further, though, not this time. He hasn't been around for three 'days' and she doesn't care to be apart from him. That just means she has to face the fact that she actually wants him around. It's a feeling equivalent to getting repeatedly kicked in the gut and winded.

Pfft, I could handle him. If you saw what I did to that doucherocket Smith, you'd know.

Hint: It involved narrow appendages being forced in places narrow appendages should not be forced in.

With that in mind, let's make Deadpool/Loki a thing too! Much easier to come up with a ship name.

I give you… FrostMerc! Huh? Huh?

…

Well fine, be that way. I'm not sharing any of my popcorn with you guys now.

Jane moves away from him, walking briskly to the mini-refrigerator in the corner where her endless supply of bottled water is kept. She pulls out two, opens one and tosses the other over her shoulder. She knows he'll catch it.

"So," she says conversationally, as if this super powered mythical figure and potential world conqueror who once almost destroyed her hometown was just another girlfriend of hers. "What's on the agenda for today? You're all dressed up and ready to go. You must have something big planned."

He doesn't answer.

"Gonna cause some destruction?"

He still doesn't answer.

"You know, burn down all the buildings, slaughter all the innocents, kick all the puppies, anything?"

Nothing.

He's still mad that he got burnt to a crisp with that antler's comment.

He got destroyed. Pulverized. Demolished beyond all recognition. The metaphorical narrow appendage is all the way up his-

And now Jane is getting fed up, not to mention confused (definitely not concerned). He's usually way more talkative than this.

Didn't they sew his mouth shut in one of the myths? I think they totally did that once. What a disgusting, reprehensible, unforgivable thing to fucking sew a man's fucking mouth shut.

Amirite? *cough*FuckyouFoxneverforget*cough*

She faces him. His eyes are on her, but his mind is elsewhere. He sees something Jane cannot, something invisible and directly in front of her from the looks of it. She really hates when he gets like that, when he closes off completely and never explains himself. He seems to go back and forth between treating Jane like a person, and like she's just a bug he can squash under his foot. Jane's not exactly in the mood for that today.

When they're still in mid-character development and not sure if they want to be a douchey Not-British Brit, or a dude from that Jane Austen book Not-British Brit.

Just fanfic things.

"Don't tell me you're doing this for me," she says mockingly. If there's one way to get to Loki… "Because I'll be honest with you, you look much better without that helmet on. It's very unflattering."

Oh. My. God. Becky. Like that girl in her plaid and jeans knows anything about fashion.

She blinks her eyes, and he's right in front of her. Jane stares at his armored chest nonchalantly. She wonders when he'll realize the novelty of that trick wore off 'days' ago.

"Do not test me," he growls.

Wait, I got it! AssassinScientist!

…nah, too long. People would just abbreviate it or some shit.  I’m not here for that.

Jane tries to ignore the speeding up of her heartbeat and the building heat in her stomach. Of course he has to use that voice when threatening her. Of course he knows exactly what that husky tone of his does to her every single time. And, of course, this whole miserable situation has turned her into a borderline suicidal masochist who just has to keep pushing him.

Accept it, Jane. Accept… and ye shall be free!

And living the dream of millions of fangirls. That too.

"Just admit that you're as bored as I am," she says. "You probably thought about going after your brother and the Avengers today, but then you realized there's no point. There's no point in anything unless we can find a way out of this."

His frown deepens with every word out of her mouth. His eyebrows knit together in a scowl, and his hands ball into fists. Jane could swear his eyes flash red for a second. It excites her about as much as it used to terrify her, and that's a whole other batch of implications she absolutely must avoid dwelling on. She kind of needs what little sanity she has left, thank you very much.

Sanity? Girl, take it from an expert. Sanity is overrated.

Why, if I was sane, I wouldn't be the ultra hot star of the highest grossing R rated film of all time, now would I?

I didn’t think so.

Jane's already seen his Jotunn form twice, which is two more times than Loki would have liked. He still won't explain why he hates his heritage so much. Jane's asked him more times than she can count, and all she gets is silence, or commands to be silent, or screaming and cursing before he disappears to God only knows where for several 'days' at a time. The most she's ever gotten out of him is that the Frost Giants are savage monsters who would rip the flesh from her bones if she gets too close.

They sound fluffy!

She doesn't really get it. He's not all that scary with blue skin and red eyes and no other noticeable changes in appearance. Hell, the blue people in Avatar were creepier looking. If Jane were to fear Loki for anything, it would be the fact that he's a psychotic mass murderer bent on world domination who could tear her head off with his bare hands if he wanted to. That knowledge, like so many other things, had lost its edge a long time ago. Even when he bares down on her like this, so much bigger than her, eyes speaking of dark intent, Jane can't bring herself to fear him.

Yeah, CGI Smurf mutants really start to lose their effect in the face of all that.

Then again, that might be why they keep making those stupid Smurf movies. You see what desensitization does to you? Now studio hacks think people want more of those despicable balls of malformed play-doh on our screens. This is a national crisis! Wake up America!

(PLEASE NOTE: Neither Deadpool nor the author has ever seen a Smurf movie.)

Hey hey! Don't give it away!

She could still fear what emotions he did bring out in her, though.

"You should watch your tongue around me, Mortal," he says with that voice again. Why always that voice? "You might not like the consequences if you don't."

The underlying threat is palpable. There are so many different ways he could carry it out, too. Jane won't pretend not to know what they are. They spill incoherently into her mind all at once. She knows who Loki is and what he is and what he can do. He's been nothing if not eager to show her in the previous 'days.'

I smell a sex scene!

Jane smiles innocently, he hates that. She runs a hand across his shoulder and down his chest, he likes that.

Must get more popcorn.

She pulls herself closer to him, their faces inches apart. She supports her body with one hand on the table. It doesn't slide away from her as it should. Trust Loki to prepare for this. She doesn't see them leaving this room anytime soon.

Mmphf!

(Translation: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date…)

"Really?" She blows in his ear. He loves that. "Because I think you're all talk."

Happy Groundhog Day!

He seizes her by the arms, pulls her down roughly, and then his lips are on hers, hard and unforgiving. A moan is caught in Jane's throat, she doubts he'll relinquish her mouth long enough for her to let it out. His large hands are everywhere at once. One minute, he's fondling her breast through her shirt, the next he's running them up and down her legs, coming so close to her core that Jane feels she'll come apart at the seams if he doesn't touch her soon.

He does know how to tease.

Hey, ladies out there. You know what I like? What I really really like? *wiggles eyebrows*

Puppies! Puppies are adorable, aren't they?

His tongue forces it's way in. There is no fight for dominance this time, because it's clear who is in control and that he intends to keep it that way. Jane's own hands move across the metal of his armor. That damnable armor he just had to wear today. His casual (in the loosest possible sense) clothes are much easier to remove. He usually steps in with that fancy magic of his pretty quickly. In fact, he should have by now. Is this what he meant by 'consequences?'

Loki snakes an arm around her thin waist, hoisting her up and on the table. As soon as Jane's back makes contact, she is hit by a blast of ice cold from below. It doesn't take a scientist to figure out that somewhere in the millisecond it took him to do all this, he also magicked her clothes off. Jane rolls her eyes and thinks of commenting on this, but then his tongue is in her mouth and coherent thought is but a distant dream.

Kittens are also cute. With their little paws and their ears and the traces of demonic evil lurking below the surface.

He gets up on top of her, never once breaking the kiss. She brings her hands up to his warming face and runs her fingers through his thick hair, down the back of his neck, to the collar of his undershirt and dammit all, why is he still dressed?

He smirks against her lips.

"Frustrated, my dear?"

But you know, bunnies have got to top them all in cuteness factor. I cried for days the first time I saw Fatal Attraction.

Jane wants to slap him so badly right now. Instead, she kisses him harder. He groans in response and raises her up a little so her chest is arched into his. He wrenches his lips away and Jane cries out in protest. She stops complaining when he moves down to her neck, and then her breast. As his tongue swirls around her nipple, Jane struggles to come back to herself.

Have I killed the mood yet?

(Yeah, probably)

Awesome! My work here is done! Farewell, my friends- Wait, what? What do you mean the chapter's not over yet?

There is a digital clock on the wall marking the time as ten after four in the afternoon. This gives them plenty of time to go about their routine. To make stiff conversation, to try once again to find out what's happened to them and how to stop it, to descend into yet another pointless argument about nothing, to threaten and be threatened with death and injury and a bunch of other nasty things, to fuck each other senseless in bed and on tables and on the floor and in the shower and against the wall and on top of the bathroom sink and in the mess room and in her direct superior's office (boy, was that ever memorable).

Then the next 'day' comes along and, like everything else around them, the cycle repeats anew.

No changes.

No changes.

Okay this time, I know I've got it! Assassin didn't work, scientist didn't work, but you know what does work?

Deadpane!

Get it? Because it sounds like deadpain, and when I'm out there killing all the monsters and murderers and Francis's of the world, I know I haven't done my job right if there isn't lots of pain!

So now that this hypothetical Me/Jane ship has a proper name, let's get back to the story!

*cough*seriouslythoughshippersgetonthat*cough**cough* Boy, do I have a nasty case of the sniffles today!

Jane sometimes wonders what her friends and family would think if they could see her now, naked with her legs spread underneath a psychopathic Norse God.

They'd be like, fuck yeah, you lucky bitch! Score!

Least I would. Have you seen that tight Hiddleass of Loki's? Almost as nice as Wolverine's.

Like Logan gets a 97 out of 100 while Loki is easily a 96.8. 

Her mother wouldn't like it.

Erik wouldn't like it.

Darcy… would congratulate her on getting laid.

See? Someone gets it.

Jane can't help giggling. Loki, who has been trailing open mouthed kisses up her neck, bites down hard and makes her gasp. She fists his hair as he licks a hot line back up to her mouth. He re-claims it, pulling her head up slightly with one hand while the other continues to travel.

Her arms are around his waist, and he is still fully dressed.

Bastard.

Yeah, bastard. Strip already!

His lips are relentless, his tongue even more so. She feels deft fingers between her legs, and shamelessly moans into his mouth when they stroke her. She writhes beneath him, knowing that's exactly what he wants.

Loki always gets what he wants from her.

After sixty five days of working for it, you would hope.

'Remember Jane,' she tells herself when he strokes her again, and then finally, with a wave of his hand, is as naked as she is. 'Three benefits to dealing with Loki Laufeyson. Remember them!'

I can think of way more than just three, but we only have half a page left.

Benefit number 1: He is, so far, the only other person in the world who knows what's going on.

Except for the reader. Times like this fourth wall breaking would come in handy. Why is it so out of style among fictional characters? I don't understand the world.

She feels the muscles in his back, lean, but rock solid. He's shifted positions, so that his erection is pressed firmly against her.

Benefit number 2: As the only other person who knows what's going on, and as a powerful sorcerer with a genius level intellect, he's also the only other person in the world who can help find a way out of this.

It's funny because when this was written, I'm pretty sure not even the writer knew a way out, didja?

(Fuck off, Deadpool)

Hey now, this was your idea for me to do this.

He removes his lips from hers again, and Jane immediately attacks his neck, returning the favor with a bite of her own. Loki growls in response, and Jane knows he's going to make her pay for that.

She looks forward to it.

Benefit number 3…

*leans forward in anticipation of incredible revelation*

He steadies her hips with his hand, and uses magic to keep the rest of her restrained. Jane finds she can still work her mouth, though, when he thrusts into her and the friction and sheer pleasure of it all makes her scream.

…He's spectacular in bed.

Six out of ten at best. I am not speaking from experience, it's merely because I am obliged to count myself, and I am an outlier whose sexual prowess would make Zeus feel like an awkward virgin.

Sorry, that's just a fact. I don't make the rules.

And with that, I have completed this little venture of mine. Stay tuned next April Fool's Day, when I review the last chapter of Lokiday!

…HA! April Fool's! We all know Artemis is never going to finish anythi-mmm mm. Mmm?! MMMM! MMMMMM!

(And then Deadpool could no longer speak because he suddenly transformed into the first movie version who got his mouth sewn shut!)

MMMMMMMMMMMM!

(Happy April Fool's Day!)