#there's almost ten years between each of these sets of photos can you believe that

[soineffablygay]

brocedes in 1998, 2006, 2016, 2024

[lowkeyorloki]

lbd

After a fight with Loki, you wear the smallest dress you can to an Avengers press event...

(smut smut smut)

~

The party was awful.

Stark’s press events often were. It was interesting, how the media had changed over the past eight years. In 2012, you and the rest of the Avengers would only be seen on news stations. Now, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to for your names to be in tabloids next to celebrities like Taylor Swift or Noah Centineo. The team wasn’t just heroes anymore, you were public figures as well.

Hence the formal attire, the flashing cameras, the expensive wine. These events only happened about once a year- they were manageable. Just a pain. Besides, you always had Loki to endure them with.

Except, not tonight. And so, the party was awful, not just boring.

The argument you had with Loki last night carried over into today, and when you were asking him about the event, he gave you no answer. Never in a million years did you think he would ignore during this. The press, the world, had never really forgiven him for New York. He was hated by the general public. It didn’t help it was a well-known fact he was with you: you, the youngest Avenger. You, who had been America’s golden girl until Loki corrupted you.

That was what everyone liked to say. Really, you just got older. And cynical. You couldn’t fight the worst of the worst throughout the universe and remain idealistic. 

You and Loki had to stick together for public appearances. The reporters tore you to shreds if you didn’t. And besides that... You didn’t like not being around the god. It was so much better to face things with him. You were together. Even when things were tense, the two of you could always lean on each other. That was the nature of your relationship.

And yet, here you were, halfway through your third glass of champagne, giving Steve a half-hearted smile as he spoke. Every so often, your eyes scanned the large hall, eventually falling on Loki. He avoided your gaze each time.

You wanted to be angry, or bitter. That’s what you felt earlier today when he wouldn’t speak to you. Loki wordlessly dressed in his suit, looked you up and down in your floor length dress, and left your shared room. In a fit of rage, you had dug through your closet for something that would anger him. No, not anger. That wasn’t the right word.

Entice him. Make him protective. Despite your life with him, you were still seen as the innocent Avenger. The normal girl who stumbled into justice. You never wore short or form fitting clothes anywhere there would be cameras. You were modest. That was the role you were pidgeonholed into. Social media, combined with constant interest and exposure, ensured that. In 2020, half of being an Avenger was perception. Every team member was an archetype. Every team member adhered to that. Outwardly, at least.

So when nothing in your closet would accomplish what you wanted, you raided Natasha’s. She helped you pick out something no one would expect you to wear: A silky black body con dress. When you tried it on, it barely came halfway down your thighs. There was little left to the imagination, considering its length and low neckline. 

You paired it with heels, and painted your nails Loki’s shade of green. Natasha gathered your hair into a messy bun, leaving your neck exposed. Even Wanda joined in, brushing sparkles over your collarbone. You looked unlike you ever had before.

Honestly, you looked like Natasha did on a daily basis. That brought you some amount of comfort, knowing you wouldn’t be sticking out. But it went without saying you didn’t look like yourself, and no one had ever seen you like this. The press would have a field day.

But it wasn’t them you cared about. The only person you were thinking about was Loki.

And he didn’t even do a double take. When you first walked into the room, his eyes rested on you just a second. Then he turned away.

So you didn’t find yourself angry like you were just a few hours before this. When Loki ignored you, you only felt... Sad. Empty, almost. You had been upset with each other for less than a full day, but you missed him. If there was no animosity between you two, Loki’s hand would be on the small of your back right now, and he would be whispering into your ear. Sharing jokes about everyone at the party, wrapped up in each other.

You fought so little. It was something you weren’t used to. 

“Hey.” Steve sticks an elbow into your ribs, pulling you from your thoughts. Next to him, Bucky wears a worried expression. “You okay?”

You sigh. Tipping your head back, you drain the rest of your drink and then nod.

“I’m fine, Steve.” he looks uncertain. “I mean it. I can last one night without him. Just because I’m in a relationship doesn’t mean I’m any less independent.”

“I believe that.” Steve agrees.

“You only believe her because that’s how you are.” Bucky grins at Steve, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from Captain America. Steve smiles, just barely, and holds Bucky’s hand in his own after the dark-haired man pulls back. Your eyes flicker away, but a genuine smile grows on your lips. You love to see your friends happy. They deserve it, your whole team does. 

It’s moments like these, when Steve is focused on Bucky and you on Loki, you remember you and Steve used to date. It seems like a completely different time, but it wasn’t even ten years ago.

You were with Steve when Loki attacked New York.

“I’m going for a refill.” you state. Both men look uncertain. You pay it no mind. “Do either of you want anything?” 

They shake their heads in response, so you make your way over to the bar. There’s no one there, not even the bartender, which bothers you at first. Then you realize it’s exactly what you need. Just a few minutes alone to clear your head. The bar is in same room as everyone else, so classical music and conversation are all around you. Still, you manage to find solace.

It’s quickly interrupted. 

“Hello, darling.”

Loki.

His breath tickles the back of your neck as he speaks. As soon as you’re aware of his presence, his smell envelops you. You shiver, noticing how close he must be to you.

You don’t turn around.

“Hi Loki.” you greet him back, eyes forward. You voice almost shakes, and you exhale, willing yourself to keep cool. Loki was always so calm and collected, something he used as a weapon. Clearly, even against you.

Loki hums, and his fingers softly begin to dance over your bare shoulder. 

“You look different,” he states. “With those shoes, you almost reach my height. But darling, you have never looked so small.” Loki’s voice drops on that last word, and a wave of heat flashes through your body. You set your glass down on the counter next to you, worried whatever Loki does next will cause you to drop it.

“Funny.” you say. “I don’t feel small.” You know Loki, know what the word small is code for. “Or weak.”

Loki tuts, and his large hands slide from your shoulders to your hips. Your dress is so short that his pinkies lay on your bare skin.

“No, I suppose you don’t.” Loki leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he talks. You can’t help it, you tremble, your surroundings beginning to fade away as you focus on the god. “I bet you felt quite powerful, teasing me in this dress. Talking to Steve Rogers.” Suddenly, Loki pulls you into him, and you gasp. His length presses completely against your ass, and you are barely able to bite back a moan.

This is harder than you’ve ever felt him. Your breathing becomes hitched, but Loki’s strong grip keeps you glued to him. His fingers dig into your hips, and you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

“Did you think,” Loki rolls his hips against you, causing a mewl to escape your lips. “...that I would forget your past with Rogers? That it had just, slipped my mind that he is the only man you have ever laid with besides myself?” Loki’s lips connect with the crook of your neck, pressing wet kisses there that are anything but gentle. “Or was that the point? To make me jealous?” Loki’s next words shake you the most. “Can you even count the amount of times I have been inside you?”

Just like that, his hands relax, and you begin to catch your breath.

“Smile.” Loki points, and you notice the groups of reporters making their way to you, cameras flashing. Loki pivots, turning both of you so you face the them. He drops one hand to his side, but the other snakes around your waist. It won’t be obvious in the photos, but his fingers are dangerously close to your heat, filling you to the brim with want.

Just as you manage to get yourself under control, the cameras begin flashing. You force a smile, and when you look at Loki, he’s staring straight ahead, expressionless.

You hated getting photos taken, knowing the headlines they would be paired with. But Loki hates it even more. You were always the victim in the media’s eyes, but Loki had never outgrown the villain. He worked so hard to be good, so hard to change. And for what? No one believed him, save for you and his brother.

Your heart grows heavy, and despite the fight, despite the teasing that left you melting in his arms, you want Loki to know you appreciate him. 

You tug on the front of his suit jacket, capturing his attention. Loki looks down at you, confusion in his eyes. You reach forward, placing your hand on the back of his neck and tugging him down so his lips met yours.

It was filthy, the way he kissed you in front of the press. Loki once again pulled you to him, your chests pressed together. He laid his hand on your back, and thank god he did, because it kept you grounded. Your teeth clacked together more than once, and Loki gave you no opportunity to gather yourself before he sucked on your bottom lip. Your were eyes closed, but you still heard as the reporters went wild, cameras snapping as they each tried to get the juiciest shot.

Loki was the one who ended the kiss, tugging away from you. He took your hand in his, waving with the other. In the crowd, you could see Steve standing in shock, arm around Bucky’s waist. Stark was next to them, looking furious.

Loki makes eye contact with you before he briskly walks away, tugging you with him. You have no time to ask where it is he’s taking you before you somehow slip into the kitchen unnoticed.

The kitchen staff stops, and you realize what this must look like to them. Loki, with a hungry look in his eyes, and you, swollen lips and practically half-naked. Jesus, was this where you thought the night was going?

“Get out.” Loki addresses the staff. They share glances, unsure of whether to listen. Loki sighs. “We are two hours into a four hour party. No one ever comes for food, they just want to drink. You are no longer needed. Now, get,” Loki’s irises flash green. “...out.”

They listen then, rushing out of the doors and through the backroom that will lead them from the building. The locks on each door click shut, surely a result of Loki’s magic. 

“You.” you squirm under the god’s harsh gaze. “Are a very. Stupid. Girl.” with each step Loki takes forward, you take one backwards, until your back is against the tiled wall. Your heart begins beating fast. You look to Loki’s pants, taking in the tent. Your heart rate accelerates even more.

He places his hands on the wall, one on either side of your face, trapping you with him. Wordlessly, Loki begins sucking on your collarbone, his lips moving down your breasts until they hit the neckline on your dress. Your eyes roll back, and you grip Loki’s hair tight. He rams his knee in between your thighs, and you cry out. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he rolls his hips, and now that you’re alone, you can feel and experience it to the fullest expense. Your mouth falls open as Loki presses his clothed length against your clothed sex, moaning and letting out a string of curses. “Look at me, darling.” You listen, obeying Loki as he removes his knee. 

Loki makes full eye contact as he takes your left breast in his hands, kneading and massaging you as he gauges your reactions. You begin panting, and soon enough, Loki grabs the front of your dress with both hands and rips it, exposing your bare breasts.

You hiss at the sudden cold, but it doesn’t last long as Loki sucks on your nipple, running his calloused thumb other the other. Loki swirls his tongue, and you whimper, arching your back. As the sensation builds inside you, Loki takes a steps back, drinking in the sight of you.

“The media won’t soon forget this. Until now, the worst they had caught us doing was holding hands.” he growls. His lips are redder than usual, and his hair was messy because of your fingers in it. “I can imagine the scolding from Stark.”

“Who cares about Stark? You just ruined Natasha’s dress.” you say, your voice strained. His absence is noticeable, and your body aches for Loki’s touch. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sweet girl, whose fault is that? None of this would ever have happened if you simply dressed appropriately.” the hair on your arms stands up. Loki hums. “I think you should make it up to me. You got us into this mess, did you not?” Loki smirks.

The feeling in your stomach builds up again, lust taking over you. You take off you heels, and sink to your knees. Loki’s pupils dilate as you move closer to him.

You unbuckle his belt, sliding it off and discarding it on the floor next to you. Slowly, you unbutton Loki’s dress pants, your fingers catching on the tip of his underwear as you do.

You want to draw this out, to tease Loki as he teased you. But when you see his hard length, and the damp spot on the cloth holding it, you can’t bring yourself to. Loki is a god, much stronger and faster than you. When you turn to dust, Loki will be as young and full of life as he is now.

But his needs are the same as any other man’s. You’re determined to fulfill them.

You brush your mouth over him, causing Loki’s eyes to close momentarily. When they do, you waste no time exposing him. Loki fingers run through your hair immediately, grasping tightly. You can hear his breathing become just a bit irregular. 

You keep your eyes on Loki’s as you lick him, from shaft to head. You lap at the precum there, then slowly take him into your mouth.

Loki lets out a sigh, his lips parting, and you rub circles onto his hipbones with your thumbs. You bring your arms against your chest, pushing your bare breasts up to make them appear bigger. You want to give Loki the best view possible.

It must have worked, because Loki’s hips buck forward. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you almost gag. Instead, you moan around him. setting a slow pace. Every so often, you flick your tongue across his head, and Loki tugs on your hair when you do.

Loki quivers, and he’s thrown his head back now. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth open, and he looks so pleased. Pride washes over you at the thought of you making him feel this way.

You bring your hand up, taking the parts of Loki that your mouth just can’t reach. With the added freedom, you circle his tip, switching up the pressure and surrounding him with your warmth. Carefully, you cup his balls, making sure every part of him is paid attention to.

Loki groaned as you fucked him with your mouth, cheeks hallowed. He begins panting, holding your head even tighter. His shirt has ridden up over his navel, and the sight nearly drives you crazy.

“I’m going to-” you don’t let him finish, picking up the pace until Loki jerks forward, spilling his seed with a curse.

There’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth before you can swallow it all. Your chests warms at the idea of part of Loki being inside you. You’ve barely leaned back to catch your breath before he’s pulled you up and into a kiss, groaning as he tastes himself on you. Your body becomes slack, relying entirely on Loki’s for support. 

“You’re insatiable.” he says into your mouth. He picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Loki carries you to a nearby counter and sets you atop it.

Your dress is hiked up to your hips now, leaving you covered in just a g-string. As Loki begins to take it off, you stop him.

“Wait.” you say. He stops, giving you a surprisingly soft look. “I just...” you splay your hands across Loki’s strong chest. “I want to see you too.” your voice is quiet. 

Loki places his hands over yours as you unbutton his shirt. You slide it down his shoulders, then trace his collarbones and curve of his abs. Under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, Loki looks even more pale than usual, the sharp contours of his body illuminated and exposed.

You never grow bored of the sight of him.

Now fittingly bare, Loki’s fingers travel up your thigh and stop at your sex. Similar to you, his gives you a few strokes over your thong before he rids you of it in one fluid motion. He angles himself to you, his tip teasing your entrance as he smirks at your noises. 

He enters you all at once. You bite down on his shoulder, nails raking down his back. You hold tight to Loki as he sinks into you, moving in a slow and almost tantalizing way. There’s sweat on both of your bodies, and despite your exposed state, you feel yourself heat up. 

Loki’s rhythm increases as you adjust to him. His hips move back and forth, and your bodies move in tandem, made for each other. You coo into Loki’s ears, moaning about how good he felt. How breathless he made you, how only he knew how to make you feel this way. No one knew your body like Loki.

The coil inside you finally snaps as Loki hits a pleasure spot deep inside you, and you let out a cry into his shoulder. Loki cums not long after, his body going tense as he rides out the wave of pleasure.

He holds you, rubbing your back as the aftershock rocks through your body. You shake, exhausted and satisfied as you close your eyes for a moment of rest. 

Eventually, Loki sets you back down on the floor. He tugs your dress down over your legs, and tucks stray pieces of hair behind your ears. You watch him wordlessly, allowing him to take of you.

After Loki is dressed himself, he gives you the jacket of his suit to wear.

“Oh.” you look down, remembering he ripped your dress. You slip the jacket on, buttoning it to protect the little modesty you have left.

He takes your hand, leading you to the door and back into the party. Before he does, you stop.

“I’m sorry about our fight.” you say. Loki lets out a chuckle, making you feel silly.

“Oh, sweet girl. After a tryst like this, I can assure you all is forgiven.”

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

 It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk. 

 “Erwin here?”

 The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

 Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

 Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead. 

 He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

 “What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy. 

 You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different. 

 “I needed to talk to you about something.”

 Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

 You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

 He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?” 

 “Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

 “You can shut it then.”

 Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you. 

 “Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

 Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!” 

 Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

 “And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

 Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

 You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping. 

 “That motherfucker,” he grunts.

 “What?”

 “You blocked his number.”

 “What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

 He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

 Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

 “My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

 You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

 If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

 Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list. 

 “Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal. 

 “Have what?”

 “Tinder.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

 That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced. 

 Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself. 

 “Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

 Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

 “Probably.”

 “Might be a little difficult now, though.”

 Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

 Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

 You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

 Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

 You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

 But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process. 

 “It, uh… It gets worse.”

 Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

 Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry. 

 “I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

 Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling. 

 Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her. 

 “Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

 Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

 You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest. 

 There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him. 

 “Come on.”

 “W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

 “I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

 You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person. 

 “Fine, but put a shirt on.”

 “Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

 You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

 You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand. 

 “We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze. 

 It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

*

 Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous. 

 He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy. 

 "Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand. 

 "Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

 You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

 "I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable. 

 "Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

 "I'll be there, Nile."

 "Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

 Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth. 

 "So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back. 

 "Don't fucking tell me."

 Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

 "She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good. 

 "Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

 "How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

 "Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

 "Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

 "Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

 "I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

 "Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?" 

 "Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever." 

 It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it. 

 "Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

 "I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

 "As a distraction?" 

 Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?" 

 The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party." 

 It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house. 

 Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight. 

 Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on. 

 When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party. 

 Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him. 

 So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this? 

 And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink. 

 Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit. 

 She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?" 

 No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight. 

 They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism. 

 They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin. 

 Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you. 

 Oh, you don't like her. 

 "Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?" 

 Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

 "Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

 "Kind of?" You try. 

 Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?" 

 Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible. 

 Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

 Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe. 

 "Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

 "Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

 "I don't think that's really—"

 "Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd. 

 "What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits. 

 "You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes. 

 "Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out. 

 For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands. 

 He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you. 

 "The fuck do you want, Jaeger?" 

 "Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?" 

 Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt. 

 "Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back. 

 "He's not worth it, Mike."

 Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

 He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and  the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights. 

 He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead. 

 It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him. 

 He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger. 

 You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now. 

 So he drinks. 

 He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

 Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch. 

 "What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him. 

 "I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

 "I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!" 

 Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in. 

 "What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?" 

 "No!" 

 "Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

 He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms. 

 "Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head. 

 Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?" 

 Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

 "Are you serious?" 

 Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile. 

 "I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!" 

 Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again. 

 "Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks. 

 "Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

 "Including you."

 Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him. 

 "Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?" 

 "Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests. 

 Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty). 

 Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak. 

 "What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

 Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice. 

 "It's just Adderall, I swear!"

 Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren. 

 "Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

 He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up. 

 Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen. 

 "They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile. 

 "Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

 "Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

 Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time. 

 Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way. 

 "Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back. 

 It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause. 

 "Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink. 

 He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind. 

 It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets. 

 He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts. 

 Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

 *

 "God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in. 

 Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels. 

 A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again. 

 "Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

 "No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

 You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction. 

 "Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again. 

 "The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?" 

 "Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

 "Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic. 

 "I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him. 

 Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

 "He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker. 

 You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

 "Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

 "Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss. 

 He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand. 

 Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

 You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

 "What? No."

 "There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out." 

 Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea. 

 "Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

 "So?" 

 "Erwin."

 He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?" 

 "Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

 "Text me if you need help, alright?" 

 "You got it, boss."

 He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

 His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning. 

 How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass. 

 It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh. 

 People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place. 

 Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way. 

 More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of. 

 Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three. 

 Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep. 

 Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest. 

 After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it. 

 You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex. 

 You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

 It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long. 

 Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

 "Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

 "Nooo. No Miche."

 "Yes, Miche," you laugh. 

 He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again. 

 When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

 You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again. 

 "Okay. Just Mike then."

 He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again. 

 "You're a needy drunk, you know that?" 

 Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again. 

 "Sleep now," he mumbles. 

 "No, no sleep now."

 "Sleep now."

 "Oh my fucking god."

 His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water. 

 He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday. 

 Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self. 

 So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid. 

 He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much. 

 "President… dumb boyyy."

 "Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

 "Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr." 

 There's really no pleasing him. 

 "Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

 "Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

 You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you. 

 "You're fucking ridiculous."

 Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub. 

 "Jesus Christ, Mike."

 He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower. 

 "Water, pleeeease."

 He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them. 

 "No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

 Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle. 

 "Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

 The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

 So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist. 

 He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

 Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright. 

 "ευχαριστώ."

 "Come again?"

 "Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward. 

 You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways. 

 Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze. 

 "You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time. 

 "Dunno."

 "Can you tell who I am?" 

 Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

 "Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

 "That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun. 

 He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress. 

 Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel. 

 Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands. 

 "Can I help you?" 

 He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you. 

 "Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh. 

 Switching tactics, he pats his chest. 

 "Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

 Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

 Not like this. 

 "Please. No more vom. Promise."

 "I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

 He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants. 

 A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth. 

 This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin. 

 Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks. 

 "'m mad at you."

 Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting. 

 "I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

 Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep. 

 "Still love you."

 You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason. 

 "I love you too, Miche."

 Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake. 

 You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?" 

 "Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub. 

 Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

 "What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?" 

 He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!" 

 "You're disgusting."

 "Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

 God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint. 

 "Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep. 

 "Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off. 

 "We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

 Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

 You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

 It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day. 

 "Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub. 

 "He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts. 

 "Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add. 

 Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing. 

 "We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile. 

 "Probably."

 Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious. 

 It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look. 

 You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy. 

 There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him. 

 "'m still wet."

 "You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

 "Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

 "Know how it works, dumb… butt."

 "Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

 "Don't panotrize me!" 

 You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

 "That's what I said!" 

 It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard. 

 He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

 "All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?" 

 "Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

 "Why?" 

 "I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

 "Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair. 

 It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot. 

 He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours. 

 A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest. 

 Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed. 

 Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it. 

 You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

 The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

[headheartbellarke]

I Wish You Would | CHARLIE GILLESPIE

Requested by anon: “hello🌼 could u please write a charlie x reader imagine when he posts a picture on his instagram story with a girl to makes his crush jealous, but she end up distancing herself from him bc she's hurt and respect what she thinks is his relationship” PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x fem!reader WORDS: 2,445 WARNING(s): angst w a happy ending, some language SUMMARY: “I wish you knew that I'd never forget you as long as I'd live."

A/N: hi, everyone!! really, really sorry that this took so long. haven’t had the best march tbh, and writer’s block is a bitch. && this isn’t very good, either, but i had to get something done. love u <3

TEN HOURS EARLIER

“And… post!” Charlie taps his phone, grinning brightly.

Owen cheers from behind him, his voice meshing into the humdrum of the bar they’re currently at. “I’m so proud of you!”

His friend laughs, spinning around in the bar stool to face him. “She’ll finally understand what it feels like!”

Owen nods frantically, taking another sip of the drink in his hand.

Charlie copies his movement – a part of him knows that he is absolutely hammered, but the bigger part of him doesn’t care. He’s had a long day, and he deserves this.

Besides, how else would he and his best friend have thought of this wonderful plan if they didn’t have a billion drinks in their system?

PRESENT

A knock on the door pulls Y/N from her thoughts. “Come in!” She yells, but her voice comes out feeble and hoarse, probably from all the crying she’s been doing for the past hour.

As the door swings open, her best friend, Savannah, pokes her head in. “Hey, babe. You all right?”

Y/N sniffs. “M’fine.”

Savannah enters the room, closing the door softly behind her. She walks to the window, opening the curtains, and Y/N groans when light floods into the previously dark room.

She sits on the bed beside Y/N, and Y/N rests her head on her shoulder as she pulls the covers up to cover their bodies.

“I’m sure that they’re not dating.” Savannah says, wrapping an arm around her best friend.

Y/N chuckles sadly. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Sav. I mean, in the photo, he was kissing her cheek. Literally. And he put a heart between them.”

Savannah sighs. “That’s so not Charlie, you know… kissing random girls in bars and posting pictures with them.”

“Yeah, that’s so not Charlie, because she’s not a random girl. Her name’s Francesca and she went to high school with him, so, technically, she’s known him longer, and probably better than me.”

“I – I had no idea.”

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, babe, just tell him about how you feel. I’m sure that he likes you too.”

“If he liked me, then he wouldn’t be kissing Francesca!”

Y/N exhales, as Savannah gulps, not knowing what to respond. “Y/N, I – I swear, he’s crazy about you. I don’t know what happened between last Friday and today, but I swear – the Charlie that I know – has eyes for no one but you.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, feeling a pang in her heart at Savannah’s words. “Savannah, we kissed and then he ghosted me for a day and now he’s posting pictures of him kissing another girl! I think he has eyes for everyone!”

Savannah bites her lower lip, not knowing what to respond, again. Her best friend feels tears prick at the back of her eyes when she says, “Maybe I’m a bad kisser.”

Savannah’s eyes widen, and she sits up, straight. “No. No. Babe, no. Don’t say that, ever. You’re a great kisser, okay! You’re an amazing kisser. Your lips are fine as hell, believe me. He’s the one with crusty ass lips. They’re not even lips, they look like… like… peanuts.”

Y/N stares at her best friend for a moment, before saying, “Peanuts, Sav? Really?”

“It’s the first thing that came into my mind!” She says defensively, before the girls break into a fit of laughter.

“I’m never talking to him again, ever.” Y/N says after they’ve calmed down. “I’m never even gonna look in his direction. Fucking asshole.”

*

Charlie sighs, taking another sip of his coffee. It’s eight in the morning, and he’s normally a morning person – he loves the mornings, the peace, the quiet, and the feeling that comes along with it more than anything, but right now, he just feels… sad.

On regular days, he would be talking to his best friend, Y/N, about everything that’s on his mind. But today’s different.

Last Friday, Y/N kissed him, and long story sort, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. After work that day, they went to get some food at a drive through, like they usually do. All throughout the ride, they made plans to go hiking once the production for season two finishes. She drove the car to a lookout, and oh, god, it was so pretty. The midnight sky was littered with stars, and since they were at the edge of town, there was less pollution, and they could see bits of the galaxy, too.

But, for some reason, the girl next to him seemed more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen, and after they finished eating, he just sat and stared at her talk about the last book that she’d read, for a while. He knows that it was terrible that he wasn’t listening – but how could he pay attention to anything when she looked like that, especially with passion illuminating her face like times square on New Year’s Eve?

She had looked at him as if he’d just grown a third head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Li – like what?” He’d asked, embarrassed to be blatantly caught.

“Like that…” She’d said and kissed him, and it felt like he was seeing colour for the first time. Although, the next day, everything turned to shit.

Now, it’s Monday, and she’s nowhere to be seen. He desperately wants to know if his and Owen’s plan actually worked (no reason that it wouldn’t), and he feels so impatient right now, and he misses her. Also, his massive hangover isn’t helping, either.

He hears his name being called, and sees Kenny smiling at him.

“Hey, so we’re gonna do a different scene today, since Y/N and Savannah are out, is that okay with you?”

His heart races. “What happened to them?”

“Y/N’s sick, and Savannah’s taking care of her.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s okay with me.” He says, feeling his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach.

*

“This is the last time I’m asking you this…” Y/N sings, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Put my name at the top of your list!” Savannah sings, using Y/N’s straightener as a mic.

“This is the last time I’m asking you why!” Madison joins.

“You break my heart in the blink of an eye, eye, eye!” Jadah sings, jumping on the bed.

As the second verse comes on, the girls sit on Y/N’s bed, huddled close to each other.

“You know, I’m feeling better now than I did when I woke up.” Y/N says, resting her chin on her knees.

“Taylor Swift can fix anything.” Madison says, leaning her head on Y/N’s shoulder.

She nods. “And y’all. Thanks for being here.”

Jadah grins, wrapping an arm around her. “We couldn’t let you have a pity party all alone!”

Savannah laughs. “I’m gonna kill him, I swear.”

“As relieving as that would be, don’t. I’ve decided what I should do.”

Madison quirks a brow. “You’re gonna kill him yourself?”

“Madi! No. I’m gonna distance myself.”

Savannah tilts her head. “I think that maybe you two should talk it out.”

“I don’t think so. I need space, time to figure it out. My head feels like a mess. And I respect him and Francesca, and I’m not gonna dip my toes between them.”

The other girls solemnly nod their head.

“You do realize that that’s not actually the saying?” Jadah says, after a while.

“Don’t embarrass me, kid.”

*

Charlie exhales, watching his breath crystallize to tiny ice particles in front of him. Even though, he’s a Canadian, he still feels cold. Although maybe it’s not due to the weather, but due to the coldness in Y/N’s eyes.

He watches her chat with Jeremy a few feet away, both of them discussing something that is out of bounds to him. He knows that it’s probably decisions regarding their characters, considering Y/N’s character is Jeremy’s character, Reggie’s love interest, but a part of him feels like it’s shit about him.

He has no reason to feel that way, of course. He hasn’t spoken to Y/N in four days, and this morning, when he saw her after for what feels to be eternity, he was blatantly ignored. He had only watched helplessly as Y/N exited the room the moment he entered and had sunk into his chair feeling like absolute shit, especially with everyone’s pitiful stares.

Charlie’s mind keeps replaying each moment, torturing over every tiny detail, wondering what he did wrong.

And that’s when it hits him: she really doesn’t want him anymore.

Last Saturday, he had hopelessly watched her with her long-term boyfriend of god-knows-how-long – he had come to surprise her on set, and it was Charlie that was more surprised. Because he thought that they were over, for good. And it wasn’t like they seemed like they weren’t dating. They were acting just like they used to when they were dating, and he was too close to her for his comfort. They still laughed the same, joked around the same, and were just as inseparable as they used to be.

A question kept rising in Charlie’s mind, like an icicle to his heart: why would she kiss him when she already had someone else? Why would she give him hope, and then take it all away? Why would she dangle his hurt in front of him?

So, he decided to give her a taste of her own medicine, and posted a picture with Francesca, his high school friend, who he had run into that night.

Owen sinks into the chair beside Charlie. “You okay?”

“I’m starting to believe that our plan didn’t work.”

*

“Hey, uh, Y/N?”

The girl in question hears Charlie’s voice, and turns around, avoiding looking into his eyes.

“Can we talk?” He says, and for a moment, her defences are down again. He looks so… tired, almost like he’s going through the same things that she is. Almost like there’s an explanation as to why he broke her heart, why he ruined something that had the potential to be extraordinary, why he made her feel so bad about herself.

And she almost believes it, too. Like the fool she is.

She presses her lips into a thin line, and says, “Nothing to talk about.”

As Charlie opens his mouth to protest, she smiles and walks away.

*

“Okay, Charlie, you two need to talk it out. This is too much. Both of you are obviously hurting, and there’s obviously some serious miscommunication here.”

Charlie shakes his head at Savannah’s words. “She hates me.”

“No. She could never hate you.” She says, thrusting her phone in Charlie’s face. His eyes squint to read the text on the screen – from Y/N.

Sorry – forgot to leave a note. Drove down to Dad’s, gonna stay here for a while. It’s too painful – honestly, you know what? I’m still very, very, very mad at him. But I’m also missing him very, very, very much. So, I need to flush it out. Flush him out. He might be a jerk, but he’s still one of the best people that I’ve ever met. Love you, okay? Will return when the time is right.

Charlie’s eyes widen, and he stares at Savannah’s face for a while. “There – there is still hope!”

She nods frantically. “You should call her –”

“I’m gonna drive down to her dad’s house, too!”

“That works, too.”

*

A frantic knock on the front door pulls Y/N from her thoughts. She stops typing on her keyboard, and flips the lid shut, keeping it on the dining table in front of her.

She runs to her dad’s door, knowing that it’s him, back from his shopping. She opens the door, saying, “Let me take those for – Charlie?!”

Y/N’s heart swells at his sight as he grins sheepishly.

“So, there’s been some misunderstandings… can I come in?” He asks, and Y/N pauses, considering.

He sighs, and adds, “Please?”

She stares at him.

He juts his bottom lip out. “Pretty please?”

“Fine, come in.”

He closes the door behind him, wordlessly following Y/N, who feels like she might hurl right now. They sit on the couch, and it’s really, really awkward for a few seconds.

Y/N sighs. “You said you –”

“Yes. Yes, yeah. OK, so – I, uh, I –”

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Why would you do that to me? Do I really mean that little to you?”

“I could say the same about you!”

“Really?”

“Yes! I saw you with Shahid that day, I know that you two are back together –”

“Shahid?!”

“Yes!”

She stares at him, baffled.

“So…so… Francesca….”

“I only posted the picture to make you jealous! She asked me if I wanted to go out with her and the rest of my high school friends, and of course I went, and she saw that I was being a little… unsocial. So, I told her about how the girl that I’m completely crazy about has a boyfriend! And a long term one at that, too! And then Owen came up with a brilliant plan, and I guess you know what it was. Now, I’m realizing that it might not have worked.”

She stares at him for a moment, before she bursts out laughing. Charlie throws her a confused look.

“You – you thought that Shahid – Shahid, my best friend since we were in nappies, Shahid who is married to this amazing man, and at whose wedding I was the maid of honour – you thought that I was dating him?”

“He’s gay?!”

“Bisexual. Oh my god, I have to tell him. This is hilarious.”

Charlie bites the corner of his lower lip, feeling his cheeks heat up. “This is really embarrassing. But you two act like you’re dating!”

“No, we don’t. You’re just being insecure and jealous. I’ve known him forever, and yes, I am the most comfortable around him. Because he’s my family. He’s my brother. Oh, god, I can’t believe that you were jealous of him – wait, have you thought that we were dating this whole time?”

“Kind of. I thought you guys broke up when he didn’t visit you on set during the first two months of production.”

“He was helping feed kids in Somali.”

“Oh. Oh. God, I feel so –”

“Dumb? That’s because you are.”

He grins sheepishly, his cheeks crimson.

Y/N smiles. “But I forgive you. And I wouldn’t mind if you took me on a proper date this time.”

“Deal. Also, promise that we’ll always talk it out before… you know… doing anything?”

She laughs, and nods. He wraps his pinkie finger around hers.

“Well, Owen’s plan did kind of work, though.”

[forcefullyawake]

This is for @cupcake-rogue’s like a virgin collab!

Denki x F! Reader

Warnings: None, tooth rotting fluff, and a suggestive ending. 

Summary: Sometimes the right person runs into you. Literally. Other times it’s a hero who’s not watching where he’s going.

WC: 1.9k

Denki Kaminari doesn’t do being nervous. 

He’s a hero, a pro, top ten. He worked his ass off during UA, his internships, did everything right, shed his jokester ways, and in the first hero rankings he was in? He placed higher thank even Bakugo. He’s impressive, he thinks, tall and blonde, having grown into himself after those first few awkward years. The point is he’s not nervous around women anymore, doesn’t stutter over his words or make inappropriate comments. He’s cool, mature, a catch for any woman. 

Until, that is, he quite literally runs into you.

“I’m fucking late,” Denki announces to nobody- it’s not like anybody stayed over the night before. It’s a true testament to who he is now that his morning routine can be essentially cut in half and almost nothing goes wrong during it. His hero costume is not only easy to get on, but something that works well with his usual wardrobe, so that he can be out the door in under twenty minutes for times like these. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” He mutters to himself, finally getting all the buttons into place right when the elevator opens up to the ground floor. It’s impressive, actually, that he manages to run into you. With a quirk like his, he’s learned to be constantly aware of his surroundings so nobody gets shocked accidentally. Today, however, he’s not thinking straight and runs directly into you, knocking you (and your paperwork) to the ground. 

He stops dead in his tracks, wanting more than anything to start apologizing, helping you pick things up. You know, things any normal person or hero would do but he finds himself stuck in place. You’re… hot, for lack of a better word. He’ll think of some later. He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something about you that has him immediately bewitched- mind, body, and soul, just like that. You’re standing now, a scowl on your face and- hey you’re snapping your fingers for some reason, maybe he should listen in.

“Hello? Is anybody any there?” Your voice is understandably irritated, looking him up and down quickly before huffing. “Whatever. Watch where you’re going next time, jerk.” You spin away from him, taking his hopes and dreams right with you. But you walk into his apartment building, and through the glass doors that stand between you he sees you walk to the manager- so you’re either gonna live there or work there. Either way he has a second chance. 

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket, and a quick glance tells him it’s Mineta, demanding to know where he is- is he okay? Was there a villain attack? Denki shoots off a quick text saying he’s just overslept before hurrying on his way. 

It’s not until later, when he’s finally in his office, that Denki realizes how he was feeling. 

For the first time, in a very long time, Denki Kaminari was nervous. All because of you.

“Stupid hero, not watching where he was stupidly going,” You mutter under your breathe before plastering on a smile when your new apartment manager steps into view. God, this place is so nice. You can’t wait to move in. You have to dropped off the signed leasing forms and then give the place one last look around before the moving trucks start coming in. 

The meeting goes smoothly, which helps ease whatever leftover tension you have from the morning. The keys are in your hands, the boxes are piling up, and your neighbor is out for the day it looks like so you can play music as loudly as you dare. Your day goes just about as well as a moving day can. You get the important things set up first- bed, tv, coffee maker. The creature comforts for when you’re inevitably exhausted tomorrow. You hear movement in the other apartment, frowning at the shared wall with how clearly you can. Hm, that might be annoying. Still, you don’t plan on turning down the music unless asked. 

Almost like clockwork you hear a knock on your door. You pause to lower the volume to a more acceptable level before opening the door, ready to introduce yourself and apologize, make a good first impression and all that only to see-

“You!” You raise an accusatory finger- at the hero who knocked you over and did nothing this morning. “You can’t be my neighbor!”

“I-” He starts, having the good sense to at least look a little sheepish now. “I’m sorry?” His hand comes up to scratch at the back of his head, making him look even more nervous but you can see his eyes looking over your shoulder to peer into your apartment. 

“Yeah, you should have said that this morning,” It holds less venom than you want, especially when you get distract by the muscles his actions put on display. Huh. Your new neighbor is incredibly built. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “Again, whatever. I turned the music down. Goodnight.” You go to close the door but his voice stops you. 

“Hold on, I wasn’t going to ask you to turn it down,” He starts, finally looking away from your apartment, “I liked it. And maybe you can play it for me now? I could help you put stuff away? Make up for this morning?”

You should say no. You’re already getting tired, you have stuff beyond packing to do tomorrow, and it’s stupid to let a complete stranger into your house. Even if he’s a pro hero. And even if he’s cute. You should tell him to get lost. Instead, you open your mouth to hear yourself say,

“Sure, come on in.”

Denki can’t believe his luck when you open your door a little wider to let him in. 

He was so sure you were going to say no- hell, even you looked a little confused when yes came out of your mouth, but he wasn’t going to question it too much. Your place already looked a lot cozier than his, with decorations half in the boxes, even. You have photos up on the walls already, pictures of people who look like you too and people who look like your friends. His own apartment is pretty sparse, just a place he can sleep and eat in. 

“Could you help me in the kitchen?” Your voice carries through the space, having left him behind. “I have some stuff that need to go onto the top shelf.” He follows blindly, biting down so hard on his lower lip it almost bleed when he sees you. You’re not doing anything scandalous, just putting dishes away but the way your arms are raised over your head have given him a glimpse at your skin where your shirt has ridden up. He can feel the blood rush south in his body, embarrassingly. 

“Stop ogling and start helping,” You snap over your shoulder, frowning at him. That snaps him out of his daze, not wanting to leave too soon despite having another early morning shift. He grabs the box you point at, and starts to place the mugs on the top shelf. They look like gifts, he thinks, all of them printed with far too many places for one person to have visited. 

“Your friends get you these?” He asks, trying to sound casually interested, not too desperate, “Or a boyfriend?” You snort at him.

“Friends, mostly, and some family,” You wait a long moment before continuing, “No boyfriends, though.” Denki internally heaves a sigh of relief. 

“I don’t get out much, with my job. But I like to pretend I do,” You say, eyeing the mugs wistfully. “How about you? You travel a lot?”

“That requires taking time off,” Denki says, frowning a little as he tries to remember his last actually relaxing day off. “But you know what they say- if you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life!”

“Oh, bullshit,” You snort out, abandoning the box you’ve been unpacking all together. “I love my job, a lot, but I have worked some days.” The tension is broken after that, with Denki asking you to elaborate and you trying to play coy until the rants just burst out of you. It’s not until your stomach gives a loud grumble that you realize neither of you have been unpacking but just talking for the past hour and a half. 

It’s just late enough that a normal dinner is out of the question, but maybe you could order something in?

“I know a good ramen place that delivers here,” Denki volunteers, grinning sheepishly. 

“Are you sure your quirk isn’t mind reading?” You tease him, just to watch him laugh. He’s pretty hot when he laughs, you think, then immediately try to squash the thought. Dinner first, crushing on a hero later.

Dinner is ordered.

Denki’s right, the ramen is good and it comes quick. The two of you slurp your soup in silence, the awkwardness returning from before. Denki seems almost unable to look at you now, for some reason. He focuses in so hard on his bowl you’re surprised it doesn’t go up in smoke. You want to ask him about it but you can’t figure out how to phrase the question. 

For his part, Denki is having an internal meltdown. When you lean forward to take a sip of the broth your shirt pulls forward just enough that he can see the swell of your breasts. It shouldn’t affect him this much, he’s been around enough, but there’s something about the white of your bra that makes his head spin, makes him feel like a virgin all over again. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him the same moment he blurts out-

“I can see your bra, I’m sorry, don’t kick me out,” All in one breath. You’re silent for a moment, and then another, and another, and Denki regrets every choice he’s made in his life until now that brought him here. You keep not saying anything and a million and one scenarios run through his head, each one worse than the next. Oh my god, what if you tell people? He’ll be known as the pervert hero, he won’t be able to work in Japan anymore, he’ll have to someplace like America or-

“Would you like to see more of it?” Your voice is soft, shy as your hands twist in the bottom of your shirt, looking at him with wide eyes. He’s sure he’s misheard you because there’s no way you’re offering what he thinks you are. 

“More?” He manages to croak out. You don’t reply, but your shirt keeps going upwards. Your shirt continues upwards until it’s off of you and Denki’s brain has finally, truly short circuited. 

You’re not sure what’s possessing you to be so bold- maybe the conversation, maybe the way the food has made you comfortably warm and a little drowsy, maybe you just wanna see what he’ll do next. It’s cute, endearing even, how his eyes can’t figure out where to look. He can’t decide if he wants to throw himself at you or away from you. 

“More,” You agree, moving closer to him on the couch, taking the bowl from his hands to set on the table in front of you. Denki stops breathing as you move even closer to him, your face swimming in front of his eyes. “Tell me if I should stop?”

“Never,” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours, tasting like a promise, sending a shiver down your spine. It’s so easy to fall into him, like you’ve known him forever, like this is as easy as breathing. 

It’s sunrise, somehow. Denki is still there, blissfully unaware as you watch him sleep. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t watch where he was going the previous morning. 

Now, though, you wouldn’t mind running into him again. 

[winterscaptain]

no deal.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and thus begins the 100 arc! i am so excited to share this with all of you. these are going to include more canon episode moments than my other episode-attached fics because everything builds on itself and the details are key. i promise we’ll still get a lot of added scenes and little changes! 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own!  one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 8.4k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: a case comes back to haunt Aaron in more ways than you can imagine. you’re there to be his shadow, to catch him when he falls. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Hotch?” You poke your head around the door, and you find him at his desk, in a surprising ensemble of khakis and an earthy quarter zip.

Almost whimsical, for him. 

He looks up, his eyes softening for a moment before his brows pull in confusion. “You’re still here?”

You gesture to his desk lamp, the only light on in the entire office. “You are, so I figured…” You shrug. “I dunno. Is everything okay?” He looks exhausted, but it’s bone-deep - nothing sleep can fix. 

He shakes his head and sighs. 

That’s his tell.

But he says, “Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

You don’t believe him. 

“Are you sure?” You cross the room and lean on his side of the desk, quickly scanning over the documents you find there. He doesn’t mind your nosiness. He's mostly accustomed to it by now. 

Most of it is pretty normal - after-action reports, performance evaluations (it looks like you’re doing well), and task force meeting agendas - but there’s one file that sticks out. 

Your brow furrows. “The Boston Reaper?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m just reviewing it for an academy lecture about dormant or otherwise inactive serial killers.” 

“Ah, I see.” You know he’s still lying. “Anything I can help with?”

A little half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No, thank you.” He looks up at you and you offer him a small smile. There are many things at work behind his brown eyes. 

He never keeps things from you without reason, so the lying doesn’t bother you so much as the unease radiating off him in waves. 

For now, you decide to let it go and pat his shoulder as you stand. “Alright. Walk me out?” It’s a pointed question - you know he won’t leave if left to his own devices. 

He’s about to throw you a denial, but the look on your face leaves no room for it. “Yeah. I’ll just be a minute.” He starts packing up, sorting the files into neat little stacks that will be there waiting for him when he gets back tomorrow. The Reaper case, you notice, goes into his briefcase, decisively snapped shut and taken into his hand before you can process much else. 

The walk down to the garage is a quiet one. You take the stairs, happy for the excuse to stretch your legs. 

You snag the sleeve of his (very soft) quarter zip before he turns toward his car. “Aaron?”

His eyes snap to yours at the use of his first name. 

“Just…” you aren’t sure where you’re going with this, but he’s probably used to that by now, too. “Just, erm...Drive safe, please? Get some sleep when you get home?”

He takes a little breath and nods, his gaze softening. He’s quiet as you release his arm, quiet on the walk to his car, quiet (you imagine) as he drives out of the garage.

You watch him until the echo of his tail lights fall out of your sight.  

+++

The next morning, JJ trots up the stairs to Hotch’s office and exchanges a few words with him before he flies out of his office and down the stairs. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for the official request? We haven’t been invited.” JJ does her best to keep up with him, trotting down the stairs behind him with a file in her hand. 

“We will be.” 

You look at her with questions in your eyes and she shrugs. Derek, too, looks at her with confusion. Hotch continues toward the doors. 

Is he already headed toward the plane? 

She throws her hands up. “Well, it looks like we’re going to Boston.” 

+++

When all your things are packed and ready, you settle in beside Aaron in your usual place, on the arm of the couch across from the table. 

He walks you all through his work from a decade ago as you all review the files in your hands.  "The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate."

Emily’s the first to speak up. “So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?”

“Well, killing gave him power, but after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics. Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering.”

“He even got it in writing,” Reid adds. He’s looking closely at the letter, likely starting the structure of what would become a linguistic profile. 

JJ looks up, a little confused. ”He won. Why start killing again?” 

“Because the only person who knew he'd won, the person he made the deal with, just died.” Morgan says, closing the file and tossing it on the table in front of him. 

That’s an easy train of thought to jump on. “Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power.” With a little smile, you remind her, “That's why they contact the media.”

Emily’s next. “So how did he stop for 10 years? 

“In Night of the Reaper, the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died.” Reid pulls the book in question from his bag, placing it on the table. “Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception.”

“Like BTK,” you offer. 

You can see Aaron's eyebrows rise for just a moment in your peripheral vision. Good one. 

You purposefully bump his shoulder on your way to steal one of Morgan’s snacks. Thanks. 

JJ takes the book, thumbing through. “What has he been doing all this time? 

“Well,” you say, “I would imagine he was planning what he would do if he started killing again.” You look at Aaron, who nods with his mouth in a thin, grim line. 

Morgan opens the file again, running his finger down the metrics as he speaks. “So, from '95 to '98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons twenty-one victims - men, women, all ages, all types, no specific victimology or MO.” He looks up at Hotch. “How did you build a profile from that?”

“We didn't. Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance.” Aaron takes a breath before his next thought. “BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press.”

“Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement,” Reid says. “The Reaper and The Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. And the BTK killer was only caught after twenty-five years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one.”

“Speaking of the media,” JJ notes, “when this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy. If they get wind of this, they're going to be all over the Boston Police.” 

Aaron agrees with a brisk nod. “The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of catching him.” 

You sit up straighter. “Meaning, if we keep pushing at his ego, he might take another risk?” 

“Exactly,” he says. “Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there.” He assigns himself, you, JJ, and Reid to the crime scene.

You’re happy for the chance to keep an eye on him. There’s still something off about this whole thing, and the fingers on his left hand worrying his pen is only the most obvious clue. You reach out for his sleeve across the aisle when the team breaks, tugging a little, just like you did last night. 

He looks over at you, almost startled. “Yeah?”

You don’t say anything. Tell me what you need. 

“I’m fine. Just want to get on the ground and get to work.” 

Bullshit. Your squint says it all. 

He sighs and you release his arm. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. 

He always does. 

+++

You and JJ stand off Aaron's shoulder as he introduces the three of you to the local police authorities. Hotch is already on edge. 

An odd exchange between Hotch and one of the veteran cops leaves you with the entire department at your disposal. How he manages to do that every time is beyond you. 

Reid, the case file in his hand, walks you all through the preliminary findings. “Nina Hale, ninteen, and Evan Harvey, twenty-three. Nina's throat was slashed, she was stabbed forty-six times. Evan was bludgeoned and then shot. No shell casings were found.” 

“A revolver, maybe?” You ask, in-step with Aaron, whose gears are turning as he examines the inside and outside of the car. 

“He preferred revolvers, .44 magnum.” If he weren’t so focused, you were sure he’d be impressed by your observation. “The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife.”

You point at one of the photos of the female victim. “Tan line on her wrist. Probably wearing a watch of some sort.”

Aaron’s on the other side of the car now, leaning close to the driver’s side window, looking at a photo of the male victim. “Do we have his wallet?” At your questioning glance, he adds, “The Reaper took items from each victim and placed them on the next, so as to make sure we knew it was him.” 

“That’s quite the signature,” you muse, straightening. 

One of the crime scene techs hands him the wallet in question. After a quick examination: “No corrective lens requirement.”

Your brow furrows and you look over at him. “The glasses aren't his?”

“He only took glasses from one victim--the ninth.” He looks increasingly agitated as he speaks and the crease in your brow deepens to match his. “We should have found them on the tenth, and we didn't. They were never found.”

How does he know which victim was the ninth? How does he remember? 

“What was so special about the ninth victim?” 

Aaron levels you with a look that sends cold wriggling up your spine. “He survived.”

Oh. 

+++

JJ and Dave take the second car back, intending to make a few stops on their way back to the precinct. You sit shotgun, staring out the window, while Aaron drives. His fingers tap arrythmically on the steering wheel. 

He’s restless. Fidgety. It’s weird. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” You ask. 

He shakes his head, just a little. “It’s not a copycat.” 

Your brow furrows. “We knew that, though.”

“Right.” 

Oh.

It must be surreal to have a case come back to life like this. “Wasn’t this one of your first cases? You joined the BAU in ‘98, right?”

When I was a sophomore in high school…

Oh, shut up. 

You snap back to the audible conversation as he nods. “It was my first case as lead profiler, so I’d been on the team a couple of months. Gideon thought, well...I don’t know what he thought. He gave me point on this one for some reason or another.” 

“Look at you, hotshot.” You reach out and shove lightly against his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a huff. “Only on the team a few months and you get assigned your very own case.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I did it with you.” 

It’s true - he did. Spencer may have saved the day in the end, but you polished, delivered, and implemented the profile throughout the investigation. As scared as you were for the professional leap (and the personal one, given the nature of your teams’ closeness), it paid off. 

“That doesn’t count.” 

He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Why not?”

You shrug. “We’re kind of…” You clam up, for some reason, a little embarrassed. 

Don’t be stupid. 

“...I don’t know? Friends?”

You get a real smile from him this time and you match it. “Well, ‘kind-of-I-don’t-know friends’ seems like a stretch, don’t you think?” He looks over at you and holds your gaze a little longer than he should, considering he’s driving a little more than eighty miles per hour. 

You’re an idiot, your eyes say, an amused chuff leaving your nose.

His eyebrows bounce before he looks out at the road again. And?

+++

“George Foyet, 28, was the ninth victim and the only one to survive The Reaper.” Aaron passes you files as he speaks, clearly not needing any notes or other aids to regurgitate the details of the case, verbatim. 

Dave snorts. “Not for lack of trying.”

Hotch walks you all through the Foyet attack, outlining the oddities and patterns that collectively create The Reaper’s signature. His good mood from the car has either entirely evaporated or been smothered by his focus on the case, leaving him with his normal operational stoicism. “The Reaper always uses some sort of ruse to get close to and spend time with his victims.”

“So, how did Foyet survive?” You ask. 

It’s weird he’s not summarizing it for you all, but then again, this case is odd in its obvious, meticulous execution. It’s probably best to let it speak for itself. 

Hotch wordlessly starts the recording. 

“911. What's your emergency?”

“I just murdered two more.” The voice is distorted, ominous. 

“Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?”

“Victims eight and nine, by a silver Toyota on Riverton past the Tyson Quarry.”

Reid fills you in. “That call was made from a payphone about a mile from the crime scene. EMTs arrived fifteen minutes later. Bertrand was DOA, Foyet barely breathing.”

“So,” you ask, looking over the case. “The Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings telling the police where to find the bodies?”

Aaron nods. “Until this one, the ninth. If he hadn't made this call, Foyet wouldn't have been found in time. The call saved him.”

You look up from the file. “Can I guess that the Reaper didn't make any 911 calls after this one?”

Aaron’s brows raise for a moment. Exactly. 

“There's a reason he left Foyet's glasses at the last crime scene.” Aaron looks grim as he presents the glasses again. 

Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket, likely for access to Penelope. “Foyet could be in danger.”

“Uh, Hotch,” JJ pops her head into the room, looking more than a little confused. “There's a reporter outside insisting on speaking with you.” At Aaron's questioning look, she adds, “Roy Colson. He says he knows you.”

You watch him leave and exchange words with the reporter, your lower lip planted firmly between your teeth. JJ hangs at your side while Derek comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“Is Hotch okay?” He asks. Spencer, Dave, Emily, and JJ also look to you for an answer. 

You shake your head the barest amount and when you speak, it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know.” You clear your throat and try again. “I don’t know.” 

+++

Dave peers into the car. “Another couple. Much older this time. One shot and one stabbed.” 

“No reason to stop out here.” You’re just off Aaron's shoulder, following the line of his flashlight. 

Dave sounds resigned, tired. “His license and registration are out of his wallet.” 

You squint. “Looks like he used a cop ruse."

“Good spot, isolated, few drivers.” 

Hotch sighs, coming in close to something with his flashlight. “He left Nina Hale's watch."

"Okay," Dave says. "So what'd he take?"

“His wedding ring.” You note the tan line on the man’s fourth finger - a dead giveaway. 

Pardon the pun...

A local officer is quick to give you the victim information, approaching Aaron with a file. “Arthur and Diane Lanessa. Weymouth. Married 32 years. They were coming home from the Elks, where they played bingo twice a week.” He looks over at the press, rapidly arriving at the perimeter. “I gotta go make notification.”

You refocus on the crime scene, anticipating Aaron's wandering eyes and shining the light where he needs it most. 

“Looks like he went through her purse,” he says. 

You hover over his shoulder again. “Any idea what he was looking for?”

Hotch shakes his head, moving on. 

A photo falls out of the drop-down mirror during Hotch’s cursory check. It depicts the victims and who you assume are members of their family. In blood, FATE? is scrawled across the front of the photo. Aaron straightens, leaving the car and crossing to Dave. You, of course, follow. 

When you both reach Dave, you finally have an opportunity to take a look at the photo. “The question mark is new.”

“It's for us.” Aaron doesn’t need further examination for his assessment. “He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had ten years to save them and that these latest ones are on us.”

“You got all that from one question mark. That's impressive.” Dave’s compliment is only a little undercut by his sarcasm. You can’t help but agree with the implication. 

Aaron sighs, copping to it. “I may know him better than I've let on.”

“What does that mean?” You step closer to him, your brow furrowed. 

He levels you with a somewhat guilty look. “It means that there is a profile on The Reaper.”

Dave frowns. “I thought we were called off before we had one.”

“We were. I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done. But this case…”

“It stuck with you,” you finish for him. Your brows drop lower over your eyes, finally understanding the stakes at play. 

“I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone.”

The exhaustion in his voice, gravelly and low, worries you more than you’d like to let on. “So you never shared it with anyone.”

“I know I'm always preaching that profiling is a collaborative effort, but this one wasn't. I don't know, maybe if -” he sighs. “If I was wrong, I was gonna head us in the wrong direction.” The doubt in Aaron's voice breaks your heart a little. 

“Now you think you're right.” Dave, of course, has the brief words to coax the thought out of Aaron. You’re thankful he’s here. Between the two of you, you’ll get more out of your unit chief in twenty minutes than anyone else would get in three days. 

“The more I see, the more accurate I think it may be.”

“Okay,” you say, “then we need to hear it.”

+++

It’s decided that Aaron will deliver the profile solo, with only a little input from Dave. It’s odd to see him up there all by himself while the rest of you stand off to the side. You’re students just as much as the local police, this time. 

You tune into Aaron, whose eyes are bouncing all over the room, from person to person, holding and keeping their attention. His eyes meet yours and you hope the respect and pride overflowing in your chest is visible on your face. 

“The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore. Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone.”

One of the local cops has a decent question (for once). “Why is he so democratic?”

“Because his kills aren't just about his victims. He needs recognition. He needs us to know.”

Dave chimes in. “The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims--it's all for us.”

“Why?” 

“Power,” Aaron answers simply. “The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him.”

It reminds you of the first time you saw him - alone, in front of a room of people focused only on him. It was one of your first lectures at the academy, your favorite, and the one that inspired you to ask for a placement with the BAU when Jenny told you to take a running leap. 

How far you’ve come. 

Without permission, your mind wanders to a few things that haven’t changed in the last year and a half. Aaron is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen - capable, worthy of deep admiration and respect. His voice is the same - demanding respect and carrying the weight of the world in it. 

Anything that won’t condemn you to a life of unrealistic expectations of men? 

No. Maybe you’re a better shot?

Great. That’s useful. 

“Like BTK killer Dennis Rader,” Aaron continues, “The Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others. 

“I believe our killer has another interest that may give us the best opportunity to catch him.” You’re glad Dave is there to help, his seasoned expertise coming in handy once again. “The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger victim, he spent more time with and stabbed forty-six times.”

Yet another “Why?” from one of the local officers. 

Curious group, it seems. 

Aaron answers. “He pays special attention to his younger female victims, and his weapon of choice with them is the knife, a substitute instrument for bodily penetration.”

Dave, again, has something else for you all. “The younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends. I think our guy is a hebephile.”

“Hebephile?” Naturally, that particular proclivity is not a familiar one to the layman. 

Reid lends an assist. “A hebephile is someone who's attracted to adolescent post-pubescent children. Teenagers.” 

“Look for men with access and authority -” Aaron assumes command again, “- high school teachers, counselors, coaches--and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years.” He checks in with you, and you nod. “That's all for now. Thank you.”

+++

You look up as Aaron walks into the room, Derek ready with bad news. “Garcia can’t find George Foyet.” You stand and resume your post as his shadow, beside Emily. 

Morgan holds the phone toward Hotch. “I’ve got nothing, sir,” comes Garcia’s voice from the speaker. 

“What do you mean? 

“I mean, he’s gone. He’s completely off the grid. He’s gone.” 

“How is that possible?” You tap Aaron's shoulder with the back of your hand as his tone grows sharper with Penelope. 

Be nice. 

He shakes you off and you clench your jaw, looking over at Derek as Aaron tries to wiggle more information out of Penelope. It doesn’t work. “Garcia, we don’t have much time.” 

“I know, sir.” 

You huff. “I mean, how would you even drop off the grid like that? There has to be someone he talked to.”

Aaron wordlessly dials a number, shooting you a somewhat grateful, if not a little rueful, look. “Roy, Aaron Hotchner. I need a favor.” 

+++

“That’s him.”

Aaron shuts the back door of the car behind you and out of habit, you take quick stock of him while he does the same for you. 

You spot the man you’re looking for skittering across the street and toward the apartment. “George Foyet?” He’s visibly skeptical, and Aaron pulls his credentials. “It’s okay. We're FBI.” He introduces you and Rossi while you flash your credentials for good measure. “I'm Agent Hotchner. We met once before. Do you remember?”

"Yeah, I remember.” He’s agitated, his eyes jumping to every moving person on the near-empty street. “Would you mind if we get off the street, please?

You follow Dave and Aaron into the cramped apartment, noting the clutter and general feeling of paranoia permeating the space. Everything looks rushed - half-lived in and half-finished. 

When you reach the kitchen, Foyet collapses into a coughing fit and Dave immediately supplies him with a glass of water. 

“Thank you.” He takes another decent gulp. “How'd you guys find me?”

“Roy Colson,” Aaron says. He’s focused on Foyet, but you can tell he’s keyed into the peripherals, just in case. 

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, though in what you’re not sure. “Well, is this gonna take long? 'Cause I really can't be late for work.”

“What do you do?” You ask. 

“I'm a freelance computer specialist with the city.”

Dave steps forward. “We're sorry to bother you. We'll make it as quick as possible.”

Aaron pulls the evidence bag containing the glasses out of his breast pocket. “This yours?”

“I knew it wasn't a copycat.” 

You pull a chair for Foyet as he coughs again, feeling only a little odd about taking care of this man in his own house. 

“Thank you.” He takes another sip of water. “I'm sorry.” He pauses, remembering. “I was gonna propose to her that night...At the restaurant, but I got cold feet. The ring was still in my pocket when he approached us. He said he was lost. He had one of those sightseeing booklets. I was looking at it when he stabbed me. Yeah...Perfect timi-”

You interrupt him, attempting to stem his agitation. “Mr. Foyet, you don't need to go through this again.” Nevertheless, he continues, increasingly distraught. 

“I couldn't move. I just sat there, bleeding. I watched him kill Mandy. He stabbed her sixty-seven times. Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody sixty-seven times? ...I never found the ring.”

For some reason, your mind drifts to the man beside you, the horrifying thought of seeing him stabbed, the life leaving his body. You shake it off with a little shudder. 

Why, brain? Why? That’s a fucking awful thought. 

And yet the image sticks with you, forcing you to manually lock it away. Aaron looks at you, almost like he can read your mind. 

That’s nightmare fodder.

The smallest flex of his brow asks, Are you okay? 

Fine. You offer him a tight twitch of your lips. It’s not a smile, but you’d be thankful for at least a mockery of one right now. 

With a little bit of a squint, Aaron turns back to Foyet. “He should have left your glasses on his next victim, but he didn't. He held on to them all this time.”

“What, you think he's got some special interest in me?” He almost laughs. “I've been living with that possibility for the past eleven years.”

“Have you received any strange letters or calls? Hang-ups?” Dave asks. 

“I keep residences under different names. I move between them randomly. He likes to get you in the car, so I take the bus. Believe me, I've gone through great lengths to make sure that none of the things you've just mentioned ever happened.”

What a terrifying, sad existence. 

Dave offers George his notebook and a pen. “We'll need your other names and residences so we can reach you.” 

“We can take you someplace safe until this is over.” Aaron’s brow is knit in concern - it’s a look you’ve seen many times, but it never fails to inspire a little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

Quit, would you?

“No. Boston is my home. It's the one thing I promised I would never let him take from me.”

Aaron insists, pushing. “Then we'll protect you here.”

“You can't protect me. Nobody can.” He frantically writes in the notebook for a moment before handing it back to Dave. “Please be careful with this. Please.”

Dave assures him, “It's safe with us.”

“He's just a man, nothing more.” You hope it’s the right thing to say. You feel Aaron take a breath, and you almost feel bad. It’s a line he’s said before, one you borrow when necessary.

Don’t mean to steal his thunder. 

Instead of looking at you, he looks at Aaron. “Then why can't you catch him?”

“We will.”

+++

You’re both sitting in Aaron's hotel room, the photos from each of the crime scenes spread out all around you. It’s far later than you’d like, but the time spent is worth it if it gets you one step closer to this sick, scary bastard. 

“What was it like? The original case?”

Aaron sighs, pulling a hand down his face. “Frustrating. Exhausting. Like this.” He shakes his head. “Every day was another dead end, and then another pair of bodies every few weeks. Then…they just stopped.” He holds up the note. “Now I know why.” 

You tip your head to the side, studying him. “What would you do?”

“What, you mean about the deal?” 

“Yeah. What if -”

The phone rings, cutting you off, and you rise to answer. You’re stopped by a hand on your wrist as Aaron passes you and picks it up. “Hotchner.” 

You plant yourself back on the bed, legs folded underneath you. It’s probably one of the team, given the hour and -

“Who is this?” His voice is low, almost angry. 

You scramble to the edge of the bed, giving Aaron space while remaining completely keyed into him. 

“...You think I’d take that?...I’ve misjudged you. I thought you were smarter than this...Then you’ve misjudged me...I don’t make deals.”

Oh my god. It’s The Reaper. 

No. It can't be.

You pull out your cell and fire off a text as quickly as you can to Penelope. 

3:42am trace call to ah’s room stat

She doesn’t disappoint. 

3:42am on it. 

“I’m the guy who hunts guys like you..." Aaron laughs, dark and humorless. "You all think that...I’ll see you soon.” He slams the phone down and starts to pace, his hand over his mouth. 

“What’s going on?” You stand, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Hotch. Who was that?”

He stares down the phone like it’s a living thing, but doesn’t breathe a word. After a moment, he jumps back into action, sitting heavily on the bed and going over everything with a renewed, almost frantic, focus. 

You watch him for a moment before you pull out your phone. A text message from six hours ago blinks up at you. 

Haley Brooks-Hotchner

9:13pm when you get a chance, can you have aaron give me a call? no rush. just school paperwork for j. he’s not picking up his phone. thanks xx

You answer her, praying she didn’t leave her ringer on. The hour alone will reveal the extent of the team’s attention on this case and you can only hope she understands. 

3:48am can do. this one’s bad. might be a minute. 

Aaron looks up at you, a question in his eyes.

You shake your head with a little smile. It’s nothing. 

+++

“Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun--or more likely guns--and finished them off with his knife.” Dave looks around while Aaron stands stock still near the driver, slumped over the wheel. 

The scene inside the bus is macabre - bodies and blood everywhere. The numbers on the window send shivers up your spine. 

“There;s Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring.” You peer over Aaron's shoulder. “What'd he take?” 

He scoffs. “Does it matter?” 

He straightens quickly, shoving past you and getting off the bus. You get out of his way, letting him go with a frown. Dave meets your eyes and tips his head. You follow him out as he goes after Aaron, giving them just a little bit of distance 

Dave catches up to him. “Hey. What's goin' on with you?”

Aaron stops in the alley a little ways away from the bus. “He called me tonight and offered me the deal.”

So that’s what happened. 

You thought as much, but the thought alone was too much to consider. It’s never been less satisfying to be right. 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him, and then he does this.” Aaron gestures to the crime scene, NO DEAL staring you all in the face, along with all those numbers. 

The idea of The Reaper torturing Aaron like this is horrifying. Plenty of unsubs have made your skin crawl in the past, but this is a new kind of awful. You’ve never seen him like this. 

“So, you think this is your fault?”

“It is,” he insists. You’re shocked to see tears in his eyes when he looks back up at Dave. There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, but something keeps you back. 

Dave pulls his gun and releases the safety, turning the grip toward Aaron. 

What the fuck? 

“Well, here, use mine. You convinced me.” 

Aaron waves him off with one hand while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. 

Of all the things you would have thought of at this moment, pulling a gun on SSA Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t have made the list. You watch, ready to jump between them at a moment’s notice. They’ve never gone after each other before, but you’ve seen more worrisome behavior from Aaron in the last forty-eight hours than in the preceding eighteen months. 

Even at the height of the divorce proceedings, he was steadier than this. 

“No, no, you hung up on him.” Dave pushes the gun at him, trying to wrangle it into Aaron's hand. “You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us.” He gestures to you and Aaron's eyes flicker to yours. You have no idea what you look like right now. “We'll get this guy without you.”

Dave is a genius. 

He blinks, tears wetting his cheeks. It’s certainly one of the more alarming things you’ve ever seen. He’s audibly frustrated, his hand flexing at his side as he talks. “Dave, I had 10 years to do something about it.”

That’s not fair. 

When has Aaron ever been fair, or even kind, to himself? 

Well, shit. 

That’s why you’re here. Do your job.

You step forward, keeping your voice down. Approaching him like a cornered animal seemed the best tactic at the moment. “Shaunessy made the deal. The killing stopped, as promised. He closed the case and sent you away, Hotch.” Your eyes beg for his as you continue. “You moved on. You worked on other cases, active cases. You saved lives in that time. It wasn’t wasted.”

Aaron huffs, clearly frustrated. “But I kept coming back to this one. I kept coming back to this profile.” There’s something desperate in his voice and you know he’s trying to get you to understand something he can’t articulate. 

Dave takes over again. “Hey. I was retired. Should I blame myself for every victim who got killed while I was on my book tour? Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead.” 

Damn. Good point. 

Aaron’s eyes meet yours for just a moment before looking away again. You keep your face soft, neutral. 

Safe. 

“But that voice in your head,” Dave says, “it's not your conscience. It's your ego. This isn't about us, Aaron. It's about the bad guys. That's why we profile them. It's their fault. We're just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it, someone else will. Trust me. I know.” 

Aaron checks in with you for a moment and you nod. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. 

He wipes at his eyes before leveling Dave with something that looks almost like his classic glare, gesturing to the offered gun at his chest. “You can put that away.”

With a cheeky smile, Dave says, “You sure?”

“It's a little dramatic, don't you think?” You ask, stepping up and clapping Dave on the shoulder. 

“My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic.” Dave’s deeply chuffed pleased that he was able to bring Aaron back to his senses. He holsters his weapon, throwing the safety back on. 

“Which one?” Aaron asks. You’re relieved to hear a little bit of humor in his voice. 

“All of 'em.”

The three of you share a little smile before you walk back to the crime scene. 

Aaron’s thanks is so quiet you’re almost certain you made it up. 

You’re only sure it happened at all when Dave replies, “Anytime.” 

+++

“He knows where Foyet lives. We’ll split up and cover each address. Go.” 

You rise and somehow end up with Derek. Though not your intention, it’s probably for the best. For good measure, you take Jameson, a seasoned SWAT agent. The three of you had the biggest of Foyet’s properties on lock. 

Derek speeds to the house, flooring it with sirens blaring. 

“I’ll take front,” Derek says, nearly shouting over the siren. 

You’re locked and loaded, ready to go in your vest as soon as the car stops. “I’ll take the back.” You twist in your seat to look in the back. “Jameson, you good on my six?”

“I’ve gotcha.” 

You’re clearing the house, kicking in the back door. There’s a thump behind you and you turn. Before you can do anything, something makes contact with the back of your head, sending you straight to the ground. You hit something else on your way down, and you’re done. 

Fuck. 

You’re knocked out cold, but come to only a few minutes later. You stumble to your feet as lights and sirens round the corner. Bringing a hand to your head, you feel the blood on your forehead. There’s probably a decent cut near your hairline and when you look down, you find an alarming amount of blood on your vest. 

Head wounds bleed. You’re fine. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Derek. 

You brace yourself on the wall as you rise, checking your service weapon. It’s not in your holster, but you find it nearby on the floor. 

Why didn’t he take it? 

Kicking it under the table, you draw your secondary weapon. The thought of leaning down to reach for the gun on the floor is too much and your only aim is to get to Derek, then Jameson.

Blinking blood out of your eyes, you do your best to clear the rest of the house before finding the mess in the living room and front yard. Without much of a thought, you haul yourself over the broken window sill, getting a nice slice in your arm for your trouble, and land hard at Derek's side. With a groan, you roll over onto your knees, crawling toward your prone teammate. 

You look up as headlights hit you, shading your eyes with one of your hands. The other rests on Derek's chest. To your relief, you can feel his breath under his vest. He’s alive. He’s okay. 

With the intensity of the lights shining on you, you can’t see Hotch as he lifts you to your feet by your upper arms. He shields you from the light with his body, his brows drawn and concerned. You’re dizzy in the extreme, your right eye almost unable to open with all the blood caked down the side of your face. 

He takes you under his arm and brings you to one of the ambulances posted on the street. The paramedic takes your vitals, but Aaron keeps a hold on your other hand. You’re not sure he realizes he’s still got you, but you’re not about to let go. 

“What happened?” He asks, quiet and tense. 

You shake your head even though it only increases your dizziness. Blinking a couple of times, you answer, “I don’t know. He came out of nowhere. I had the side of the house, Jameson had the back, Morgan the front. We were clearing room by room and he just…” your eyes float to the front of the house, where Emily has Derek with a paramedic. “He appeared and I didn’t have time before he hit me with...Something. I was out before I could blink. I think I hit the table on the way down.” 

Hotch sighs and to your dismay, you see the coroner approaching the back of the house with a gurney. Jameson’s dead. 

Why aren’t you?

“He didn’t take my service weapon. It’s under the table in the kitchen now, but it was next to me when I came to. I don’t -” you swallow, still dazed. “I don’t know why he left us alive.” 

You can see Aaron's teeth grinding as he collects himself. “He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t let him.” 

“What, like you?” You know your functioning isn’t at one hundred percent - you’d never make a jab at him like that, even weak as it was, at a moment like this if you were clear-headed. 

He sighs as your eyes flutter shut, leaning on the inside of the ambulance. You hear the paramedic tell him you’re concussed and need to be kept awake for the next ten hours. Hotch gets the details on your other injuries before squeezing your hand once and leaving you. 

After another few minutes, EMS releases you with a packet of concussion information (which you immediately crumple and shove into a passing crime scene tech’s jacket pocket). Far too quickly, you make your way across the yard and into the house, avoiding Jameson's body and the coroner’s staff. 

You find Derek and Emily sitting together on the back of the couch as he, too, is patched up. 

“You okay, kid?” He asks. 

You nod. “Just concussed, a couple of lacerations. I’m fine. Are you okay?” There’s a compulsion to fuss over him, but you resist. 

He nods, bringing a pristine .44 caliber bullet into your eye line. “He left this.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. “Sadistic bastard.” 

Emily raises her eyebrows and cants her head, agreeing with your brief assessment. 

You look outside to where Hotch stands in the middle of the yard, with his arms crossed, looking over the damage to both the house and his team. 

Eventually, he returns to the house with Spencer in tow. You follow them, moving slow. 

Reid points to evidence as he talks. “Jameson was clearly killed outside. This is someone else. There are signs of a struggle and a lot of blood."

"But no body,” you note. 

What the hell happened here? 

Reid nods. "Just the drag marks. The human body holds 5 quarts of blood. I'd say there's a little more than half that here. Whoever the bleeder was, they lost too much to survive."

It begs the question, so you ask. "Foyet?” 

“It was his worst fear, that the Reaper would come back and finish the job,” Dave says, appearing out of nowhere and leaning on the door jamb to the kitchen. 

With a firm conviction, Aaron says, “We offered him protection. He refused. It was his choice.”

+++

JJ’s brow crumples as she looks over the files again. "Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?"

Aaron, of course, answers her. "He was his only surviving victim, the only one he couldn't defeat."

“But he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment. There's something there that we're missing.” You thumb through the case again, certain the answers are there for you to find. 

JJ’s persistent. “What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand? Wh-what do we know about her?”

“Nineteen. A freshman. She came here from Michigan to go to school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses.”

“Michigan. Where The Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad.”

“That can't be a coincidence.”

“He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose. But she just got here from Michigan. They only met when the class started.”

“How long had she been in the class?” You ask

There’s an incredulous laugh in Emily’s voice. “Four weeks.”

“So it was either love at first sight or what?”

Derek picks up JJ’s thought. “Foyet was lying?”

“He's a 28-year-old teacher's assistant in freshman classes.” Hotch immediately starts dialing a number, and you’re sure you know which one. As you suspected, he gets Penelope on the phone. 

“What are Foyet's aliases?” Quickly, you hand him Dave’s notebook, the rest of your body coiled for action. He bows his body over the phone, rattling off instructions. “I want you to look up in Boston city records Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education.”

“Well played, sir.” You hear her keyboard in the background. “They all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach computer science.” She pauses. “Oops. Scratch that. They're not all working for the Department of Education.”

“They're not?” Aaron’s head tilts, listening. 

“No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students.”

Something clicks. You watch the gears turn and turn and turn, Aaron’s eyes flickering over the photos, the file, back and forth as he puts pieces together. 

“Hotch?” Your hand hovers over his shoulder, but he pays you no mind. 

“Roy Colson went to see Foyet.” He begins to stand, his voice rising as he gets farther from the phone. “Garcia, I need you to trace Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is The Reaper.”

Garcia gives you the address and the rest of you chase Aaron out to the car. The headache pushing behind your eyes is the least of your worries. “What? What do you mean George Foyet is the Reaper?” It’s almost comical, the efforts you take to keep pace with him down the stairs and to the car. 

Aaron communicates all the details he put together in the conference room, taking you step-by-step through his process. “He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, he drove a mile, he called 911, he went back, and he inflicted those wounds on himself.”

You’ve already caught up, the pieces clicking in before he can repeat them. “He knew EMS would get there in time to save him.” 

“And between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect.” There’s frustration in his tone, but you know it goes deeper than that. It’s his pride. 

“Hotch, you couldn’t have -” 

Derek cuts you off. “Why would he do it?”

“It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him.”

Talk about inserting yourself... 

Derek is right there with him. “He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction, and still, we didn't see it.”

Aaron nods, his jaw tighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

Don’t blame yourself. 

Hotch rolls up to the house, no lights or sirens, and you surround the house, on his six. You quietly breach the back door, clearing the kitchen and the hallway. 

“It's over.” Aaron’s tone leaves no room for argument as he levels his gun at Foyet’s head. 

There’s a strange smile on Foyet’s face as he speaks. “I'll kill him.”

“You need him to write your story.”

“I'm taking him with me. I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe.”

You step to the side, trying to get a better shot, but Aaron stops you with the smallest turn of his head as Foyet redirects his attention to you.

“I said I'll kill him.”

Aaron pulls his focus again. “You kill him, I kill you.”

“You think I'm afraid to die?”

“You're not afraid.” Aaron sneers. He’s aiming to hurt and it’s a good idea. “You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's gonna come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy.”

“I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy.”

“Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead.”

You’ve got him there, Aaron. 

“If you know me so well, how come some many had to die to bring you here?”

You can almost feel the lance of shame and guilt that shoots through Aaron. He almost flinches. Between you and Emily, if looks could kill, Foyet would be long dead. 

You fucking asshole. 

It takes everything in you not to leap on him and pummel him into the floorboards. You’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face. 

“That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer.” To your ears, it sounds like Aaron's convincing himself as much as telling Foyet. 

“That's right.” He turns, smirking. "Hello, Derek.” 

He drops his gun and Derek pounces on him, restraining him. "Where's my badge?” He jerks Foyet’s head back by the hair. “Where is it, you son of a bitch?”

He doesn’t answer Derek's question, but shifts his icy gaze to you. “How’s your head?” He gives you an imitation of a pout, and anger sears through your chest. “You took quite a spill last night, Agent. Probably had your unit chief very worried.”

You squint at him, but don’t respond. Aaron steps a little to the side and you’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s made himself a barrier between you and Foyet. 

The bastard notices, though, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.”

The look he gives Hotch makes you shudder. 

+++

Only an hour or so after you land back at Quantico, JJ jogs from her office to Hotch’s. Your heart sinks. 

That’s never good. 

“Foyet escaped.”

You grab the remote and stand from your desk, turning the volume up on the TV. 

She chases Hotch down the stairs as he joins the rest of you, surrounding Derek's desk. “Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital.”

“Get me the U.S. Marshals office.” He turns, but she stops him. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed it.”

Aaron doesn’t stop moving until he’s at your side. Your search for his eyes and he meets your gaze after a moment. 

What do we do? 

His jaw clenches. I don’t know. Then, a huff. Fuck. 

You shake your head a little. It makes you feel a little dizzy. Fuck, indeed. 

“How’s your head?” He asks. 

Of all the things to worry about…

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Just then, Emily returns, a file in her hand. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet's house. They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.” 

You take it from her, looking it over before looking at Hotch. “He had the schematics. And not just for Woburn. For every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And 10 years to plan,” Dave adds. 

"They're gonna find him, right?" Penelope’s voice is small, and you can’t blame her for it. Derek’s at her side, staring at the news footage with a grim look on his face. 

Aaron’s eyes are trained on the television when he answers. “No, they're not.”

Derek turns to you before looking at every member of the team individually. “He said he'd be more famous than we knew, and he was right.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @whoreforhotch @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster

[deathwishy]

×Childhood Friends×

Marinette never forgot the boy with steel eyes and silver tongue.

They met when she was ten. Her parents were hired to do the catering at a party, one to celebrate the opening of the Parisian branch of Wayne Enterprises. Of course the Drakes would be there. They too were planning to expand Drake Industries to Europe, and while it would have been best to be the first ones in Paris, it could still be beneficial.

Tim was twelve at the time, and already knew who Batman was. His parents left him alone most of the time so he had plenty of opportunities to analyze and admire the vigilantes at night. The days were filled with tutors coming and going, a nosy nanny and tons of homework to be done. Thankfully, Batman didn't usually come out in the light of day. He didn't actively try to figure out their identities most of the time, but when he saw the first Robin executing a complicated maneuver, that could be done by only a handful of people, the pieces fell into place. But he kept quiet. He erased every piece of evidence he collected, paper and online data, anything that could lead someone else to the same conclusion.

Marinette was sitting with her parents in the kitchen, sometimes helping her papa with arranging sweets on plates or bringing them to the guests. She liked helping her parents when she could.

Marinette met Tim in the garden of the hotel. He excused himself from his parents to go take photos of the Eiffel Tower, that was close to where the party was. Marinette got out to take a breath of fresh air, the kitchen was hot and her parents didn't need help at the moment.

She noticed him sitting on a bench, looking at his camera.

"<Good evening!>" She greeted him in French.

He was startled, almost dropping his camera.

"<I'm so sorry! I thought you heard me coming.>"

It took a few seconds for Tim to adjust his eyes from the light of the camera display to the darkness of the garden. There was a girl, of mixed descent, in a simple bubblegum pink dress. Her hair was as midnight black, long and tied in pigtails. He gave her a little smile.

"<Not a problem. I was just setting my camera, it needs to be adjusted to capture the lights of the tower better.>" He tried to hide his American accent, but he knew she still caught it.

"You're American, yes? If you'd like, I can speak English too. Mama said it's good to know something else other than French. I would like to practice as well."

Her English was good. Riddled with a thick French accent but still understandable. He nodded and patted the bench, signaling that she could stay too. She sat down with a bright smile. She extended her hand.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

"Timothy Drake. But you can call me Tim."

And so they met. They shared their art interests, his love for photography, her love for drawing. She mentioned her growing interest in fashion and he shared his love for IT. They were so different yet so alike. She was form a middle class family of bakers, that loved her with all they had, he was from a rich family, had all he could have ever wanted, except for the love of his parents. But he didn't mention that.

She was entranced by his fervor when talking about his local heroes, or vigilantes, as he called them, and found that she could listen to him all night. He found that he could talk to her just as long, easily, as he could never before. He was happy to bring that sparkle of interest in her eyes.

But the bubble of happiness was soon burst by one Janet Drake.

Tim knew he was in trouble. Others couldn't see the fire behind her gray eyes, only Tim could. He shot up from the bench, startling Marinette in the process.

"Timothy. We have to go." Marinette shivered under her cold gaze, even if it wasn't directed to her. But what mother could look at her own son like that?

"Good evening, Madame." Marinette tried, but soon stepped back, almost cowering under the woman's gaze. Even if it was only for a second.

"Now."

She made one motion with her head, turning on her heels, and heading back into the building. Tim only waved and soon disappeared with his mother. Marinette didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. But she felt like it wasn't the last time she would see Timothy Drake.

                                                        ...

The next time they met, he was Robin. She was Ladybug. She was thirteen, he was fifteen. They didn't know who each other was. Being in Paris brought a longing in Tim's heart for a lost friend, but he knew he couldn't search for the pigtailed girl. Marinette felt her heart ache, missing the American boy she once befriended.

Batman came to Paris shortly after Stoneheart. After speaking to Diana, she granted her passage into Paris along with Robin and Batman to try assess the situation and develop a battle plan.

They set the meeting in the outskirts of Paris, in a abandoned building to try and hide the presence of the Justice League and keep their involvement a secret. They didn't need Hawkmoth on watch 24/7 after an angry superhero he could akumatize.

Ladybug swung through a broken window, Chat Noir jumping through moments after. They both landed at the same time, in front of the American heroes.

"Ladybug, Black Cat, it's an honor to meet the new wielders." Wonder Woman greeted with a slight bow. Robin followed suit, even if a little wobbly. Batman only bowed his head.

"There is no need for that," Ladybug blushed, bowing in return. "We haven't done any heroic feats worthy of such respect yet."

"Being chosen is always a reason to pride with, Ladybug. And the defeat of Stoneheart is quite remarkable for someone as young as yourself."

Batman frowned. Just how young were they?

"My lady is always modest. She doesn't believe me when I say she's incredible."

Ladybug rolls her eyes and punches Chat, making him giggle. Robin was eyeing him, scrutinizing every aspect. He had an extensible staff, like his, but obviously magic. His fighting style would match the Bats better, and Ladybug's yo-yo was very much like Wonder Woman's lasso. They already knew she would go to Themiscyra to train with Hippolyta but a bit of the Bats teachings would not hurt.

"As you know, miraculous magic protects our identities. It's the same thing for Hawkmoth. It will be hard to find and figure him out, unless we have irrefutable evidence." Ladybug began, opening her yo-yo.

"What we know so far is that he wants our miraculous, the Ladybug and the Black Cat. Our Kwami said that by merging the two, the wielder is granted a potentially reality altering wish. Unfortunately for now, that's all the information we have on him. It's going to take some time."

Through all her explanation, Batman was already thinking. They couldn't stay in Paris, even if the chance was small, they could be akumatized, that wasn't a viable option. Even an akumatized Robin would be a major problem. He had two years of training, the new heroes had almost none. He could see that Chat Noir had some, maybe fencing or swordplay by his posture and slight gestures. The girl maybe had some light self defense training. Maybe gymnastics recently.

"Ladybug shall come at times to Themiscyra to train with the Amazons, Chat Noir, you will go with the Bat."

Chat Noir began fidgeting.

"Um, my home life doesn't allow me to introduce intense training into my schedule. The best I can do is go out at night. My d... My parents don't know about this and with my obligations I can't just leave."

Robin, no, Tim knew as soon as Chat Noir opened his mouth. In that moment, he could see himself in the leather clad superhero. The controlling parents that had such high expectations of him, the suppressing nature that made him not even dare question their word. He was going to say that his dad doesn't know about it. So either his mother knows, which is unlikely, or he only has his father.

Tim was almost sure that Bruce came to the same conclusion. It would have been harder for someone that didn't personally know but he was the world's greatest detective for a reason. Batman nodded.

"Actually it is best if we do it at night. Maybe there will be less of a chance for someone to get akumatized. But not much, you still need sleep."

Chat Noir nodded vigorously, now smiling.

After going over some details regarding the training, the two teams went on their ways.

Chat Noir, happy that someone understood and actually made a compromise that worked for him too.

Ladybug, with a heavy heart, thinking about the battles ahead. And maybe about a certain boy.

Batman and Wonder Woman, both trying to not burn down every building in Paris in search of Hawkmoth.

Robin, with sorrow in his heart, for the boy that is like he once was, for the girl that was so close yet so far, for two kids that had to fight the battles of adults.

                                                         ...

This time, they met as Robin and Marinette.

It was in the same year, only a few months later. Robin was perched on a rooftop, waiting for Batman to finish the training session with Chat Noir. They had to zeta tube back to Gotham that night to go on patrol with the rest. There was an unusual rise in criminal activity and they needed all hands on deck.

"Mister Robin, sir!" there was an almost whisper from a balcony on the building next to the one he was sitting in. One on top of a bakery. There was someone there. They looked around and then signaled with their hand to come over.

There was a girl there, one that he recognized almost immediately. She didn't have the same long hair, but it was still tied in pigtails. She was taller and her voice changed a bit but he knew it was her. The girl from the garden, Marinette. He leveled his breath and jumped the narrow gap between the buildings on her balcony, on a shadowed portion.

"Is there a problem?" He asked, checking out the surroundings at the same time.

"No, sir, I just wanted to give you something." She reached to the table and pulled up two boxes. They looked like pastry boxes.

"I don't think people are supposed to know about you being here but I saw you a few times already. I don't know if anyone else did, I didn't ask around and haven't heard anything, but I wanted to thank you for helping Ladybug and Chat Noir, assuming that's what you're doing, so I made some pastries as a 'Thank you'. And, ah, again, thank you. I know that maybe things in Gotham can get pretty hectic and you are coming here too so, ah, I thought these can help, even if a little bit."

Robin listened through her rambling. She got flustered and started fidgeting midway through so he took the boxes from her hands when she stopped to breathe.

"Thank you, that is very considerate. We prefer to not make our involvement in Paris known so it would be appreciated if you still kept quiet."

She nods, smiling, then adds. "I sometimes leave some out here for our heroes too. Feel free to pass by anytime."

He gives her a little smile, then cups his ear when his com comes to life.

'Robin, rendezvous point. I'll be there in 5.'

"I have to go now. It was nice meeting you."

She takes a step back, he pulls out his grappling gun, boxes secured at his chest, and with small waves, he leaves the balcony.

                                                            ...

When they came across each other again, it was a year later. He was Timothy Drake. She was Ladybug.

He started working at Wayne Enterprises with his father. The parisian branch had some odd numbers so they came to Paris as Tim and Bruce to investigate, but didn't go out as Batman and Robin. Unlike Ladybug and Chat Noir, they didn't have magic to protect their identities. Unless there was an emergency, they would lay low.

Then there was an akuma attack.

They were walking to the hotel when Dark Cupid attacked them. He only shot Bruce. Ladybug took him out of his way when he froze in place, shocked by his father's sudden hatred.

"Are you alright?" The heroine asked him when she saw that he didn't move. He was still thinking. "Don't listen what he said. Dark Cupid's power is to transform love into hate. There was nothing real about those words, trust me." She pulled him into a hug when she saw tears rolling on his cheeks. He embraced her back, for a few seconds, the pulled away.

"Go and kick his ass."

She grinned, made a salute, then threw her yo-yo, going full speed towards the akuma.

She swung with a new vigor, recognizing her old friend. She was happy to see him again, even if only for a little bit.

Even though he knows that Bruce didn't mean what he said, it still stung a bit. He didn't remember what he said or did after the cure was cast and Tim didn't want to tell him. But Bruce still knew that is hurt him.

                                                          ...

When Hawkmoth was finally defeated she was 18. She decided to join Batman in Gotham. The balance had to be restored in the city that drowned in chaos and destruction. A year later, at the beginning of her first year of university, they met again.

It was in a nice coffee shop, not far away from the campus. She waited in line with Adrien, who was rambling about a blue eyed boy he met when he was in Metropolis with Chloe for an interview with Lois Lane.

The bell at the door rings and sort of by instinct she looks over. Two boys enter. Both black haired, one with blue eyes, one with green.

When they make eye contact, she knows that he recognized her too. She smiles and waves. He does too, now coming towards her. Adrien leans towards her, whispering. The other green eyed boy does the same to his brother.

"Who is he?"

"Who is she?"

They both smile, eyes locked on each other.

"A childhood friend."

Some fluff, some angst, a lil' bit of everything. I'm not good at writing outright romance but I'm a sucker for friends to lovers. And Adrien sugar is my jam. He is a smoll cinnamon roll that needs to be protected.

Do comment, constructive criticism is always welcome.

@timari-month-event

[novelconcepts]

fic: something to hang on to

When Jamie buys a camera, she isn’t really thinking about it. They’re driving through Virginia, stopped off at a little gas station; Dani’s outside filling the rental Jeep, which puts Jamie on snack-duty. At the counter, she spots a display of disposable cameras and, almost without thinking, adds one to the pile of sugar and caffeine. It isn’t a plan. Isn’t for any particular reason. 

Dani, pawing through the plastic bag of their spoils, raises it from a mess of M&Ms and Pringles and says, “You like photography?” She asks it the way she asks everything, like every little detail she learns about Jamie is another brand-new color added to the shine of the world. Jamie shrugs. 

“Never was much for it, but this brave new land is pretty enough. Don’t mind keeping track of it for later.”

It’s more than that, she thinks as Dani raises the viewfinder to her eye and clicks a photo of Jamie behind the wheel, one hand steering, the other stretching across the center console to rest on Dani’s knee. I almost lost you once, Poppins. Wouldn’t have had anything but my own memory to remember you by. This...this will help. 

Later, much later, years later, Jamie will look back on that moment as one of her wisest. Later, on a bed she can no longer sleep in, holding a thick album between shaking hands, she’ll think some of the most important choices you ever make are split-second recklessness. A camera, tossed in at the last second. A habit, built on nothing more than needing Dani’s smile immortalized. 

Open the album. Take a breath. Flip the page. 

***

A photo: Dani sprawled on a red-and-white beach towel, chin propped on folded arms, gazing out away from the camera as though she has no idea anyone is watching.

They’re with Henry and the kids--the first time they’ve seen the Wingrave family since the events at the house, and, though they don’t know it, one of the last times they’ll see them all together--in Florida. It’s strange, Jamie reflects, watching Miles chase Flora across an endless strip of sand. Strange how much world can fit into one country. England was green, rolling with hill and fog and haunted by things older than any of them can imagine. Florida feels...young, somehow. Too warm, too bright, too perfect on a Saturday afternoon. 

She’s hugging her knees, seated on a blanket with Dani sitting just an inch further away than she’d like. It’s the safe thing, the smart thing, but she misses her--misses the way they sit in hotel rooms and empty bars, knees touching, pinkies overlapping. Dani, in a sundress that matches the blue of her right eye, is laughing as Miles grabs Flora around the middle and tries with all his ten-year-old strength to hoist her off the ground. 

“Miles,” Henry calls, his voice laden with the anxiety of a man who has only just begun learning how to parent. “Miles, be careful--”

“They’re all right,” Jamie interrupts, tossing a handful of warm sand toward Henry’s precarious perch on a plastic chair. "Have you been wound this tight the whole fucking time?”

He looks pained. “You’ll excuse me for never having raised two children before. They’ve been a bit...”

“Precocious?” Dani suggests brightly. 

“Demonic?” Jamie says at the same time. Henry sighs. 

“Adventurous, shall we say, to meet in the middle.”

“They haven’t been...” Dani’s smiling, the way Jamie has grown accustomed to over the last few months: a beautiful smile that never entirely reaches her eyes. It’s the way she smiles when she thinks she needs to wear a mask of stability, when she needs everyone to think she’s doing all right. 

Henry frowns. “Haven’t been what?”

Dani shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Scared? Having nightmares? I don’t know...”

She’s asking-not-asking about that night, like she told Jamie she wasn’t going to do. They don’t need me bringing it up, she’d said back at the hotel, holding tight to Jamie in a way that said she very much needed to talk about this against her own will. They deserve to just live their lives. 

Henry looks puzzled. “Strange, but no. No nightmares. Flora had a few at the very start, before we left London, but...no. Not since arriving here.”

Dani nods like this is all she wants to hear, and rubs her cheek with one slightly-sunburnt hand, the moment passing into obscurity as Flora shrieks and Miles trips directly into an oncoming wave. It’s all good here, all sunshine and ease of temper, and Jamie watches Henry stand. Brush off shorts that look truly insane set against his pale legs. Go awkward-jogging into the surf to lift a giggling Flora heavenward. 

“They make a fine little family,” she says, pitching her voice so only Dani can hear. Dani nods. There’s a tightness to her mouth that says she’s only half here, only half able to let the sun bake away the shadows. Jamie touches her ankle lightly, wishing they were somewhere less requiring of distance. 

“I’m all right,” Dani says. Not a lie of intent, at least, though Jamie suspects it’s more that she wants to be all right. She watches Dani roll onto her front, eyes on the endless ocean, the children tumbling around in its gentle grasp, the man doing his best to keep up. 

Could watch her forever, Jamie thinks, knowing it’s far too early to say something so catastrophically huge. She’s been having these thoughts more and more, wild notions of turning this brand-new adventure with Dani into a lifetime event. It turns a key somewhere deep within her chest, some far-off engine making a deep rumbling sound that sends her tripping toward a very real, very powerful feeling of terror. 

Her hand slips toward the bag of sunscreen, paperback novels, sliced oranges. A camera, small and yellow and used mainly in moments like this one, emerges. Dani never notices as she brings it to her eye, frames Dani’s blonde ponytail and sun-pink skin, snaps a photo. 

Later, when the pictures are developed and spread out across a hotel bedspread, shots of Miles with an orange-peel grin and Flora standing before a monster of a sandcastle intercut with Dani’s far-off pensive expression, Dani will touch the print. Lingeringly, fingers trembling just the slightest bit.

“Why this one?”

Because I loved you more than words could capture, Jamie will know it’s far too early to say. It’d be reckless. It’d be testing the bounds of something still fragile, still one-day-at-a-time hopeful. 

“Why not?” she’ll say, and tuck the photo safely back into its sleeve. 

***

A photo: Jamie and Dani, backs to the freshly painted Leafling sign, standing carefully apart with shoulders back and a small bouquet of flowers clutched in Dani’s hands.

They keep to themselves, mainly, but some of the nearby shopkeepers have been kind as The Leafling goes from mad late-night concept to brick-and-mortar reality. They bring welcome-to-the-block plants and casseroles that are mostly-edible, and Dani accepts each one with true Midwestern courtesy. Jamie leans back, watches the art of neighborly behavior being painted before her eyes: older women who compliment Dani on her earrings, young men bullied into helping move heavy boxes into storage by their mothers. Dani, in the middle of it all, wearing a soft pastel sweater and a smile that has finally remembered its own strength. 

She wasn’t sure how this would go, if Jamie’s honest about it. She’s been telling Dani not to worry for weeks, telling Dani they don’t need to know much about a business to run this one. I grow, you arrange, we make out like bandits with all the nice Americans who value pretty things. It’ll be perfect, Poppins. She’s been saying it, and she thinks she even believes her own words most of the time, but there have been dreams. Anxiety running its red thread through her sleep, telling her she has no skill in this arena, no education to speak of, no idea how to survive in American business while hiding her relationship with her “business partner”. 

The day the shop finally opens, Jamie has been saying “it’s going to be great” for so long, she almost surprises herself by rushing into the bathroom and vomiting into the toilet. Dani, expression warm and just the tiniest bit teasing, leans against the doorframe.

“You all right?”

“Perfect,” Jamie gasps, staggering to the sink and thrusting a toothbrush into her mouth. “Jus’ great.”

“Too late to turn back now,” Dani points out. “What would we do with all the business cards?”

Jamie groans, spitting mint foam and rinsing out her mouth. “You could show just the slightest bit less glee, Poppins. I’ve just run us into a brick wall of imminent failure.”

Dani laughs, coming up behind her to hug her tight around the middle. “We should probably at least unlock the doors for the first time before you decide it’s time to shutter them again.”

She’s good today, Jamie senses--not the fake-good where she tries her best to pretend she isn’t listening for some deep-down movement Jamie can’t register, but truly happy. Her body is relaxed, her hands certain as she tips Jamie’s cheek and kisses her calm. 

“How,” Jamie gasps when they break, “are you not out of your bloody mind right now?”

Dani shrugs. “It’s like the first day of school. Spend all summer planning and worrying, but now it’s happening. Just gotta jump in.”

There are already people waiting when they arrive, to Jamie’s mingled horror and delight. Most of them are their fellow shopkeepers, waiting with the brilliant smiles of people who have already lived this particular nightmare themselves, and just want to pay forward the relief of customers actually turning up. They’re kind, these people--they don’t know Jamie in the least, don’t have the first idea what shadows lurk behind Dani’s eyes, but they take their hands, squeeze, and congratulate them all the same. Jamie thinks they even mean it, most of them. Americans are complicated, boisterous, scandalous people--but they can have such heart. 

One woman, old enough to be Jamie’s grandmother, presses a bouquet of peonies against Dani’s chest. “For luck,” she says croakily, patting Dani’s cheek like she’s known her since Dani was three feet tall. “Dry ‘em, hang ‘em somewhere in the back. Remember we’re all rooting for you.”

“Rooting,” a man who owns a nearby pizzeria hoots. “Good one, Carol!”

Jamie almost rolls her eyes, but Dani is beaming. When the others make flapping get in front of the sign gestures, they can’t help but obey, standing with a perfectly-maintained half-person between their shoulders. She wants so badly to reach over, to take Dani’s hand, to kiss her with all the terror and relief she’d never known she could feel at once. Instead, she smiles as professionally as she knows how for the camera someone produces. It’s enough.

Later, tapping a finger against the print the photographer drops on their counter, Jamie says, “Look like I want to pass out.”

Dani glances toward the window, takes note of the empty street, presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’d have caught you.”

***

A photo: Jamie, sitting just behind Dani on a plush couch, arm wrapped around her waist, cheek pressed to flyaway blonde hair. Dani, grinning her widest, cheesiest grin, leaning back like she knows there is no world in which Jamie would ever let her fall.

There are parties, occasionally--usually thrown by other under-the-radar couples they get along with well enough for drinks, not so much that they truly build relationships. They like the quiet life, the two-person road trips, the easy silence after a long day. But, sometimes, life is grand and big and loud, and on those nights, they venture out into the world.

There are a pair of men maybe five years their senior who have been together for “a decade”, if you ask Mike, “a century”, if it’s Paul telling the tale. They’re good people, and their home is a safe space Jamie doesn’t anticipate finding. 

Friends are hard, she thinks. Always were, but they’re so much harder once you’ve lost a couple.

Still: when Mike and Paul are set to celebrate a round ten years together (”An eternity,” Paul clarifies, leaning against the Leafling counter to invite them over), they go. Dani wants to, and it’s good seeing Dani want things like this. It’s been almost a year together, almost a year of exploring the map and one another, and Dani’s been getting softer around the edges, less prone to jumping at shadows. The Dani Clayton of a year ago wouldn’t want to attend parties, lest the beast inside leap while her guard is lowered; the Dani Clayton of tonight is holding up a dark green dress, brow furrowed. 

“Too much?”

Jamie hums a moment to buy herself time. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’d like to actually leave the house tonight.” Jamie wiggles her eyebrows, buttoning a black shirt and searching for a good pair of suspenders. Dani laughs. 

“I think you can keep your hands to yourself for a few hours.”

“You,” Jamie points out, sidling up behind her and kissing her neck, “have always had entirely too much faith in me, Poppins.”

Dani is, however, a woman of her word when it comes to accepting social invitations, and soon they’re sitting on an exceptionally soft couch in an exceptionally loud living room. Jamie glances around, reading the environment, registering the two women holding hands by the coffee table, the men dancing near the kitchen, the way even the male-female pairs seem not to see anything odd. Mike and Paul have been doing this a long time. This is as safe a space as their own home. 

She likes the way Dani relaxes, a little more with every drink tucked into her hand, a little more with a lit cigarette pulled from Jamie’s, a little more still when Mike nudges her and mutters, “Your girl looks good tonight, Clayton.”

She likes, most of all, the way Dani doesn’t flinch away when a Polaroid comes out. These are good people, brave people, smart people. If there are photos taken tonight, they will be pressed straight into the hands of their subjects, gifted away before the chemicals have even processed. 

Dani presses back against her, seated on her lap, laughing at some joke Jamie hasn’t really been paying attention to. She’s too busy watching Dani’s profile, the way her head tips back when she’s really laughing, too hard to care what she looks like. Too busy reveling in how it feels to hold Dani in a setting so much more public than usual, her fingers stroking the soft material of Dani’s dress, her body burning and the most comfortable it’s ever been. 

Later, with the Polaroid on the nightstand, the green dress on the floor, and a sheet tucked up against the fall chill, Dani says, “We should do that more.”

Jamie chuckles against her shoulder, kissing a patch of freckles. “This?”

“Yes.” Dani wriggles a little, giggling. “But also that.” She’s gesturing to the photo, propped between a lamp and copy of some old Shirley Jackson novel. “It was nice, wasn’t it? Not...”

“Hiding,” Jamie supplies. Dani makes a humming noise soft in her throat. 

“I like not hiding you.”

***

A photo: Dani, eyes dark with a smolder only Jamie ever sees, a cigarette between her lips, hair loose around her shoulders. 

Nights spent home with Dani, nights where there are no groceries to pick up, no accounting to be done, no errands waiting to be noticed, are Jamie’s absolute favorite thing in the world. There’s just something about this sense of home they’ve been building together, this sense of locked door and secured window and no one else invited to partake that gets Jamie the way nothing else does. 

Especially Dani. Dani at home is less reserved, less careful. With every month that passes quietly, no sign of anything but her own mind, Dani gets a little less tight. A little less prone to gazing off into the middle distance. A little less likely to disappear from an otherwise-normal conversation, emerging several minutes later like she’s pulling herself out of a dream.

And, some nights, she’s not just here--she’s utterly present, every atom of her tuned to Jamie like they have no need of space between them, no need of separation. These nights, the nights where Dani strides into the room on a mission, are Jamie’s favorite of all. 

“Why,” Dani says, leaning back in a kitchen chair with legs spread and head tilted to exhale smoke toward the ceiling, “are you looking at me like that?”

“Me?” Jamie teases. “You’re the one gazing at me like I’m some terribly interesting new buffet.”

She’s half-joking, but there’s something about the way Dani looks at her on this very particular sort of night, with every line of her body tuned toward Jamie’s, that makes her feel a stupid kind of brave. A reckless kind of excitement unwinds outward, until her fingertips itch to grab at Dani’s hair, her knees weak with the desire to pull Dani close. 

She’s doing it now, smoking that cigarette with all the languid energy of a woman perfectly at home, watching Jamie with a faint smirk playing around her lips. No one else sees that smirk, Jamie understands, and it makes her a little faint every time she thinks it. To have something of Dani, some integral comfortable part of Dani that belongs solely to their apartment, their life together, is still a good fortune Jamie can’t entirely parse out. 

Her hand moves toward the camera, small and plastic and containing some of the best memories of Dani she desperately needs to keep. Dani lets her snap off a shot, shakes her head when Jamie lowers the camera.

“That’s going to be one of yours.”

She says it every time Jamie tries to capture the white-hot energy of this kind of evening. Dani doesn’t like to see herself through this particular lens, gets fidgety and embarrassed at the sight of her own face etched with such a confident hunger. Jamie asked the first time if Dani wanted her to stop taking the photos altogether, and Dani had shaken her head.

“I don’t mind. But they’re yours, okay?”

She sets the camera aside, moving to take the cigarette out of Dani’s hand, taking a long drag and dropping it in an ashtray. The rest doesn’t need anything in the way--no lens, no embarrassment, nothing but the way Dani’s mouth opens beneath hers, hands already roaming. The rest is not Jamie’s, but theirs, a joint ownership of soft moans and soft skin and soft assurances that this is still, always, home. 

Later, with Dani asleep, one hand thrown loosely over Jamie’s hip, Jamie will look at the photos that are hers and hers alone. Dani, mouth wet and swollen from a night spent confined to their bedroom around their anniversary. Dani, grinning and half-asleep, glancing over her shoulder to coax Jamie into putting the camera down, joining her among the blankets. Dani, smoke-haze around her face, wine glass in her hand, looking just past the camera at Jamie’s own desire. 

Dani’s choice to share a life with her, Dani’s decision to share every inch of herself with Jamie, is more than Jamie feels anyone deserves. 

***

A photo: Dani in front of the Eiffel Tower, sunglasses on, arms spread wide.

A photo: Dani kneeling at the Grand Canyon, gesturing bewilderment at the sheer scope of the place.

A photo: Dani standing before the alleged largest ball of twine in the world, looking rather like she regrets letting Jamie pick the destination this time.

They travel until Dani can’t stomach it anymore, can’t take the uncertainty of unknown roads and unmapped hotel beds--but, first, years of travel. Years of postcards and rental cars, of Jamie turning maps upside down and Dani being shockingly savvy in small-town situations. 

These photos, more than any other, feel like they have to be taken for someone else’s idea of posterity, and Jamie feels a little strange, at first. Dani’s already seen much of Europe by the time they meet, and has no photos whatsoever to show for it. Jamie, who started turning up in photos for the first time as an adult, says, “It’ll be good to show ‘em off,” while never quite bringing herself to the edge of an unspoken follow-up question: to whom, exactly? It isn’t as though she and Dani are having children, isn’t as though there will be grandkids tottering around down the line to tune out their stories. Who, exactly, are these mementos for?

Dani is far too kind, far too pragmatic, to put the question to her. Dani only poses, grins, lets Jamie take all the pictures she wants, and then--camera tucked safely away once more--grabs Jamie’s hands and leads her into living it: the food, the outdoor markets, the snowstorms, the sun-kissed hikes. As the years go by, Jamie takes more and more photos, never quite able to explain to herself why it’s so critical. Never quite able to look away when Dani finally covers the lens with one hand and brings her close, kissing her like it’s the first time. 

They stop looking at these photos together, after a while. Stop trying so hard to go back, as the days grow shorter and the exhaustion begins to steal the warmth from Dani’s smile. At first, it’s about moving forward--always one foot in front of the other. At first, every photo taken is set aside as a gift to another life. And then, finally, it’s about the moment they’re in, nothing more. Jamie sets the camera on a shelf. Refuses to look at Dani through any barrier but her own two eyes. Dani doesn’t like the snap-click of the camera anymore, anyway--each time, she flinches, like Jamie is about to show her a glimpse of whatever horror she’s been seeing in the mirror. 

I only see you, Jamie promises, the ache in her chest so great, she’s sure it will swallow them both. But Dani can’t bring herself to look. Can’t bring herself, just in case Jamie is wrong. 

Later--so much later, with eyes stinging and arms empty--she flips through the album and remembers Spain, California, Minnesota, Greece. Later, she finds Dani sticking her tongue out, spinning like a deranged nun out of musical, sitting quietly in a cafe with a small cup of coffee warming her hands. Dani, stiff-shouldered and trying not to laugh as Jamie made faces the one time they ever ventured back to Iowa. Dani, hair blowing back into her face, arms looped around Jamie at a terrifying, exhilarating first Pride parade. 

And, in the back, the photos of Dani as only Jamie knew her. The sly grin a second before pinning Jamie to the couch. The sweet surprise from Jamie coming home early with dinner. Shot after shot of no make-up, or smudged eyeliner, or ruined lipstick, of Dani in pajamas on Christmas, or Dani in bed after a shower, or Dani laughing herself silly at nothing Jamie can remember now. 

They’re all here, and they’re all Dani--all of Dani Jamie’s got left now--and still, they’re wrong. They sit, plastic and unyielding, beneath flimsy protective sheets, and they don’t laugh like Dani, don’t breathe out against her skin like Dani, don’t smell like Dani’s shampoo or swear like Dani tripping over a shoe in the dark or look at her with that solid, palpable love like Dani did and should still and never will again. 

Jamie sits, album in her lap, staring down at Dani with paint smudged on her cheek and their then-new bedroom behind her, and suddenly can’t remember how to breathe. Had she known? Somewhere in the back of her mind that day in a gas station, picking up a little yellow disposable camera, had she known that one day, this would be all she had left of Dani? Surely not. Surely, she hadn’t believed it would go this way, all the way back then. Surely, it was one day at a time, and we’ll have time, and any day with you, Poppins. 

Had she known? No. No, of course she hadn’t.

And yet, the idea of not having these in front of her--the idea of Dani’s face slowly, surely, washing away over time as Jamie fails to find her in a world so uncompromisingly cruel...

She touches a shot of Dani with her left hand covering her mouth, her ring gleaming gold against her smile, the day the state had legalized civil unions. Dani as gold as sunshine, in one of the last truly clean moments, before old ghost stories dug rotting fingers into their life. Her vision grays, her head suddenly too heavy to hold up. 

She hadn’t known. But she’s glad. She’s glad she has, at least, this much to hang on to.

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Autumn Leaves Fall While Love Is Fading Andy Biersack X Reader

Word Count: 1,662

Warning: ANGST

Lyrics: Seasons Of Wither By Aerosmith (Except Changed Her To Him

An inextricable sadness can be experienced when love fades. You're left questioning what is left when the one you promised to love forever no longer loves you. I experienced this. I understand this. I know what it feels like to have my heart ripped out, leaving a gaping hole which can never be filled. I know the pain that comes with wondering. What did I do wrong? What didn't I do right? Is there any way I could have prevented this from happening?

The feeling of loss which stuck me whenever I thought about him.

Andy's words still lingered in my mind; Love fades, mine has…

They stung. After everything we'd been through together this is how it was ending. I'd glimpsed that light at the end of the tunnel; the one telling me that I had what I'd dreamed of in my grasp… but now it has slipped away… it's just completely gone. Andy no longer wants me… the realization hit some storms are simply not meant to be survived but designed to strip you of everything and anything. 

Loose-hearted man, sleepy was he

Love for the devil brought him to me

Seeds of a thousand drawn to his sin

Seasons of wither holding me in.

Flashback…..

“Andy,” my voice is thick with emotion because all that we'd been through. Anger is turning into desperation but he can't, he just can’t do this anymore. – “Please. I need you here.”

“I can’t.” his voice is weak and trembling slightly and I force my eyes shut–   the singulat though flashed...damage. Hide. Now. In that moment there was no way to know my world would completely unravel, we were two souls of one beating heart cursed to be untied never to be whole. But the love between us Andy discarded aside as if it were nothing, yet out of our control we would be forever tangled within each other's embrace. 

I didn't exactly understand why he felt differently or what caused him to just without warning drift. All I now knew, was that the man standing before me has changed, there is an indifferent air around him. 

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

6 months ago…..

Andy pressed his chest against my back  wrapping his arms around my waist before kissing the back of my shoulder tenderly. My heart swells at his gesture, leaning back into his embrace.

“I love you” You whisper, Andy’s arms tightening around me.

He presses another kiss onto my shoulder. I let out a small sigh, I breathe him in deeply, taking in his the deep scent of hiscologne. Letting the smell wash over me, I close my eyes, I completely lose myself in the feel of his presence. 

……….

I trudge through the apartment, breath shaky and tears welling in my eyes. But they still don’t fall. I feel completely numb.

I walk into our bedroom, completely catatonic and moving as if on auto pilot. I sit on the bed, staring at nothing in particular. The moonlight streams through the window catching a large photo frame hanging on one of the walls. My eyes are unspeakably drawn to the glinting photo.

It’s our wedding photo.

It’s a candid shot. Me and Andy are staring at each other, smiling tenderly at one another. Andy’s arm is around my waist, his head slightly bent and leaned into mine, almost as if he’s about to kiss me. The white of my dress is a stark contrast against his black suit, the pale pink bouquet of roses on the floor as I hold onto his arms. The sun is setting in the background, both our silhouettes set ablaze with a halo of sunlight.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. It was the happiest day of my life. Andy sang to me in his deep vibrato voice of his. He danced with me. Held me close. He kissed me telling me he loved me. The memory of him reciting his wedding vows pops into my mind.

I can’t help it. I break down, sobs wracking through my body as I cry into the dark, quiet of the room. My body shakes with the cries, tears flowing freely. I feel the warmth of them run down my cheeks before disappearing into my shirt. I fall back onto the bed, curled into a ball as I weep out all my feelings, all of the hurt and heartache I feel.

I cry and cry until finally, I can’t cry anymore. My throat is raw, now only dry hiccuping as I somehow run out of tears. My heart aches, my headaches and my eyes sting. 

I tried my hardest to remind him why we fell in love with each other  and why we married. But the harder I tried, the more he pulled away. Bit by bit, he slips from my life. I didn't understand why can but he fell out of love with me; I could see it in his eyes when he walked away. He wouldn't buy me flowers every week anymore. He no longer kissed me goodbye. He no longer sent me little messages about how much he loved and missed me. The more I try to occupy his attention, the more he refuted me, and my heart just aches all over again, longing for him to come back to me.

Heat of my candle show me the way

Seeds of a thousand drawn to his sin

Seasons of wither holding me in

Oh woe is me, I feel so badly for you

Oh woe is me, I feel so sadly for you in time

Bound to lose your mind

Live on borrowed time

Take the wind right out of your sail

Time heals nothing it only makes the memories fade away, It’s sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew. 

What hurts more than losing Andy is knowing that he wasn't fighting to keep me. Nothing hurts more than realizing he meant everything to me, but I meant nothing to him. It’s funny how he could break my heart, and yet I can still love him with all the little pieces. 

Love is not as much a choice as it is considered a feeling. Staying in love takes a commitment. The worst thing is not only being told that someone has fallen out of love with you but being told that they haven’t been in love with you for some time. When you find out you're losing your soulmate it's as if every bit of oxygen has been expelled from your lungs. 

Flashback…..

“Do… do you even love me anymore?” I whisper, dread heavy in my bones as the question slips from my lips. Andy’s eyes soften and I see the hesitation on his face as he contemplates whether he should answer me or simply walk away. Finally coming to a decision, he stares directly in my eyes and I can almost feel the next words.

“I don’t know” he replies, the uncertainty reflected in his eyes before he walks away.

I watch him walk away from me, I was trying much harder to save this relationship than he was. In the last few months it was a last ditch effort to go through couples therapy. I know my husband wants to be anywhere but here at the moment. His entire demeanour is closed off, arms and legs crossed as he stares out the window. 

"When was the last time you actually paid attention to your wife?” he asks and Andy balks, unsure of what to say at the sudden tangent. More importantly, he doesn’t know the answer to his question. Andy abruptly turned about to storm out of the office, “If you have nothing to say that’s fine. Just think about it. I believe our next session is in another two weeks. I want you to think about this relationship carefully." The therapist says, his tone final. Andy quickly leaves the room, his mind in a jumble for the first time in a while. 

…………..

For the first time in over half a year, Andy look at me; pays close attention noticing the sadness in my eyes. He swallows thickly, eyes scanning over my face and as if willing me to look at him. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t even know where to start. He frowns slightly at that. You’d been together for almost ten years, so why was it suddenly so hard to speak to you?

All of a sudden, the distance between you two hits me like a freight train. I can feel the huge rift between the two of us. I sigh slightly, wondering when it had gotten so big. Did he always feel this far away from me? 

Why did it feel like I was worlds away, almost unattainable? The two of us had always been close, always been able to speak about everything and anything. There were times when we’d both wake up in the early hours of the morning, still in bed and voice heavy with sleep and speak about the smallest, silliest of things. 

We had spent close to a decade together; we knew each other like the back of each other’s hands. He didn’t look back as the the door closed behind him that night.  Bereft now of pain and I felt the dying spark of embers from our relationship. Like autumn dyes the leaves bright red, I encountered a love that I'd hoped would last longer than a fading breeze. 

Beauty is fleeting, evanescent,  But all of it ended, Andy’s presence in the photos won't fade away as easily with the flow of time.

Because love is ephemeral and memories die, only the photos of him will accompany me until I take my last breath. I can say, I was once loved; Together, in the fires of hell, we will burn with the memories of the most beautiful moments in life, the moments I shared with Andy the remaining proof.

[witchyintention]

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕗𝕥?

As of late many have found themselves taking steps into the wondrous world of witchcraft. However it is a lot more than just an aesthetic. It is a lifestyle that is both beautiful and dangerous when you don't know what you're doing. Witchy Intention is to help guide you in your craft and teach you through my experiences and research. Along with many other experienced witches through interviews.

When you hear someone say witchcraft you instantly jump to satanic or devil worship but truth be told it's not. Satan is a figure in Christianity and has absolutely nothing to do with witchcraft. So what is witchcraft you ask. Witchcraft is an earth based religion or practice, and has been practiced in almost all the societies and cultures across the world. Though each craft is different according to local beliefs and traditions.

According to scholars of witchcraft, it was a belief system whose origin predates the majority of well known religions. It dates back so far many do not know the exact date, but we have seen it in many cultures such as ancient Egyptians. It also has been evolving since then and its present form is quite different from what it was thousands of years ago. And different areas practiced it differently. Even today from person to person and Coven to Coven it is practice differently. To each their own. It's a unique experience in itself. 

In the ancient times, Witchcraft was known as ‘craft of the wise’ as the wise persons were those who followed the path of nature and were in tune with its forces, had the knowledge of herbs and medicines, gave wise counsel and were held in high esteem as Shamanic healers and leaders in the village and community. They understood that nature was superior to human beings and that human beings were simply one of the many parts of nature, both seen and unseen that combine to form one whole. As Chief Seattle said, “We do not own the earth; we are a part of it.” They understood that what we take from nature or use, we must return in kind to maintain the balance and equilibrium. The modern man has, however, forgotten this and has paid the price in the form of many ecological and environmental disasters.

Unfortunately for the past several hundred years the image of the witch has been associated with the evil, heathenism and unrighteousness due to prejudices created by the Christian church. Somewhere along the line Christians accused the Pagan Horned god as the devil because these pagans didn't believe in the same god as them. So what does some Christian of high power do? Calls it devil worship. Despite the fact the bible never tells us what Lucifer looks like upon going to hell. 

However, as of late people have started understanding and practicing witchcraft as the true religion of God and Nature. There is renewed interest in witchcraft and witches profess to believe and practice the craft with a sense of pride and confidence. The believers in the New Age movement have understood witchcraft in its true perspective.

Modern witchcraft attracts believers from all walks of life and positions in society all over the world. They come together to understand the life, nature, evolution and mysteries of the universe through witchcraft. Witchcraft is the most democratic religion and practices in the world. There is no rigid dogma and no hard-line regime except for a simple premise that we should not do evil and if we do, know it will come back in multiple. Though not all witches bide by this but many of us do. Secondly, we should not misuse the generosity of nature by disturbing its balance. This is certainly something we all bide by. 

There are many forms of witchcraft like I had said earlier it differs from person to person. I will have a separate episode going into the top most popular kinds of witches but for now let's just explain a few things. A lot of other belief systems have set rules of what is good and what is bad, think the ten commandments, or Orthodox Jews are not allowed to use anything mechanical on the Sabbath, or Muslims are only allowed to eat certain parts of the animal. Witchcraft isn't like that. It's more about the big picture and how our actions contribute to that big picture. 

I would also like to clarify that being a witch doesn't mean your Wiccan or even pagan. You can very much still be Christian and practice the craft. Remember I said witchcraft was all about the mother earth along with whatever god or gods you worship. This includes the Christian god. I personally know a few Christian witches.

 However note that if you are a Christian witch you will be working with only that god. If you plan to work with other gods perhaps you need to rethink your religion's standpoint. "Thou shalt have no other gods before Me" is one of the Ten Commandments found in the Hebrew Bible at Exodus 20:2 and Deuteronomy 5:6. With that said the craft is something unique and interesting but be careful because it is real and it can be dangerous. 

When new witches find themselves wanting to get into the craft but they really have no idea where to start. Try the history. There is a lot more history than I could even hope to cover in a single session. This is nothing more than an introduction to it. When you are learning about its history you will find many different kinds of practices. 

Though it's perfectly fine to be drawn to a practice and wanting to do it. Make sure you first do research on whether the practice is a closed or open practice. Closed practices are closed for a reason and most times you have to have approval to practice it and be sworn in. So if you find yourself wanting to do a closed practice make sure you do the research on how you can do it and do go through the proper procedures. 

Some might not let you in at all. For example Voodoo. Voodoo is one of the ones you work with your ancestors, an African folk magic. Those gods (spiritual beings? I really don't know.) are not going to be very accepting of one who is of European descent because your ancestors did their ancestors wrong. 

If you are considering the craft, know this, you will spend your whole life learning about the craft. Even the most seasoned of witches are constantly learning. The craft in a sense is like a hypothesis. You will constantly be learning, writing down your findings, doing this and that, to see if it works and figuring things out as you go. But before you even think about getting a head of yourself you need to do lots of research. Don't think 'oh I read a book I can now do a spell'. Witches read a lot. Even if we have already read something on a topic we will keep on. Cross reference everything you read. There is plenty of false information. Especially on the internet, but there are some good sources too.

You need tons of training and maybe even guidance from established witches before you cast your first spell. However we know full well that you learn by doing. So go for it but start with small simple spells. Note that writing a spell or doing a spell does not require a coven, animal bones, and full moon, as fun as nights involving these can be. In fact many witches don't have covens and many do not use animal bones. 

Sometimes it’s not about forming the biggest circle under a full moon, but just having a good time with other witches. Or even yourself if you prefer to do Magic solo. It's fine and very much acceptable. But coven or not it's always fun to do with friends. Nothing's like dancing around a bonfire with your best friends.

Practicing can get expensive. I mean you're going to spend a lot of money on books. Though the internet had everything you could possibly need, nothing beats a good book on witchcraft. I mean who doesn't want a bookshelf full of witchcraft research. Then the actual items you'll need will cost you. Even if it's not aesthetically pleasing. People tend to go a cheaper route using things for the dollar store or reusing sauce jars. Which is good but you will still spend a pretty penny because you'll constantly be getting new ones. Jars break, candles melt, herbs are all used up and crystals can and will break. And no your practice might not always be aesthetically pleasing or photo worthy at all time. Truth be told it can be a bit messy, kinda like arts and crafts. Then again witchcraft is both an art and a craft so it makes sense.

Not all witches are female. Whether you are male, nonbinary, trans, genderless, or anything in between, you can be a witch. It's true that there is a beautiful history of women and witchcraft but magick is genderless. Magik does not care about your gender, sexuality, or religious beliefs. Magik is also not good nor evil, it all depends on how the protactioner is using it.

Popular belief also tells that you have to be born into a witch family or your ancestors have to be a witch for you to be one. That's not true. I have said it once and I have said it twice. Anyone can be a witch. 

Hexes, they are real. Sorry if this scares you, but hexes, cast to inflict misfortune on others, are indeed real. Some witches but not all believe Magic used with ill intent will come back three times on the caster. Some call this The Rule of Three some call it karma. Either way just know it will come back to you some way or another, even if it's by a return to sender spell.

One of the mean teachings of witchcraft by most forms is what you put into the universe is what you get out of it. If you put positivity into the world you'll get positivity back. The same could be said about negativity. But then someone will say 'Oh I have been putting positivity in the world and nothings happening.' If that's the case the negativity you've been put into the world prior to it is still trying to catch up to you. So keep up the positivity even if it's hard.

You don't have to wear all black. There isn’t a standard dress code for witches, and while it’s absolutely acceptable to wear black from head to toe, there are just as many witches who prefer a sundress and sandals as there are who like black fishnets and velvet.

Black cats are not needed either. Though there is nothing wrong with having a black cat and being a witch. Both have been misunderstood for their supposed evil intentions and connections to dark magic for centries.

Remember real magic isn't some Harry Potter mumbo jumbo either. Though let's face it, we can all still pretend that's what it's like. I do. I know the difference between real magic and what the church and Entertainment make it out to be. But I still enjoy the fiction as much as the real. But we do use wands. Though not all of us do and if anything it's to help control where our magic goes to say.

Black, Grey, White, Evil or Good Magic are terms I personally do not use. Some people use these terms, but they probably shouldn't. To start, they have racist undertones. Rituals that are mistakenly believed to be bad are labeled black magic often come from traditions such as Hoodoo, which is traditional African folk magic, that is also a closed practice. Another thing I have said before is that Magic and Witchcraft alike are not good or bad, it's all on how the protationer uses it. I personally tend to stay away from these labels simply because I do not like the negative feeling given and the story behind them. But that is just me, I would hope many follow in those footsteps but not all are going to. I fully understand that.

✩ Don't Steal Other Peoples Work ✩

Written:

May 24, 2020

By:

Reine Alicis

[qiankunfics]

Fics Alert & Updates

New Fics

KunTen

1.   My gorgeous by Holmes_n_Moriarty

Summary: Kun is perfect until he's not. Rating: General Status: On-Going

2. Lil' Something by ugly_little_sandcastles

Summary: There's just something about Ten that burrows beneath his skin, prickling and sharp and hot, hot, hot. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

3. Dandelions by eyesonflowers

Summary: After four years, Ten reunited with Kun. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

 4. to fall in love in the wintertime by energyboyeric

Summary: To fall in love in the wintertime, Ten decides, is to fall in love with stillness. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

5. honey, shut your mouth by lowkeyamen

Summary: It's date night but Kun, wrecked from work, is on the brink of falling asleep. Ten knows just how to solve that. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot Fem!KunTenWin

6. The Home My Forefathers Built by jiaqins

Summary: Kun is a brilliant Parisian med student, he has two jobs which he is fond of and relatives whom he loves—even when they are as annoying as his cousin Yangyang. But too many challenges stand in his way and disturb the stability he cherishes so dearly. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going 

7. crazy over you by andnowforyaya

Summary: The photo of Kun's next mark was a flattering one. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot  Trigger: Death 

8. When the time is right by drawing_board

Summary: Nothing in the way he feels towards Ten significantly changes. But he realizes that somewhere in there was a latent desire for more. Rating: Mature  Status: On-Going 

9. the last three times we'll meet (see you again) by kloudoie

Summary: Ten sees the number he'll meet people behind their backs–except one.  Rating: General Status: One-Shot

10. better days around the corner with you by tullycat

Summary: On a Monday afternoon, the most beautiful man Kun has ever seen walks into the café. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

11.  Dreamscape by YHXLWTK

Summary: Ten sighed dramatically and took a step forward so he was standing beside Kun. “You’re my partner for tonight.” Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

12. No matter how goods you're at pretending, your eyes can't lied by Mywoojinie

Summary: NCT2020 promotions really makes relationship between Ten and Kun stumbles. Well. Johnny are there, of course Kun would be jealous. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

13. Unnatural by dojaefairy

Summary: The first time Ten cheats on his boyfriend, he tells himself it's a one-time mistake. It's unnatural of him to cheat on Johnny. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot Trigger: Cheating 

14. Mystery Boy by taetens

Summary: Kun has kept most of his life private, so when he opens up about his newest relationship with some hot shot fashion designer, no one believes him. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

15.  The Good Side by starrykun

Summary: Kun and Ten work for the same company and were paired to work together to make a collab album. But will things work out between the two? Rating: Teen  Status: On-Going

16. slow dancing in the dark by camellia117

Summary: in which kun needs to learn how to slow dance, and he trusts ten to teach him. or maybe, a story where two lonely boys find love accidentally, by slow dancing in the dark. Rating: General  Status: Completed 

17.  sync up, fall harder by suheafoams

Summary:  kun agrees to help ten plan out a date for his friend. more falls into place than what he initially anticipated. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

18. Hearing Your Voice (Is All I Need) by peachy_beomie

Summary: But there’s only one person who calls him Yongqin. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

19. it’s almost like you’re in love with me (or something) by Markmeinyourheart

Summary: four times kun and ten were complicated and the one time they really weren't. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

20. cat got your tongue? by starrytae

Summary: kunten miraculous ladybug au Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

21. when he sleeps by bahasakalbu

Summary: Ten can't sleep, and Kun is in a deep slumber beside him. Ten minds wonders around their previous memories, while looking at Kun's sleeping form. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

22. Home-cooked Meal by autumn_sparrow

Summary: Kun makes dinner while Ten takes a nap. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

23. See You Soon, Baby by nekowafers

Summary: Kun is an office worker who lived a pretty boring until he met Ten, an annoyingly good-looking vampire who won't stop sneaking through his apartment window. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

24. Not Like That by Meow12251

Summary:  “You know, Kun, you’re not really my type,” Ten says. Kun opens his mouth, face scrunching, unsure what to say. He wonders if he should take offense. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

25. Welcome Home by DestinyHope

Summary: Ten and Kun were living in their house, dreaming about adopting some kids and finally have a family of their own. They didn't expect to end up taking care of boys around their age in need of love and care. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going 

26. softly killing me by yeollama

Summary: Ten and Kun lived the ideal suburban dream, suffocating marriage and all. Of course, it wasn't without a few secrets. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

27. persona by latedreams

Summary: However, there were pieces that seemed to have been carved to fit together perfectly, edges effortlessly moulding to each other, creating a perfect harmony. Those were Ten's favourites. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

28. whispers of only the two of us by frinkles

Summary: Ten’s hair sits so well between Kun’s fingers. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

29. Floating Encounters by stupefiscience

Summary: Kun, an exhiled assassin from one of mainland china’s biggest crime groups tries to find his redemption by taking down Ten. An unknown jack of all trades menacing the powerful dogs of the city. Things take a spicy turn, though. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

30. give all my secrets away by yeollama

Summary: Finding out Kun and Ten had some weird secret life which involved violence, cars and constant lying was not what Yangyang planned to overhear, but oh well. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

31. hold onto my mask by moonjongup (nicrt)

Summary: They fell in love over time. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

32. your ethereal existence by moonwalker116 (mikararinna)

Summary: “Because if humans can imagine what aliens look like, who’s to say that they haven’t seen a ghost in real life and spreading tales about them?” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

33.  gold star of friendship by sunkissedhyuck

Summary: kun and ten didn't know what to expect at first when putting chenle into school for the first time, but it certainly wasn't anything close to this. Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

34. Penis Colada by pinkfire

Summary: “So, what brings you here?” Ten prompted.“My dick,” Kun blurted, and Ten, who was mid-sip, laughed a spray of tea back into his mug. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

35. Second Chances by Vante_20

Summary: That night Kun left Ten hanging. Now he is second guessing himself. Things go down and he knows he won't be able to live with himself if give them a chance. Rating: General  Status: One-Shot

36. In A Blink of An Eye by haneyangie

Summary: A secret melody that only he knows. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

37.  Some Other Day by qianwtch (dxnutcare)

Summary:  Ten somehow felt more homesick than usual. He had been laying in bed doing nothing but trying to sleep his frustration away. Rating: General  Status: One-Shot

38. The Finish Line by Maiamia

Summary: Kun is a serious man. Always. It is a requirement for his job after all. But when he’s forced to rely on a shameless, way to handsome driver and his team of outlaws to complete the most important mission of his career, he might realize that keeping it professional is not as easy as it seemed. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

39. Are You A Magician? (Cause You Make My Breath Disappear) by peachy_beomie

Summary:  “Why would I embarrass myself more than I already have?” “Cause your future husband Ten Lee thinks you’re cute, idiot!” Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

40.  in the frozen land, on the night where everything sleeps by 10vesyou

Summary: It marked their one of many, their last strive to save their brother. Tracing the flakes of snow hovering in the air, they set their heart on finding the hidden secret of the world: The Tree of Language. Rating: Teen  Status: One-Shot 

41.  advil and antagonism by ouchsolo for zhosungs

Summary: Kun doesn't think his life could get anymore laughable, until the man he's sworn to hate forever is sitting drunk on his bed and he has no idea what to do with him. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

JohnKun

42. The Day You Walked Away by senja

Summary: 9 years later, and the same fate was repeated, only this time, only one walked away. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

43. My Universe by senja

Summary:  Kun was trying his best to stay cool by drinking a cup of iced americano in a middle of a busy cafe and suddenly a (not really) unfamiliar man came up to him and asked a question he have never received before. Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

44. Work From Home by jhengchie

Summary: Inspired by the Song Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot 

45. not coming back by Kiyuan

Summary: Kun doesn’t like talking about his school days. He’d rather not relive the days he spent hopping between worlds, thinking about nothing else than his partner, his friend and the adventures. Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

46.  Trust Me by seungwanxndxnly

Summary: Qian Kun and the Case of the Big Bomb Rating: Teen Status: On-Going 

KunWin / WinKun

47.  i could be your escape by bambirouge

Summary: Kun’s voice drops to a downright sinful level. “What if I got you hard, right here, right now, in the middle of all these people?” Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

KunCas / LuKun 

48.  Collar Me by softyjseo

Summary: Lucas and Kun were meant for each other, in all of the different ways they can imagine. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot 

Twitter Fics - 

49.https://twitter.com/peachy_beomie/status/1384891177636405248?s=21

Summary: Ten rates his boyfriend’s reactions to his petnames. 

50. https://twitter.com/dojaefairy/status/1377708043807436805 

Summary: Ten decides to confess to Kun on April Fools Day so that he can pretend his confession was just a joke if Kun rejects him, and things get messy.

  Updates

KunTen

1. Wrong (Right) Ad by Alette 2. Has To Be Mine by rowx3yourships 3. catch him if you can by blazingsirius 4. No Biting by taetens 5. Coming Home by YeolsTruly 6. electric magnetic by miramiro 7. Escaping The Moon by Chi_Can 8 .Countdown from Nine by MailOrderBride 9. Pierced! by HaloHalo 10. You Make Staying Away So Hard by Kill3rWhal3D1ck 11. On Thin Ice by taetens 12. all's well that ends well. by chenaki 13. diamonds by rainingover

JohnKun 14.  Afterglow by owzy

[lopezpierce]

Betty (Brittany) Taylor Swift songfic

Today is Brittana’s sixth wedding anniversary. @leigh-kelly has been doing a tribute every year. So here is my small contrubition. 

Betty by Taylor Swift speaks to me on a Brittana summer between season 2 and 3 level. I hope you enjoy. 

__________________________________________________________

(Brittany) Betty, I won't make assumptions About why you switched your homeroom But, I think it's cause of me

"What do you mean we don't all have the same home room? We've had the same homeroom since freshman year. " Santana scoffed as Quinn took a sip of her latte. Her pink hair was something that still shocked Santana.

"You're not the only one that had an interesting summer," The short haired fromer blonde just shrugged her shoulder. "Brittany went back on Cheerios. You know she does best familiar and comfortable."

"I can't believe she went back to Sue. Especially after last winter and the canon disaster," Santana huffed and rolled her eyes.

"If you're worried about it and her," Quinn gave her a very pointed look, "You need to talk to her Santana. I know you are both trying to figure it out. But you won't get anywhere if neither of you man up and talk to each other."

(Brittany) Betty, one time I was riding on my skateboard When I passed your house It's like I couldn't breathe

Despite her better judgement, she let her mind wonder as she made her way to Brittany house. She hadn't been there since she had been back from summer vacation. They hadn't really talked the last couple weeks. At least,  not anything of substance.

Her hands were still shaking on the steering wheel even with her tight white knuckle grip. She couldn't do this. At least not yet...It could wait. They still had a few weeks before school. She flashed back to the day it all imploded.

You heard the rumors from Inez (Rachel) You can't believe a word she says

"So...Rachel said she saw you kissing a girl on a teen karaoke night in Marysville. She was out with Kurt Finn and Blaine." Brittany said flatly as she fiddled with her hands.

"Yeah," Santana sighed out as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Isabella. She's a friend of my mom's daughter. I just hung out with her a few times. My mom thought meeting new friends might be a good idea."

"So you can kiss a girl you barely know in public, but I ask you to dance with me at prom and you freak out." Brittany let out a small sigh trying to hold back her tears.

Most times, but this time, it was true The worst thing that I ever did Was what I did to you

"I didn't expect anyone I knew to be there," Santana threw her hands up. "You're also the one who said I should take to summer to figure out what I wanted. It was also only a couple dates," Santana looked down at her hands and sighed. 

"It wasn't the same. It didn't make me feel anything close to the way you make me feel."

If I told you it was just a summer thing? I'm only 17, I don't know anything But I know I miss you

"It doesn't really matter," Brittany shook her hands out and let out a deep heart breaking sigh.

"If it upsets you this much it does matter, Britt." The brunette stepped closer and grabbed the other girls hands softly, "It was some stupid summer disaster. All I know is that it didn't matter what I was doing. I missed you."

But if I just showed up at your party Would you have me? Would you want me?

She battled with herself for a few days after her talk with Quinn. As much as she hated to admit it, her friend was right. They did need to talk.

The annual cheerios summer blow out party wasn't somewhere she thought she would find herself. Especially since Brittany was hosting. It was one last crazy blow out before Sue threw them into mega boot camp the last two weeks before school.

Brittany hadn't spoken to her really since the day they talked about Rachel's rumor. They talked a little via text message and Brittany sent her a few Tubbington photos. But, still, nothing important.

Santana navigated through the sea of annoying underclassmen in hopes to go find Brittany. She found the blonde doing what she did best. Dancing like it was as easy as her breathing.  As the song slowed, she made her way into Brittany's line of vision.  

The giant smile and glow that was on Brittany's face, faded a little when she made eye contact with Santana. It was only took a second for her to read the head tilt. She followed Santana towards the back door.

Would you tell me to go fuck myself Or lead me to the garden,                                                                                     In the garden, would you trust me

"I'm surprised to see you here, Santana." Brittany shrugged her shoulders as she made her way to the swing set. "I didn't think Cheerios was still something you wanted to do."

"I'm not here for the blow out party," She  looked at Brittany and sighed. "You're the reason I'm here." She motioned her finger between the two of them, "Us. That's the reason I am here.

"Santana," Brittany let out a sad sigh. "I can't..Unless you are as ready as you were in that bar." She breathed in deeply to try and hold in her tears. "I've tried to  get passed it. But I can't have my hopes up and get them shattered again. "

Santana just shook her head and threw her hands up, "I don't know what you want me to do. You told me to try and figure it out over the summer. I tell you I miss you and it's not the same with someone else. Then I get punished for it."

"Honey," Brittany walked up to the shorter girl and put her hand on the side of her face. "I'm not punishing you. I just need to try and take care of myself too."

If I told you it was just a summer thing? I'm only 17, I don't know anything But I know I miss you

"I understand. I can't really blame you," Santana let out a small sigh. "I don't know what I'm ready for," She looked up at the blonde and gave her a small smile. "I know it's not what you want but I do know that I missed you. "

Brittany leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I know. I missed you too."

"I'm going to take off so you can enjoy the party," She gave Brittany's had a small squeeze. "I do promise, I'll figure this out.

I was walking home on broken cobblestones Just thinking of you When she pulled up Like a figment of my worst intentions She said, "Santana, get in, let's drive"

"Not to sound like a creeper," Isabella said softly from the curb in her parked car, "Your mom said you might be hanging out down around here. I head back to school Monday. I wanted to talk to you before I left."

"We talked about this a few nights ago," Santana shrugged a little bit. "We both knew you would be going back to college for the fall and that it was a fun summer hang."

"Just get in the damn car Santana," She pushed the passenger side door open. "You're so fucking stubborn."

Those days turned into nights Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long

"I get why you're not ready in this small ass everyone knows everyone's business town," Isabella sipped her coffee slowly and offered a small smile. "I know you folks also might be a hurdle. But you're almost out. You just have your senior year to go."

"Yeah," Santana fidgeted a little bit. Her knees were bouncing up sightly. Her finger nails seemed to be something she found more interested than her current conversation. "A year is a long time though."

"Santana," The girl across the table said sternly. "This shit is scary. I'm not going to paint a picture that everything is great grand and wonderful. But it gets better and easier. Especially if you have someone to hold your hand along the way."

Santana was taken back a little bit by her words. Isabella knew she wasn't out...well...wasn't even really sure what she was. But she never thought she would be giving her a pep talk. Also offering to hold her hand along the way. "I appreciate you being so cool about all of this especially with us hanging out some. But, I don't think we are on the same page about this.."

Isabella threw her hands up and shook them, "No. I didn't mean me. I'm pretty sure without even realizing it, you've some how brought Brittany up into everyone of our conversations. You're 'she's my best friend' thing only took about 2 minutes for me to figure out she's way more than that." Isabella patted Santana's fidgeting hands softly. "I know you might not be ready for everyone, but you are ready for her."

Yeah, I showed up at your party Will you have me? Will you love me? Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?

Santana still never figured out how Brittany always convinced her parent's that parties at their house were the best way to go. This was the second one in less than two weeks. At least at Brittany's it wouldn't turn into the train wreck of last year at Rachel's.

Finn and Rachel has coordinated all the glee kids get together for a summer barbecue. Fashionably late was something Santana did very well. The party was supposed to start at 6 she showed up at 6:38. She knew everyone else would be early or help set up.

After she got through the first round of agony of the small talk that was everyone's summer. She knew she had to get Brittany alone. She had to tell her how she felt for real.

If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? Will it patch your broken wings? I'm only 17, I don't know anything But I know I miss you

"Hey Britt," She said softly as she found the hostess out in the back yard getting what seemed to be a smores station set up.

"Hey," She said softly and offered her a piece of chocolate. "I know I should be saving it for us to share with everyone. But Finn and Sam are out near the woods hunting for fire-pit wood. I think we can cheat a little."

"I wanted to know if we could talk...I mean just us after everyone leaves." Santana looked over her shoulder as she heard the sliding glass door open. 

"You know these losers will all fan out by about ten anyway." Brittany just nodded and gave a soft smile. "Yeah, they are like grandmas. Especially Rachel."

Standing in your cardigan Kissing in my car again Stopped at a streetlight You know I miss you

The party had been much more exciting that Santana had anticipated. Finn and Sam had brought some fire works with them. Not to say it wasn't almost a disaster when Finn tried to set a bottle rocket off from his hand. The later it grew and as more people slowly started to leave, the more nervous Santana grew. She had been having this conversation with herself for almost three days straight. She just hoped Brittany would listen to all she had to say.

"Here," Brittany said softly and offered Santana a small lap blanket. "I know how easily you get cold." She took a seat beside her at near the fire pit. "It was so nice having everyone together tonight. Cheerios has kept me so busy the last few weeks, I haven't seen anyone. I am bummed Quinn didn't come."

Santana smiled back and tucked the blanket on under her lap. "It was nice. I haven't really have seen them much either." She shook her head quickly as the mention of Quinn. "We grabbed coffee a few weeks ago and her hair was pink. But she always seemed super distracted. So I don't really know what's up with her," Santana kicked her foot across the dirt a little and looked up at Brittany. "I didn't stay behind to talk about Quinn though."

Brittany could see how heavy Santana was. Moving her chair a little closer, "I know you didn't. You know you can talk to me about anything."

"I want you to listen to everything I have to say," She put her hands on her lap and started to play with her fingers impatiently. "It's important you hear it all then start to think about it."

Brittany just shook her head in agreement. She knew this was big. Santana never asked her to just listen. For god sakes, Santana barely ever talked about anything serious. With the exception of those couple rare moments last spring. "I'll listen to it all."

"I know I'm not ready to be out to everyone," Santana said softly, "But I am ready to start with something. If it's us telling Quinn and Mercedes and going from there I can handle that."      She tried to Brittany's face for any indication that she was going on the right direction.       "McKinley wasn't nice to Kurt and I know it will be the same for us no matter how popular we are." She put her hand on the side of Brittany's face and smiled sweetly, "But I can't keep the way I feel about you to myself anymore. I can't promise you how soon I'll be ready. But I can promise you I'm willing to try if you're willing to try with me." She felt her chest start to tighten. "The only thing I do know for sure is that I love you."

"I love you too, Santana. I always have," Brittany nodded quickly as she moved to sit in front of Santana. "I willing to try with you. Whatever baby-steps you need to take we can take them together." She squeezed Santana's hands softly before leaning up and kissing her on the cheek. "I just needed to know it was going somewhere. I understand you're not ready. I just hate that you hide that part of yourself. The part that I think really makes you happy."

"I don't know if it is really makes me happy," She ran her fingers over Brittany's face softly, "But I know you make me happy. I promise I will try to do little things at a time. I just don't want you to be mad at me again. We only kissed."

"I was mad at myself for not trying harder," Brittany just shook her head slightly. "I'm not mad about the summer thing. I was the one who said you should try to figure it out a bit more."

"So," Santana said with a slight nervous tone, "Where do we go from here?"

"Stay with me," Brittany blurted out quickly. She shook her head a little, "We can make some hot cocoa and cuddle in-front of the fire." 

Santana leaned down and kissed the blonde softly on her lips, "I think that sounds like a good start."

[nikki-writes-stuff]

A Stolen Choice (Alpha!Nomad!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader)

Summary: When your aunt dies and leaves you everything she owns in her will, you find yourself travelling to the mountains of North Carolina to her cabin in the middle of nowhere to sort through her belongings. But you also quickly find yourself helpless against the desires of a mysterious alpha who’s decided to claim you as his... 

A/N: Hello! I wrote this fic for one of my ko-fi readers! Click here if you’d be interested in donating. There’s no pressure to whatsoever, but everyone who donates will be able to request any type of fic they’re interested in. Message me if you have any questions! In the meantime, enjoy this fic! Be warned: it contains rape, dub-con, breeding kink, a/b/o dynamics, and nomad!Steve. Enjoy!

You hadn’t really even known your aunt very well; you’d met her three, maybe four times over the course of your life, and while she’d always been incredibly sweet, she’d never really stood out in your mind as one of your closest relatives. Therefore, you were surprised to say the least when you were informed, after her death, that she’d left all of her worldly possessions to you in her will.

“Wait, there… There must be some kind of mistake,” you’d told the banker, shaking your head. “I wasn’t even that close to my aunt. I don’t understand…”

“I can send you a copy of her will, if you would like to see for herself,” he’d told you in a disinterested tone. “She also had a letter she wanted you to read; perhaps that can shed some light on the matter for you.”

The letter, as it turned out, did manage to enlighten you; it arrived at your apartment about a week after you’d first learned about your inheritance, and it revealed more about your aunt in just a few sentences than you’d ever known about her over the course of your life.

To my niece:

If you’re reading this, then it means my cancer finally got the best of me. It was a long fight, but rest assured that I’m glad it’s over; I’m a tough woman, always have been, but cancer is even tougher, and I’ve been tired of my uphill battle with it for a long, long time.

I know we never got to know each other well, hon. But you always stood out to me – you’re stronger than people give you credit for. I know most of our family’s judged you for being an omega; hell, I’d even made assumptions about you before meeting you. But you managed to prove me wrong, and for that I love you.

Don’t stop being yourself, and don’t let the family get you down. The only thing you need in life is you. But I’m sure the twenty grand I’ve saved up won’t hurt, either.

Her signature was scrawled across the bottom half of the page, and you found tears in your eyes as you read the letter for a second time; no one, not even your parents, had been that accepting of you after you presented. Your entire family was made up of alphas and betas, with only one or two omegas popping up along the way. And while they’d all still loved you, their disappointment upon learning of your status as an omega had still been loud and clear.

But your aunt evidently had believed you to be strong, and you felt more determined than ever to prove her right.

And so, here you were, navigating the treacherous, narrow roads of western North Carolina, your knuckles white as they gripped your steering wheel and your nerves frayed from the lack of guard rails, fences, or really any kind of separation between the road and the twenty foot ravine sloping down along its length.

“Ok,” you breathed, focusing your eyes straight ahead. “It’s fine; everything is fine. We are not going to go over the side; we are almost there. We can do this.”

Along with the twenty thousand now resting in your savings account, your aunt had left you a cabin she and her late wife had built about ten years ago. Ever since your aunt’s wife died in a car accident, she’d lived in their home in the middle of nowhere, and no one in your family had ever been to visit. Everyone had joked about her being a hermit, and while you’d never laughed along with them, you’d had to agree that she only seemed to come to family gatherings if they coincided with a funeral or a wedding. But now, as you made your slow, steady climb up to the address of what was now your cabin, you couldn’t help but wish she’d decided to be a hermit somewhere else.

“You couldn’t have chosen a beach house,” you huffed. “Or a sensible condo in the city. You had to live up in the boonies with black bears, coyotes, and the ghosts of lost hikers.”

But finally, after a long and tumultuous journey, you were able to see the outline of a building from between the trees. A grin spread over your face and a triumphant exclamation escaped your lips, and as soon as you found yourself parked in front of your aunt’s former home, you threw yourself out of your car and threw your arms up.

“Finally!”

You languidly stretched your limbs, touching your toes and then bouncing a bit on your heels before stiffly retrieving your suitcase from your trunk; you’d been stuck behind that wheel for several hours, and if you ever drove again, it would be too soon.

You had to admit, though, that the property was lovely. Your aunt had lived in a charming little A-frame cabin with a green tin roof, and if the chimney was any indication, a cute fireplace would be waiting for you inside. It was currently right in the middle of spring, and the trees sang with the songs of birds and cicadas. Honeysuckle grew in thick bushes along the side of the driveway, and little patches of wildflowers were dotted along the plush green grass.

“No one will be able to hear me scream all the way out here,” you mused to yourself as you walked towards the front door. “But at least it’s pretty.”

You fit the key into the lock and gave it an experimental twist, and the sound of the lock clicking almost drowned out the snap of a twig from somewhere close by. Almost.

Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, you turned around, scanning the forest for the source of the sound. You suddenly felt, distinctly, as if you were being watched, and you set your suitcase down before taking a step forward.

“…Hello?”

You didn’t receive an answer, and your ears strained to pick up on any other suspicious noise. But, after waiting for several seconds, your shoulders finally slumped, and you turned back towards the door.

“Must’ve been a squirrel or something…”

After nudging the door open, you struggled to pick up your heavy suitcase, oblivious to the pair of blue eyes watching your every movement. Your admirer closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching a waft of your scent on the breeze as you finally managed to shove your case passed the open doorway. A quiet growl escaped his chest as he opened his eyes once more, just in time to see you turn and close the door behind you. His ears registered the sound of the lock sliding back into place, but he knew that it wouldn’t be able to keep him out.

It never had been able to before.

______

You didn’t even know where to begin. You knew that you were supposed to go through everything of your aunt’s and decide whether or not you were going to sell it, but you hadn’t expected the act to feel so…wrong. Even though she was long gone and had left everything to you, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were throwing away someone else’s things without their permission.

And so you put it off; instead, you spent your first day simply taking inventory, going through the house and trying to learn more about your aunt in the process. You sorted through her storage room, finding old, dusty boardgames and random little trinkets lining her bookshelves. Your favorite things were the pictures, though – she had so many hanging up on the walls of every room in the cabin, all of them containing photos of her, her wife, and their families. You were shocked to see your high school graduation photo among their ranks; you’d had no idea she’d even been sent a copy.

After your little self-guided tour, you went through her refrigerator and threw everything within it out, plugging your nose as you did; she’d been dead for only two weeks, but the food your aunt had left behind had already, for the most part, spoiled. The only things that were still in date were a half pack of bacon, six eggs, and a few frozen pizzas tucked into the freezer. From there, you went upstairs to the loft-style bedroom and washed the sheets on her bed, and then you unpacked your things until the sky started to turn the pink and orange hues of a sunset.

Luckily, your aunt had a huge supply of canned goods, and so after opening and microwaving a can of Chef Boyardee, you retreated to perhaps your favorite part of the entire cabin – the back deck.

Your aunt had built her house on a piece of land that sloped steadily downwards from the driveway, and so the deck was situated on stilts that allowed it to overlook the ravine several feet below. It gave you a panoramic view of the forest, with the sloping peaks of the Appalachian Mountains rising in the distance. Down at the bottom of the valley, a creek trickled by, and the soft sound of its babbling served as soothing background noise for your evening meal.

After you were finished with your pasta, you sat back and closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. There was something blooming nearby that smelled intoxicating – like cedar and sandalwood and musk. Your mouth watered at its sweet, masculine scent, and you found yourself wishing that you had a candle that smelled like it.

You jumped when, once again, you heard a twig snap, followed by the sound of bushes rustling from somewhere close. You sat up, peering over the deck’s fence to try and pinpoint its source.

“Hello?”

Setting your empty bowl to the side, you stood up and walked closer to the edge, peering out over the woods. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; maybe it had been a possum. Or a skunk. Or…whatever else that lived in the mountains of North Carolina.

You were ready to turn away when you saw it – a flash of movement to your left. Frowning, you leaned over the side of the rail, and your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of blue from between a patch of brambles.

“Hey! Hey, are you ok?”

You watched as whoever it was froze in place, and you glanced back towards the sky; you could just make out the outline of the moon, and the pinks and oranges had faded to red and violet.

“Hey, are you lost? It’s starting to get dark out; I would head back if I were you.”

Slowly, the person stood up and picked their way out of the brush, and when they turned towards you, you realized that it was a man. A very tall man. A very tall man with a beard, a gun strapped to his belt, and two very impressive biceps.

Shit.

“Uh… Hi,” you called out once again, this time sounding significantly less sure about yourself.

“Hi,” he called back, raising his hand in a wave.

“Um… Whatcha doing over there?”

“Oh, I was, uh… I was hiking,” he explained. “But I think I got lost somewhere along the way. Could I borrow your phone?”

You hesitated, watching as the man started making his way up the hill, covering a large amount of ground with each of his long, confident strides.

“Mine died a while ago,” he went on, lowering his voice as he grew closer. “I was debating whether or not to disturb you; I know meeting a strange man in the woods probably isn’t what you were hoping to do this evening.”

Finally, he was standing directly in front of you, though the ground was about six feet beneath the floor of the deck. You looked down at him and chewed your lip, debating whether or not to help him. He looked nice enough, and he sounded genuine, but you’d said it yourself earlier – no one would hear you scream this far out.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but that was when it hit you – the smell from earlier. This time, it was much stronger, and it was then that you realized why the scent had hints of musk in it.

It was the scent of an alpha – an alpha about to start a rut.

Your blood ran cold, and you backed away from the deck’s fence as if it had burned you.

“You need to go,” you told him, watching as his smile abruptly faded away. “Right now. Or I’ll call the police.”

“Look,” he sighed, holding his hands up. “I know that this looks like; but I promise I don’t wanna hurt-“

“I don’t believe you,” you interrupted, and a cold flash of annoyance crossed his handsome, somehow familiar features. “Please, just go. I don’t want any trouble. But I will call the cops.”

The alpha sighed, setting his hands on his hips, and for a long moment the two of you were silent. The sound of the crickets that pervaded the forest seemed to rise up in a crescendo as he studied your face, but his voice seemed to drown them out as he spoke next.

“I wonder how long it’d take the police to get all the way out here.”

Your eyes widened at that, and you stumbled backwards when he suddenly jumped, pulling himself up onto the deck as if it were the easiest thing in the world. You let out a squeak and turned around, dashing to the door and yanking it open. You were just barely able to get the door shut and locked behind you before the stranger was standing in front of it. Your heart sank as you stared at him through the glass, and he arched an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against it as he stared you down.

“This doesn’t have to be hard,” he called out, his voice muffled but just loud enough to make out. “I really don’t want to hurt you. Just let me in and we can talk – I promise.”

“Is it really that surprising that I don’t believe you?” you yelled back. “Please, just leave. My alpha will be here any minute!”

You knew that was a lie – you’d never even had sex before, and you definitely didn’t have an alpha in your life. But maybe this man didn’t know that; maybe he wouldn’t call your bluff.

But all hopes of that flew out the window when he let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re a horrible liar,” he remarked. “You’ve never even been with an alpha before; I’d be able to smell your innocence from a mile away.”

Your cheeks burned and you turned away, reaching into your pocket for your phone.

“Last warning, shithead,” you called out. “I’m calling the cops right now.”

Finally, the smile dropped off of his face, and he let out a deep sigh. Holding his hands up in surrender, he took a step back from the door, bowing his head in mock-respect.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Alright; I guess I’ll go ride this rut out with a more receptive omega.”

His eyes flashed as he turned away, and you watched as he walked to the other side of the deck. He leaned over the rail despite the fifteen foot drop just beneath it, and you watched as he turned towards you over his shoulder.

‘See you soon,’ he mouthed, and then he threw himself off the deck.

With a surprised cry, you stared blankly at the spot he’d just been standing in, and after a pregnant pause you tentatively opened the screen door, stepping out cautiously. You had 911 pulled up on your phone with your thumb hovering over the dial as you stalked towards the fence, and after swallowing thickly, you leaned over its side, searching the forest floor for any signs of the creepy alpha.

But there was nothing – he wasn’t, as you’d suspected, laying there with two broken legs from the fall. No, in fact the only sign that he’d ever been there at all was the frantic beating of your heart and the lingering scent of his oncoming rut.

__________

You woke up three times during the night. The first time, it had been right before midnight, and it had been for no reason at all. No sound had awoken you, nor had a bad dream. After several minutes, you’d gone back to sleep, tossing and turning until waking up a second time.

It had been around 1:30 in the morning at that point, and it had taken you over an hour to sleep again. You kept thinking that you’d heard something from downstairs, but your late night paranoia told you not to go down and investigate.

The third time you woke up, it was a few minutes before 5, and you immediately knew that you weren’t alone. You felt a presence leaning over you, could hear his soft breathing. You froze, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to keep breathing at the same pace you had been while sleeping, but then you heard a soft, gravelly chuckle from close by.

“I know you’re awake, omega.”

Fuck.

You already knew that it was the alpha from before, but still you opened your eyes and sat up, clutching the covers to your chest as you looked up at him.

He was wearing the same clothes from before, except his gun holster was nowhere to be seen. Your phone, too, was gone from its usual perch on your nightstand, and your blood went cold as you breathed in his warm, overpowering scent.

“…Please,” you heard yourself whisper. “Please, don’t do this. I-“

“You shouldn’t have been so rude earlier,” he remarked, lowering himself down to sit on the side of the bed. “I would’ve rather not had to break in, but you left me no choice.”

You swallowed, tensing up even more when his eyes flashed down to your throat to track the movement. He looked so familiar now that you were so close to him; you just couldn’t put your finger on where you’d seen him before.

“Who are you?” you asked, and at first you thought that he hadn’t heard you. He made no reaction, and you opened your mouth to voice your question once more.

“I said who-“

“My name is Steve,” he interrupted you. “That’s all you need to know.”

You bit your lip and nodded, glancing over to the stairs, and then to the window. You knew, though, that you had no chance of running. He was standing between you and the staircase, and the window wasn’t even open. By the time you’d be able to pry it up, it would be too late; he’d be on you in a matter of seconds.

“Listen, Steve,” you started, forcing yourself to make and maintain eye contact with him. “I… I know this probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but… you were right earlier. I’ve never…been with anyone. And I don’t have an alpha. I’ve been waiting to find the right one for so…so long. Please, I’m begging you, don’t take that choice from me. I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you, and I won’t make any trouble. Just…please don’t do this.”

He seemed to consider your words, and for a few moments you felt a spark of hope rise up in you. He tilted his head as he regarded you, and you silently willed him to leave you alone, to forget any of this happened.

“I didn’t think there were women like you around anymore,” he eventually murmured. “Some omegas these days don’t even settle down with an alpha, which was unheard of back in my day. And if I had a dollar for every time a cockhungry bitch in heat had thrown herself at me only to leave once she’d had her fill, well. I’d never have to work another day in my life.

“But then you show up in my life – innocent, pure, and loyal to an alpha you haven’t even met yet.”

Your eyes widened when he leaned towards you, and you squeezed the sheets as he cupped your cheek.

“I can see so much potential in you,” he breathed. “You could be such a good girl.”

He leaned toward even further, and you realized that he was going to kiss you. For a moment, all you could do was watch as his face got closer and closer, frozen by your fear and his suffocating scent, but as soon as his lips touched yours, your body leapt into action.

You threw yourself away from him as if he were on fire and scrambled to the stairs, your feet stumbling as you ran down them. Towards the last step, your ankle twisted beneath your weight, sending you crumpling to the ground.  You cried out as your head hit the banister hard, but you ignored the ringing in your ears, forcing yourself to stand up again.

Movement caught your attention out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped dead in your tracks as you watched Steve calmly approach the staircase. Instead of starting to walk down, though, he hoisted himself over the rail and dropped to the first floor, landing in a crouch before standing up and sauntering over to you.

And that was when you realized why he looked so familiar. No normal person would be able to just do shit like that. And if you were to take away the beard, he would have the exact same face you’d seen in museums, textbooks, and newspapers throughout your entire life.

“…Captain America?”

Steve rolled his eyes and marched towards you, and you were so surprised that you didn’t even try to retreat.

“I used to be, doll,” he growled. “But I’m way past trying to be a hero for a world that doesn’t even want to be saved.”

You finally began to struggle when he set his hands on your hips, but he ignored your protests as he effortlessly picked you up.

“I understand,” he huffed, starting to carry you once more up the stairs. “Really, I do. You’re scared, and I’m a stranger.”

He dropped you onto the bed before shucking off his shirt, and you clambered backwards when he started to crawl over your body.

“But I’ve made my decision; you are my omega.”

The sound of fabric ripping coaxed a startle cry past your lips, and you tried to cover your chest when Steve tore your shirt away.

“Please-“

“Quit with the complaining, doll,” he huffed. “I’ll treat you right if you just let me-“

A sob escaped you when he took hold of your wrists and pinned them to either side of your head. Tears were running down your cheeks, and Steve’s knee between your thighs made it impossible to close your legs no matter how hard you tried to. For a moment, both of you simply looked at one another, one with terror in their eyes, the other with pure lust.

Steve’s nose skimmed your neck as he leaned down, inhaling your scent and nuzzling your mating gland. The sound that he made could only be described as a purr as he drank in your essence, and his hips started to lazily grind down against you.

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he groaned. “How haven’t you been mated yet?”

His tongue darted out, tracing the gland languidly. Shocks of pleasure coursed down from your neck to your spine, and you found yourself arching up of your own accord; you’d thought that it was a myth that more nerve endings existed in a person’s mating gland, but Steve was proving that theory wrong despite how much you didn’t want this.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he breathed. “Imagine how good it’ll be when I fuckin’ sink my teeth into you.”

“N-no-“

Your voice cut off into a stuttering moan when he nipped at the skin, not hard enough to pierce it but enough to make your hips buck upwards of their own accord.

“That’s my girl,” he praised. “Let yourself feel this; you deserve it. You’ve waited so long for a good, strong alpha to take care of you, haven’t you? My good little omega…”

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve preened under his praise, ever the stereotypical, eager-to-please omega, and you fought against the urge to lean into his touch. His scent had an almost dizzying effect on you, and your struggles were slowly growing weaker and weaker.

“I’ve heard that an alpha’s rut can sent their omega into an early heat,” he mused, letting one of his hands trail up to cup your breast. “I think we should test that theory.”

You whined when his thumb started circling your nipple, and an amused grin overtook his features.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you momentarily had enough clarity to glare at him from under your lashes.

“Fuck you,” you grunted, but he only chuckled.

“Well that’s the idea, sweetheart,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you felt the world spin around you, and suddenly you were on your belly.

“But if you use that language with me again,” he purred against your ear, “I’ll fuck your throat until I knot in that dirty little mouth of yours. Are we clear?”

Hurriedly, you nodded your head yes, and Steve’s hand slid down the curve of your spine.

“Good.”

You gasped when his arm snaked under your hips, pulling up on them until you were on your knees and elbows. You felt as if your cheeks were burning when he spread your ass cheeks, and you squirmed as you tried to close your legs.

“You’re already wet for me, omega,” he noted. “Your body wants this; why can’t you just give in?”

Despite his earlier threat, you were about to say something along the lines of ‘because fuck you, you star spangled asshole’, but then something cool and wet licked upwards from your clit to your entrance, and all of your thoughts faded to white noise.

Steve’s tongue slid into you slowly, stretching your hole in ways that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and the groan he let out at your taste was pornographic. At a slow, even pace, he started tongue fucking you, and you couldn’t control the moans that were spilling out of your lips. You reached out, gripping the nearest pillow and digging your nails into it as pleasure started flowing through you.

You whined when, all too soon, he pulled his tongue out, but when he slid it over your clit and started tracing quick, tight circles against your bud, you nearly screamed. A finger slid inside of you as your hips started rocking; it was obscene, and wrong, and humiliating, but you’d never felt anything like this before. Steve’s moans urged you on, and despite your fear, your hatred, of him, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your climax.

“S-steve,” you squeaked, “w-wait, fuck-“

You buried your face in the pillow as, all of a sudden, your orgasm came over you, but Steve’s free hand snapped up to your head and pulled it back by a handful of your hair, making you arch your back as you screamed his name. His finger curled inside of you as your pussy clenched around it, and he was murmuring soft words of encouragement as you came down from your high.

“There you go,” he purred. “You did so good for me. See how good your alpha takes care of you?”

Your head was still spinning when Steve pulled away, but your eyes snapped open when you heard the slide of fabric against skin. You looked over your shoulder and felt your blood ran cold when you saw him toss his jeans to the side, and immediately you looked down at his cock, already fully hard and leaking a bead of precum.

"N-no," you gasped, trying to crawl away. “Steve, no, please-“

But he only gripped your hips and pulled you back to him until you felt his hardness grind against your ass.

“Calm down, baby,” he murmured. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”

Before you could beg him anymore, he started pushing into you, and nothing could have prepared you for the stretch. It burned, so bad that all you could do was bite down on your hand and trying to hold back your tears as he impaled you.

“Fu-uck,” he groaned. “Oh, my god, baby. So good, so fucking good-“

He paused only when his head pushed painfully against your cervix, and for a long moment he stayed still, allowing you the small kindness of adjusting to his thickness.

“Shh, it’s ok,” he cooed, pressing his chest flush to your back. “The worst part is over, baby. We can take our time from here.”

He nuzzled your mating gland and cupped your tits, rolling them in his palms as he pressed kisses over the curve of your shoulder.

“This is the tightest little pussy I’ve ever felt,” he whispered. “You’re making your alpha feel so good, doll.”

And as twisted as it was, as much as you hated it, his words actually helped. Slowly, you let your muscles relax, and he rewarded you with an open-mouthed kiss to that sensitive spot in your neck. One of his hands snaked its way beneath your body and began toying with your still-sensitive clit, rubbing it until your hips squirmed against him.

He took your movements as a sign to move, and a surprised moan escaped your lips when he pulled back, nearly pulling out completely before thrusting forward. Your pussy made an embarrassingly loud squelching noise, but you found yourself grateful that you were wet enough to make the stretch that much more bearable.

Steve slowly began to find an easy rhythm, and despite his rough treatment of you, he was gentle as he took you. At least, as gentle as rape could be. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself; despite every sweet word that left his lips and despite every moan he managed to pull from yours, you still didn’t want this. You didn’t want him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had…”

You whined as he kept rubbing your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers to the rhythm of his hips. Your body betrayed you as it started aching for more, and as he started speeding up you found yourself moving your hips back to meet his thrusts. Steve’s moans grew louder, and you heard a loud crack as his palm smacked your ass.

“Good girl-“ he panted. “Taking your alpha’s cock so well…”

Suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you empty and dripping and wanting, and you felt him shift upwards onto his knees. Roughly, he shoved your knees further apart and entered you again, immediately snapping his hips at a hard, brutal pace. Every thrust drew a moan out of your parted lips, and your arm and leg muscles were starting to shake.

The bed beneath you creaked loudly as he fucked you into the mattress, and your scents had mingled into something heady and warm and intoxicating. The founds of skin slapping skin was as intimate as it was erotic, and your moans became deeper, throatier as his pace suddenly shifted, slowing down as he bucked his hips harder. Each movement drew a strangled moan from your throat, and Steve’s fingers found your clit once again.

This was somehow even worse than the erratic, frantic claiming. This had somehow become more intimate, less frenzied, but the pleasure dulling your senses remained the same.

“Knew it from the first moment I smelled you,” Steve whispered, his voice strained and husky. “I knew that you were gonna be mine. ‘ve never met anyone like you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together and you let out a low whine as the head of his cock brushed against a sensitive, delicious spot inside of you. Without thinking, you pushed back against him, silently urging him to move faster.

“Oh? Right there?” You nodded your head, mewling as he hit your g-spot again. “Right there, little omega?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, resting your forehead against your arms. “Please…”

“Please what, little one?” he grunted, slowing down until he was only just barely grinding his hips. “Tell me what you want.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head; you wouldn’t say it out loud – your pride wouldn’t allow you to.

“Say it,” Steve urged. “I won’t give it to you until you do.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the fluttering in your pussy, urging Steve’s cock in deeper, but after a few seconds you snapped. With tears in your eyes, you looked over your shoulder at him, taking in the rapid rising and falling of his hips, the way his lips were parted as he watched you.

“…Fuck me,” you finally whispered, bowing your head as your defeat washed over you. “Please, fuck me…”

Your eyes widened when he pulled out of you completely, but you understood when he flipped you over onto your back. You stared up at him as he positioned himself at your entrance once again, and your back arched up as if you’d been electrocuted when he shoved himself inside of you once more.

His pace was no longer kind nor was it unhurried as he fucked you; you were both so tantalizingly close to your release, and now it was just a matter of chasing it. His moans escaped from behind clenched teeth as he gripped your thigh in one hand, hoisting it up and bending it until your knee was almost touching your chest. But from this angle, you felt him so deep inside of you that you didn’t care; you laid back and took it, clawing at his biceps as you got closer and closer.

All too soon, your body tensed up, your pussy clenching as you came. White exploded behind your eyes as the pleasure overtook you, and not even the ringing in your ears could drown out Steve’s names as you screamed it. You glanced up through your lashes to find the alpha’s eyes already gazing into your own, until he grit his teeth and threw his head back.

Your name was a prayer on his lips as he grew closer and closer, until he lunged forward with a growl. His tongue lapped at your mating gland in ways that had your pussy fluttering even after your release, but time seemed to stand still when you felt his teeth sink into your flesh.

You were vaguely aware of the heat of Steve’s cum as it painted your walls, and even your own, second, orgasm faded into the background. Your eyes were unseeing, your body unfeeling; the only thing you could focus on was your mating gland being bitten, being claimed, by Steve Rogers. It was a permanent mark of who you belonged to; a milky white scar would forever be left behind, as would the memory of who put it there.

A broken, distressed moan escaped your lips when he pulled away, but you immediately understood what he wanted when he bared his neck to you in a rare sign of submission, especially from an alpha like himself. As his knot swelled inside you, locking you in place, you leaned forward, licking your lips.

Later, you would blame it on your hormones, on your body’s natural instinct as an omega who had just been claimed. But whatever the true reason was for your actions, you latched onto his neck and bit his mating gland in return. The piercing of teeth against skin felt amazing in an explainable, primal way, and you both moaned as you marked Steve in the same, permanent way he’d marked you.

You stayed there until you’d both caught your breaths, reveling in your ability to hurt him, to wield control over him in the way he’d forcibly done to you. When you finally tasted his blood on your tongue, you let go, licking it off of your lips and wincing at how far his knot had stretched you.

Looking up into his blue eyes, the reality of it all came crashing down onto you; you’d been raped, claimed, by a total stranger. You knew of him only from history books and news reports, and now he was inside you, the mark on your neck a permanent part of him that would follow you for the rest of your days.

A sob wracked your shoulders, and your hands flew up to cover your face. A sad, almost pitying look swept across Steve’s features, and he gathered you into his arms as he rolled you onto your sides.

“Shhh, it’s ok,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair. “I know, I know… It’s ok, omega. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to throw your fists against his chest; you wanted to slap the pitiful look off of his face. You wanted to throw yourself off of the deck just as he’d done hours earlier.

But instead you closed your eyes and let him whisper empty words of comfort to you until sleep finally, finally, came.

_____________

If it weren’t for the soreness that had spread all over your body, you would’ve thought it had all been a dream.

You woke up with the sheets neatly tucked around you. You were still naked, but your clothes from last night had been tucked away into the laundry hamper in the corner. You heard faint noises coming from the kitchen – the occasional clang of two plates clinking together, the sizzling of something on the stove – but there was nothing out of place in the bedroom.

Wincing, you pushed the covers back and stood up swaying unsteadily on your feet. You glanced in the mirror, feeling your blood run cold at the sight that greeted you. Your reflection was covered in bruises and bitemarks; you hadn’t even been aware of Steve biting you that much during last night’s activities. Your hair was a mess, but there was no dried cum along the inside of your thighs. He must have cleaned you up after his knot allowed the two of you to separate.

Gulping, you tilted your head and leaned forward, feeling a fresh wave of tears sting your eyes when you saw the red, irritated bitemark on your mating gland. Soon enough, the puffy flesh would calm down, and the crimson would be replaced by a silvery scar that would remain there for the rest of your life. Every look in the mirror would be a fresh reminder of what Steve had done to you.

Clearing your throat, you arranged your hair until it covered over the mark, and you reached into the dresser to pull out a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You didn’t really think that you could escape the famous Captain America, but you still crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones you’d discovered yesterday as you made your slow descent.

Upon reaching the first floor, your eyes focused on the side table next to the front door, but your keys weren’t resting on it like you’d left them yesterday. A disappointed sigh left your lips, and you tiptoed closer to the door. Maybe you could make it on foot-

“I made breakfast,” you suddenly heard Steve call from the kitchen. “Come and get it before it gets cold.”

Your heart sank, and you immediately knew that there would be no use in trying to leave now. Squaring your shoulders, you cautiously made your way to him, your abused pussy aching with every step you took.

Steve was standing over the sink, washing a pan and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten them; you doubted he could have fit into any of your aunt’s clothes.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he instructed you, not looking up from the pan. “I’ll bring over our plates. Do you like coffee?”

You bit your lip and did as he said, lowering yourself into the seat with a wince. Steve finally looked up when he heard your sharp inhalation, and guilt flashed across his face.

“I’ll get you some pain killers,” he said. “Can you take ibuprofen?”

You looked down at the table, wringing your hands in your lap.

“…I’d prefer Tylenol,” you murmured. “And yes, I like coffee.”

The alpha nodded, and you continued resolutely staring at the table, even when he set down a plate of steaming eggs and bacon, a mug of coffee, and a bottle of pain killers. You mechanically took four of the pills, washing them down with the black coffee. You jumped when Steve settled down into the chair across from yours, but you refused to look up at him as he began devouring his meal.

“…You should eat something,” he remarked, but you ignored him, only taking another sip of your coffee. With a sigh, he set down his fork, swallowing a bit of eggs before addressing you again.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “I haven’t even started my rut yet; you’ll need the strength.”

A tear slipped out of your eyes, and you looked down at your food. With shaking fingers, you picked up a slab of bacon, but when its smell hit you, you felt bile rise up in your throat. You immediately dropped it, taking another gulp of coffee to help push down your nausea.

“Hon,” Steve huffed. “C’mon. At least try.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered.

“Just one bite, then,” he persisted. “Please.”

You shot him a glare from beneath your lashes, but he only raised his eyebrows expectantly. You stared until you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and your resolve crumbled as you finally looked down. Picking up your fork, you shoveled a bite of scrambled egg into your mouth, not tasting it as you chewed and then swallowed.

“There,” you grumbled. “Happy?’

Steve once again sighed through his nose, but he only shook his head and went back to eating. For a long moment, the two of you were silent, until he finished his plate and slid yours over towards himself.

“So,” he started, picking up the piece of bacon you hadn’t been able to stomach. “You obviously don’t live here. Who does? A relative – sister, maybe? Is she the one in all the photos?”

You didn’t answer him, and with a frustrated grunt he reached over, grabbing your hand.

“I know that you probably hate me,” he mumbled. “And I can understand why. But we’re together now; you might as well make the most of it. Tell me about yourself.”

Your chest ached with unshed tears, and you looked down at his massive palm as it engulfed yours.

“…I always dreamed about falling in love,” you finally spoke. “I didn’t care who it was with – an alpha or a beta. I just knew that I wanted to love the person I shared my first time with. They didn’t have to be my mate, and I never expected it to be perfect. But I wanted it to mean something.”

You looked up, clenching your jaw as you pulled your hair away, showing him the bonding mark still fresh on your neck.

“You…took that from me,” you growled. “And you stole so much more than just my virginity. You took my choice; you made the years that I’d waited for someone special mean nothing. And I’ll never be able to forget it because of this fucking scar you left behind. So no, I’m not going to make the most out of a shitty situation, because no matter how nice we play, no matter how much I try, it will always and forever be a shitty thing that you did.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and you flinched when he abruptly stood up from his chair. You pressed yourself against the back of the chair as he towered over for you, and you feared the worst when you saw his hands clench into fists at his side.

“…I’m going out,” he growled. “If you try to run, I’ll find you.”

With that, he stormed out, nearly yanking the front door off its hinges and letting it slam shut behind him. For the next several seconds, the only sounds in the room were the muffled birdsong from outside and the ticking of a clock from the hallway.

Eventually, you stood up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and scraping its contents into the trash can. Your mating gland throbbed, but inside you felt nothing but numbness as you went about your cleaning.

After everything was spotless, you futilely searched for your keys, but Steve must have taken them with him. And despite your earlier desire to try and flee on foot, a gut instinct told you that he’d meant it when he said he would find you. You were miles away from a road that wasn’t made of dirt or gravel, and even the nearest highway was even more miles from any signs of civilization. You were well and truly stuck here.

Not knowing what else to do, you went outside onto the back deck, where it had all started. You sat out there until the sun was high in the sky, and it must have been hours until you heard the screen door open. You kept your eyes focused on the forest around you as Steve sat down next to you, and you remained still as a statue even as you felt his eyes baring into you.

“…I first came here two weeks ago,” he started. “No one was here, so I used it as a safehouse. I’ve been on the run since…since the Avengers split apart.”

The only response you gave him was a nod, and he took that as a sign to continue on.

“It had been a while for me. Since I’d…been with anyone. Ever since I was given the serum, my ruts have been more intense. At first, I tried to ignore them, fight ‘em off, but eventually that just stopped working.

“When I first saw you, smelled you, I knew that I wanted you,” he sighed. “Everything else kind of…faded into the background. Your scent was enough to send me spiraling towards a rut. Hell, I haven’t even started it yet, but it’s gonna be one of my most intense ones yet.

“I’m not saying that I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Because I know we’re way past that. And I’m not gonna say I’m not gonna do it again, cuz even now it’s taking all of my willpower not to bend you over the side of the balcony. But I guess I’m saying that… I get what I’ve done to you. I know it’s…heinous. And a younger me would’ve been disgusted with it. But now that we’re bonded to each other, I’m going to make this work.”

You turned to him, feeling your blood go cold at how determined he sounded.

“Make this… Steve, this can’t… There’s no future for us,” you stammered. “We don’t know each other; you, you raped me. There is no ‘making this work’.”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “I waited for someone special too, you know. I let the only woman I ever loved slip out of my fingers; when I woke up after the ice, I knew I wasn’t gonna just spend the rest of my life with anybody. And even if we don’t know each other, it doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way. We can learn-“

“I don’t want to learn!” you exclaimed, rushing to your feet. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you! If you’re bound and determined to ride out the rest of your rut with me, then fine. I’ll hate it, but I’ll get it. Use me like a glorified sex doll like you did last night. But don’t turn this into something it’s not. Just leave me the fuck alone once you’ve had your fun.”

“No.”

Steve stood up, towering over you, and you stumbled backwards as he advanced towards you.

“You don’t want me to be your alpha? Well tough shit,” he spat. “You should’ve thought about that before you bit me back.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but then your eyes fell onto the side of his neck, and your mouth snapped shut. It was a perfect mirror of your own scar, and you gulped when Steve tilted his head to the side so he could get a better view of it. Your teeth were perfectly imprinted in red right over his gland, and sick shame washed over you as you stared at it.

“I’m going to carry around a piece of you for the rest of my life,” he continued, starting to walk towards you again. “So you’d better be damned sure that I’m not going to let you go anywhere.”

A gasp escaped your parted lips when you felt your ass press against the deck’s railing, and you looked over your shoulder to see a fifteen foot drop just on its other side. Gulping, you turned back around, and once again Steve was towering over you, his scent wafting to your nostrils as he caged you in.

“I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, sugar,” he growled. “I’d get used to it if I were you.”

One of his hands tangled in your hair, and then, before you knew it, he was pressing his lips to yours, His other hand trailed up the side of your neck, tracing his bitemark with his fingertips in ways that shot tingles all the way down your spine, to your toes, and back up again. Your whole body twitched at the sensation, and a laugh that sounded more like a purr sounded from his chest.

“I’ll always love how responsive you are,” he murmured. “And eventually, one day, I’ll love the rest of you. Even that bratty little mouth of yours.”

You whimpered when his hands moved down to your hips, picking you up and setting you on the rail. You gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders, leaning towards him and away from the drop behind you.

“Steve!” you exclaimed. “Wait, I don’t-“

“I’m tired of waiting,” he interrupted. “You’ve been walking around in those tiny shorts all fucking day. I’ve held back for long enough.”

He reached down and roughly yanked your shirt up, tearing it down your arms and tossing it behind him. Your nipples pebbled as your breasts were exposed to the slight chill in the spring air, and goosebumps rose up all over your torso.

“I fucking love your tits,” he growled, dipping his head down to suck on one of your nipples. His hand roughly rolled and groped your other breast, and you fought not to arch your back, already feeling off balance as you tried to remain seated on the thin rail.

“Steve, can we please go inside-“

“No, baby,” he grunted. “I need you right here, right now.”

He did, however, pull you forward, and you let out a huff of relief when your feet met solid ground once again. Your relief was short-lived, however, as he turned you around and pushed you forward with a hand between your shoulder blades. You bent down, clutching the top of the low fence and staring at the forest floor below as he ground his erection against your ass. He was already half-hard, growing harder by the second as he rubbed himself against you.

“At least I chose the best pussy I’ve ever felt,” he mused, and you whined when two fingers suddenly plunged into you.

Your slick sounds were obscenely loud, and despite the cabin’s isolation, you felt a fleeting stab of fear that someone would hear him as he fingered you. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the top of the rail, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your moan when Steve’s thumb found your clit.

“No, no, no,” he chided. “I want to hear you, little one. Let me hear those cute little noises you make.”

He reached down and grabbed your wrist, pulling it away as his thumb traced quick, tight circles against your bud. All the while, he was still grinding his clothed erection against the curve of your ass, and your thoughts swam as he added a third finger inside of you.

“I did make you feel good last night,” he breathed. “Didn’t I? You came…I think it was three times? Fuck, I think you were just as desperate as I was.”

He chuckled, pulling his hand away.

“But who am I kidding? I’m still desperate for you.”

Without warning, he spun you around and sat you on the rail once again, shoving his sweatpants down before lining his cock up with your entrance. It all happened so fast; you had no time to prepare yourself as he slid into you in one fluid, fast motion.

“Oh, god-“ you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders. “Steve, please, it hurts-“

“It’s gonna hurt these first couple of times, babygirl,” he sighed, as if he were an exasperated teacher trying to explain a difficult problem to you. “But if you just, fuck-“

He was cut off by his own moan as he started thrusting, not pausing to give you any time to adjust before starting to pump his hips forward.

“If you just relax,” he continued, “then it’ll feel better.”

You clung to him as he started pounding into you, letting your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. There was nothing else you could do as he snapped his hips; you were powerless against him as he used you for his own pleasure.

Oh, and you’re not getting anything out of this? A treacherous voice whispered to you in the back of your mind, and as you started to feel the same pleasure as you had last night, it grew louder and louder. He’s right – it does feel good. Just give in; it would be so easy to just enjoy it.

You couldn’t bite back a moan as the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot, just as it had last night, and Steve rewarded you by snaking a hand between your bodies and rubbing your clit with his thumb once more. The stimulation to your bud made your thighs tremble, and you found your hips rolling forward as you felt that familiar knot start to tighten in your belly.

Your eyes opened, and you found yourself face to face with your bite mark. In your pleasure-addled mind, you couldn’t help but admire the impression that now marked his flesh; you thought back to how it had felt to bite him, to sink your teeth into him as he’d made you cum a second time with his cock buried deep inside of you.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve leaned downwards, and you cried out when he fit his teeth into your fresh scar once again. It hurt like a bitch, but it also felt perfect, as if a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized you were missing had finally found its rightful place in your body. You let your instincts guide you as you opened your mouth, first licking at Steve’s mating gland before sinking your own teeth into his bond mark.

Steve’s hips stilled, and you felt him growl as he pulled you tighter against him. He removed his teeth from you and squeezed your ass, picking you up.

“Keep biting me,” he commanded, his voice huskier than you’d ever heard it. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

You whined and nodded, biting harder as he pressed your back against the screen door. Once again, he started pounding into you, starting out at a punishing rhythm as he held you aloft. You could tell he was close, and you weren’t far behind him.

“I’m gonna fill you up again, omega,” he grunted. “Gonna make your belly round and – fuck – and swollen with my child. Gonna cum in you again and again and again, just like I know you need.”

A moan escaped your throat, and you let go of his neck to let your head fall back against the glass. Your eyes met his pleadingly, captured by those intense, terrifying blue irises as you both approached your peak.

“You gonna cum?” he murmured, and you nodded wordlessly, whimpers and groans spilling out of your open mouth as he snapped his hips harder.

He thrust one, two more times before you both snapped, and your screams of release mingled together as you came. His knot pushed past your entrance, swelling inside of you as his cum filled your pussy, and you let out a low groan at the strange sensation. Your nails were biting into his biceps, but neither of you cared as you rode out the aftershocks.

Last night, you’d been able to find respite in falling asleep, in not having to deal with the immediate consequences of what Steve had done to you and of what you’d done to him in return. But now, you were wide awake, watching in horror as the alpha, your alpha, caught his breath.

“…How long does it take for your knot to go away?” you asked in a quiet, almost timid voice.

“Um…” Steve thought about it. “Typically about twenty minutes.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“Fuck.”

“You know, now would be a good time for us to talk, since you refused to earlier.”

You shot Steve a withering glare, and he only chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not like any of the other omegas I’ve met,” he murmured.

“If you’re seriously going to tell me I’m not like other girls,” you quipped, “I’m going to throw both of us off this balcony.”

Steve chuckled again, tightening his grip on you and walking you over to the outdoor couch. You were feeling a medley of confusing, conflicting emotions, and you looked away as you fought to process all of them. It was true, what they said – you did feel more vulnerable after having sex with Steve. You refused to cry, though. You’d wasted enough time and energy on tears.

“I meant what I said, you know,” the alpha suddenly said. You pulled back enough to meet his eyes, arching an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“When I said I wanted to get you pregnant,” he clarified. “You would look beautiful with my child growing inside of you.”

Your eyes grew comically wide, and you had to look away.

“I… I’m not ready to have kids,” was all you said, and Steve nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m not really in a position to have them, either,” he sighed, letting his head fall back. “I’m still on the run from Tony until everything blows over. It’s not a situation to bring a child up in.

“But one day, omega,” he said, his voice dipping low in its timber as he grew more serious, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you. I don’t want to hear any lip about it, either.”

You bit your trembling lip at the thought of being pregnant with this man’s child; if that ever were to happen, you really would be well and truly stuck with him.

You couldn’t think about that, though. You wouldn’t let yourself think about it. As Steve rubbed your back, waiting until his knot released you, the only thing you could think about was getting from one moment to the next. You didn’t know how or when you would manage to do it, but one thing was for certain.

One day, you would find a way to escape Steve Rogers. After all, it was like your aunt had said in her letter – you were strong. Even stronger than Captain America. And the only thing in life you needed was you.

[thetravelerwrites]

Ravadhi (Part 9)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationship: Female Human x Male Half-Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Half-Orc, Monster Boyfriend, Interspecies Romance,Angst, Slow Burn Content Warning: Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Alcoholism, Drug Abuse Words: 4148

Holly finds out what her mother left for her in the deposit boxes. Afterward, she and Ravadhi settle into a comfortable routine until it's suddenly shattered. Please reblog and leave feedback!

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Holly arrived at the bank only ten minutes after leaving, which was not at all enough time to mentally prepare her for what she was about to find in the deposit boxes, left for her by her dead mother.

She waited in the line anxiously, her fist clenched around the keys that Tonri had given her and her chest tight.

“I can help the next guest,” The teller called. Holly knew him distantly from school, he was a Ratfolk man name was Auro. The two of them hadn’t been friends or really even spoke to each other, but like everyone at school, he knew who she and her dad was, and speculated along with everyone else. Despite that, he hadn’t ever bullied her or ignored her existence out of guilt.

“Hello, what can I help you with today?” He asked as she approached

“Hi, I inherited the keys to safety deposit boxes--” She checked the paperwork she’d received from Tonri. “F152, F153, F154, and F155.”

“Okay, I’ll just need the keys, a photo ID, the death certificate of the decedent, and inheritance letter?”

“Uh, yes, right here.”

She handed the documents to Auro, who took them and scanned them briefly, stopping on the name and glancing up uncomfortably. It was a well known fact that Holly’s mother had disappeared when she was young, but she guessed the news that she was dead hadn’t made the gossip rounds yet.

Auro cleared his throat. “Of course, right this way.” He left his desk and led Holly to a private room. “Wait here a moment and the boxes will be brought to you,” He said.

“Okay, thanks.”

She waited tensely for about five minutes. Then, Auro returned with the four boxes, setting them on the table in front of Holly. He also left a large bank bag on the table.

“Would you like privacy?” Auro asked.

“Yes, please,” Holly replied in a small voice.

He nodded and smile sympathetically, then left and closed the door.

Feeling tears prick her eyes, she sat in front of the four boxes, steeling herself to look inside. She picked the one on the right and pulled it toward her. With shaking hands, she turned the key and slowly opened the lid.

The first thing she saw were the pictures. Hundred of them. Pictures of her, of Holly as a baby, of the two of them smiling and happy and together.

Holly cried softly. She thought all the pictures had been destroyed. She spend a long time looking at the photographs of her and her mother. As she shuffled through them, and envelope fell out from the pile. She picked it up and examined it, and on the front, in her mother’s handwriting, was the word, “Holly.”

Sniffling and attempting to stem the flow of her tears, she carefully slit open the envelope and took out the contents. It was a letter. It was dated seven months before Holly’s mother disappeared.

            My baby girl,           I’m so, so sorry.        If you’re reading this, it means that son of a bitch actually killed me and my attempt to escape with you has failed. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so hard, but he was always one step ahead of me, no matter what I did.        You once asked me, when you were very little, why I was with your father if he made me so sad. I couldn’t answer you then, because you were too young to understand. I was hoping to tell you this story in person one day when we were free of him, but it looks like that day will never come.       Abusive relationships never start out that way, you know. Your father started out sweet and kind and affectionate, and I was fooled. By God, was I fooled. He spent the first year of our relationship waiting on me hand and foot, doing anything I asked, lavishing me with gifts and attention. I was so struck by his attentiveness and loving nature that I fell for him very quickly. Looking back, I realize it was too quickly. I didn’t realize that his attention was manipulation, or that a pattern of dependence was beginning to develop.       The change was so slow that I didn’t even see it. It started with comments, off-handed observations. “Your mom was kind of rude to me today and your brother doesn’t like me. We shouldn’t go over there as much. Your friends talk about you behind your back. You should dump them and get better friends.” He began to drive a wedge between me and all of my relationships, until he was the only one left. He’d convinced me that my family hated me, that my friends were jealous of me. I started cutting ties with people who I loved dearly, and when no one was left, all I had was him. Which is exactly what he wanted.       Then there were sudden negative criticisms about my appearance or how I cooked or cleaned. I was gaining too much weight and wasn’t as pretty as I had been when we first started dating. I was spending too much time at school or work and not enough time with him. He began questioning where I went, how much money I spent, who I was with, why I was out so long. Whenever I protested, he simply said he was worried about me and that he didn’t want anything bad to happen to me, that I was careless, even reckless sometimes, and that I could get myself in trouble. I started questioning myself and actively avoiding things that would upset him. I thought he got angry with me was because he loved me. I didn’t realize he was trying to control me.       Before we got married, he had been pressuring me to leave school, saying that it was too expensive and he couldn’t afford it. I told him I could apply for grants and scholarships, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. His temper was getting shorter and shorter by the day, and before I knew it, it seemed like he was always angry. He started drinking not long after we were engaged. But I loved him, and I figured it was just stress because of money. It was easy to dismiss the emotional and psychological abuse as stress or concern, but now I know it was never any of those things.       The physical abuse started shortly after we got married. By then, I wasn’t speaking to my family or friends anymore and we had moved to Willowridge for his work, so I was completely isolated. We had another argument about school, and it was the first time he laid a hand on me. He slapped me so hard that he knocked me to the floor, and I was shocked. Looking back now, it’s almost comically obvious that the relationship was heading in that direction, but at the time, I was terrified and so very confused. I was a smart person; smart people didn’t get into abusive relationships, it wasn’t possible. And now that I had alienated all of the people who could have helped me, I felt powerless.       My mother died, and I wanted to go to her funeral and patch things up with my family, but your father convinced me that my family didn’t want me there. They hadn’t called me, after all. There had been no invitation to attend. So I didn’t go. Then my father died, and shortly afterward, my brother took his own life. Suddenly, I was without family and it was now too late to reconnect with them. I dropped out of college due to a mental breakdown, which was what your father wanted. It was then that the abuse became extreme.       He would beat me for any small thing. I had no money, no friends, no resources, and I was now living in a town of which I wasn’t familiar. I felt trapped, but I also felt like it was my fault for falling for it, so perhaps it was what I deserved. I developed an eating disorder, lost a lot of weight, stopped leaving the house, and fell into a deep depression. I always felt anxious and sick. I didn’t even realize I was pregnant with you until I went into labor.       You were a month early, and so tiny. I hadn’t been to the doctor since before our wedding and the eating disorder made my period stop for months at a time, so I had no reason to believe I could have been pregnant.       When you were born, everything changed. I may not have been able to get out for myself, but for you, I would move mountains. I made a deal with your father; you know what it was. He wouldn’t let me work, so I had to scrounge and save any way I could. I was the weirdo who took all the coins from the “take a penny, leave a penny” tray. I dived into wishing fountains and scooped up handfuls of quarters. I’d lie to your father and say I lost the receipt when I went to buy groceries and couldn’t remember what the total was. It always earned me a beating, but it was worth it if I could manage to squirrel away even five dollars. I even sold my wedding and engagement rings. I expected to tell him I had lost them and get a beating, but he never asked about them. Someone who controlled every aspect of my life for years didn’t care that the proof of our marriage was missing. Fitting, I suppose.       I’m not sure how much I’ve managed to save; I’ve never had the chance to count it. I’ve also put away all of my jewelry, collectables, and any small thing I thought might be valuable sentimental or otherwise. I hope beyond hope that you’re free from him as you read this, but if you’re not, I hope I’ve saved enough to give you a chance to get away and live a better life. If there’s only enough for you to buy a bus ticket and get out of this godforsaken town, it’ll have been worth it.       I love you, Holly. I love you so much. If any good thing came out of that miserable bastard, it was you. You were a surprise, but once I saw your little face and your tiny hands gripped my finger, I’d have done anything to keep you safe. I’m sorry I fell short. If you hate me, I understand. But please, never doubt that I loved you. I only wish I could have been a better mother and protected you, and I hope you’re not too disappointed in me.          Forgive me. Forgive me.                    Mommy

There were tear stains on the paper, old ones from when it was written, and new ones as Holly read it. Holly held the letter to her chest and wept bitterly.

“I don’t hate you,” Holly sobbed. “I don’t.”

It took several minutes to compose herself. When she’d sniffled to a stop, she turned her attention to the other boxes. In the first, she found jewelry, coins, stock certificates, and the proof of purchase on the house. In the second, there were trinkets she’d saved from Holly’s childhood, like her footprint, her hospital bracelet, and the blanket in which she’d been wrapped in. In the third was a single item: a bank account card.

Holly took all of the items in the boxes and stepped out of the room, walking back up to the teller’s desk.

“There was this account card in the box,” She told Auro. “Do I have access to this?”

“Yes,” Auro said. “Your name is on the account.”

“Oh,” Holly said, surprised. “Can I check the balance?”

“Of course,” Auro said, entering the number into the computer. His hands stilled and he stared at the screen.

“Well?”

“Right,” He said, clearing his throat. “At present, you have $53,640.35 available in your account.”

“Fifty-three…” Holly trailed off. “That’s… mine?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Auro said. “You can use it whenever you like. I can give you a checkbook before you leave, and have a debit card mailed to you within the week.”

“Yes, please,” She replied faintly.

She rode home in a numb fog. When she arrived, Ravadhi and Sarah were sitting on the front porch as if waiting.

“Are you okay?” Ravadhi asked, immediately pulling her into a hug. You accepted it gladly. As soon as he wrapped her up in his arms, she started sobbing again, unable to stop, and started to collapse, her legs crumpling underneath her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” He said softly, moving to sit her down on the porch. Sarah sat on your other side and rubbed her arm.

“What happened?” Sarah asked.

“She left me some things,” Holly managed to gulp out, pulling some of the things from her bag to show Sarah

“Are these you when you were little?” Sarah said. “I’ve never seen pictures of you as a kid.”

“Dad got rid of them all,” Holly replied, shuffling through them to show her. “Or, I thought he had. Mom managed to save some.”

“You were really small,” Sarah said wonderingly. “Even smaller than me.”

“Mom said I was a month premature. I didn’t know that before,” Holly whispered.

“You’re mom said?” Ravadhi asked.

“Oh, she wrote me a letter,” Holly replied, pulling it from her pocket. She began to read the letter out loud to Sarah and Ravadhi. As private and emotionally charged as the letter was, Ravadhi and Sarah were the only two people in the world who Holly felt she could share it with, and because she could, she did. Not only that, she knew they would understand it in a way that no one else would.

“Do you hate her, like she said?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Holly told Sarah. “No, I couldn’t hate her if I wanted to. I wish she had been your mom, Sarah, she was such a good mom. The best.”

“Dad tricked her,” Sarah said, looking up at Holly sympathetically.

Holly nodded. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t trick my mom,” Sarah said bitterly. “All he had to do was pay for her drugs and vodka.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Holly said. Sarah shrugged.

“So you own our house?” Sarah asked, changing the subject. “Are you going to kick mom out?”

“No,” Holly said. “It doesn’t matter what my feelings are for your mom, I will always make sure you have a home to go to, no matter what. But I think it’s best if she doesn’t know I own it, so maybe keep it under your hat.”

Sarah nodded knowingly.

Holly sighed heavily, wiped her face, and stood up abruptly. “Well, I am absolutely starving. Do you guys want breakfast?”

That night, Holly lay in bed, unable to quiet her mind. She had decided to keep the news about the money to herself until she knew what she wanted to do with it. There were a million possibilities bouncing around in her head, and she couldn’t pin one down. She could fix up the house for Sarah, put it away for Sarah’s college, put a down-payment on her own house, go back to school, anything. But deep down, Holly was worried.

Ravadhi had said at the beginning that she was to stay with him until she got back on her feet, but now they were dating. Would he want her to to find her own place since, she had the money to do it? She liked living with Ravadhi. It was the healthiest environment she’d ever lived in and she didn’t want to have to start all over again on her own. Was that co-dependent? Maybe, but healthy co-dependence was better than depressed, anxious solitude, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t think he would just kick her out. But, as her mother’s letter had taught her, you could never be truly certain of a person’s motives or intentions. Ravadhi had been nothing but kind and caring toward her, but… people can change.

What if she could get custody of Sarah? That would be amazing. If she could prove Diane was an unfit mother, would they even let Holly get custody? She knew that they wouldn’t let Sarah live with a convicted felon, though, so if she could get custody, the matter of continuing to live with Ravadhi in his house would decide itself. As much as she cared for Ravadhi, Sarah was her first priority.

What if she lost the custody case and they put Sarah in some kind of group home? Ravadhi’s tale of being in a group terrified her and she’d never subject Sarah to it. Was it best to leave her in a neglectful environment where at least Holly knew she could take care of herself and be safe? Or try for custody and run the risk of losing her in the system?

Maybe she could ask Sarah. She had a good head on her shoulders and could make good decisions for herself. A lifetime of neglect from her own parents as well as having to take care of her beaten and bloodied sister on a regular basis had aged her prematurely, so she was used to it. Unfortunately.

There had been another thing that had been weighing heavily on her lately as well, even before learning about her inheritance: she and Ravadhi had been officially dating for about a month, but they had both cared about each other longer than that. Would… he be expecting sex? Even if he did, she didn’t think he would be the type to pressure her into it, especially given his history.

Eventually, she fell asleep, wondering if she should ask him about it. A few days later, when they were alone with each other and just sitting down to dinner, she broached the topic.

“Ravadhi?” She piped up shyly. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, anything,” He said, picking up his fork and getting ready to tuck in to his pork stirfry and rice.

“Do… do you want to have sex with me?” She asked.

He immediately began to choke on the first bite of his food, and Holly rushed to get him some water in alarm.

When he was able to speak again, he asked, “Before I answer, is that an inquiry or a request?”

“An inquiry,” She replied.

“Okay,” He said, taking a deep breath and bracing his hands on the table. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Holly said, wincing.

“No, no, it’s okay,” He replied, clearing his throat and taking another sip of water. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to ask. That’s really important to me, that you feel safe and comfortable.” He knitted his fingers and took a second before answering, pondering the question over in his head.

“The short answer is: yes, I do, because I care about you in both a emotional and a physical way, and part of that is wanting to be intimate and sexual. The long answer is: yes, I do, but.”

“But?”

“Yes, I do, but… I know that it scares you and that you’re not ready. Yes, but I never want to do anything to hurt you or make you feel unsafe. Yes, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes until you feel the time is right, even if that never comes. I’m here for you because I love you, not because I want to have sex with you. Your happiness and well-being is more important to me than that.”

Holly blinked and her mouth fell open. She stared at Ravadhi in silent shock.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“You said you loved me.”

His cheeks darkened. “Oh. I… well… yeah. I do. Love you, I mean. It’s okay if you don’t or don’t want to say it.”

Holly’s heart raced and she felt confused. “Give me some time?”

He nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

She nodded in return, relieved. “Thanks. And… I appreciate you being cool with everything. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but it means a lot to me.”

He smiled fondly at her and continued eating.

The school semester came to an end, and Ravadhi passed all his exams, despite working two jobs and having taken Holly in during the month when he needed to study the most. Now that school was over for the summer, he took some more time to work on the house, which he hadn’t been able to do for a long time. Holly was happy to help him, and it became a new bonding activity for them both. Sarah slept over often since it was summer break, and the three of them were happy.

It was becoming easier for her to be physically affectionate with him, holding his hand and giving him hugs and kisses more casually, which was a huge step for her. He never brought up sex or being more intimate, and Holly appreciated it.

Ravadhi still had the plumbing and overnight security job, but now that school was out, he was able to take more shifts. Holly would stay up and text him until at least his lunch break at eleven P.M. to help him stay awake.

On a warm Thursday evening as the sun was going down, Holly sat on the back porch overlooking the closed-in backyard and watched some videos on her phone while texting Ravadhi back and forth. He was bored, like he always was during his shifts at the power plant. He worked alone at the front lobby and watched the cameras, which Holly was sure was nothing short of riveting. At least he was allowed to listen to music.

>What have you got playing? She asked.

>Sevendust. It’s my go-to band. Very effective at keeping me awake.

>I bet. Do you listen to any female fronted metal bands? I think you’d really like Epica and Otep. Epica has got a great opera vibe. Oh, and Sister Sin is a really good hard rock band. Great vocalist.

>I haven’t heard those bands. They sound awesome.

>I’ll make you a playlist.

>Nice. What are you up to?

>Enjoying the nice evening. I was going to clean up the kitchen before I went to bed, but I was tired. I’ll do it tomorrow after work.

>Going on rounds. I’ll text you back in a minute.

Holly switched back over to watching true crime videos on YouTube. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, suddenly the sun was completely down. She looked at her phone and realize she must have fallen asleep: two hours had gone by. She went over to messages and texted Ravadhi. He hadn’t texted back yet, which was weird.

>Sorry, I fell asleep. Find anything?

Holly decided to go inside and actually clean the kitchen. By the time she was done, Ravadhi still hadn’t texted back.

>Everything okay?

Ten minutes passed and there was no response. Holly began to feel uneasy. With a pit in her stomach, she dialed the power plant’s main line. Ravadhi had to answer that phone, it was part of his job. The phone rang and rang and rang. Ravadhi never picked up.

Holly’s breath stalled in her chest with panic and she called the sheriff’s department.

“Sheriff’s department,” Holly heard.

“Hi, um, look, my boyfriend is at work and he’s not answering the phone, which is part of his job, and I’m worried something may have happened to him,” Holly said in a rush.

“I’m sure he’s fine, ma’am,” The deputy said dismissively. “He’s probably in the bathroom or something. I’m not sure this warrants a welfare visit.”

“I’m telling you, something is wrong,” Holly insisted. “I haven’t heard from him in hours. That’s not something that happens.”

“You’re probably overreacting,” He said. “Just calm down--”

“Who am I speaking to?” Holly asked, getting angry.

“Deputy Reynolds.”

“Well, Deputy Reynolds, my name is Holly Stevenson. Do you know that name?”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. “Yes, ma’am, I know who you are.”

“Then you know you owe me. You owe me.”

The deputy didn’t respond.

“The least, the very least, you can do is make sure the person who saved my life is okay. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” The deputy replied. “I’ll send an officer right away.”

“You do that,” Holly said. “And I expect a call when you get there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” The deputy said.

Holly hung up the phone and waited anxiously, biting her nails and pacing. A full thirty tense minutes later, she saw red and blue lights outside. She rushed to the door and threw it open. The sheriff himself stepped out of the car.

“What happened?” Holly asked.

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The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[impala1967dwinchester]

Sam Winchester: it's cold outside

Pairing: Sam W. x Fem!Reader

Pov: Sam

Warnings: Fluff, cuteness, Christmas themes, snowing outside, comfy spots,

Summary: Opening Christmas gifts. AU! Sam and Y/n realize they both got each other the same gifts. They also watch the snowfall. maybe a proposal

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This is the second to the last writing challenge I have to complete. I'm so happy and sad that this challenge is almost over.

Square: Fluffy Jumpers

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Taglist: @sweetdetectivequeen @band--psycho @wonderfulworldofwinchester

The snow outside was starting to cover the porch. it was just barely six am, rolling over I grabbed y/n. she moaned slightly into me as I shifted her into my grasp. Y/n felt so warm around my arms she eventually got comfortable around my grasp.

Seven am the digital clock said, the sun was just baby peeking over the horizon yet. This was the first winter, the first Christmas that Y/n and I would be spending together fully alone. So in technical terms, this is our third Christmas together.

She moaned again as she shifted in my arms the morning sun just not bright enough to fully wake her from her dreams, or even her sleep. slipping from her grasp I snuck from our bed and down stairs.

Having hidden a few presents in the closet away from sneaking eye, such as Y/n. I had noticed the last two years Y/n always no matter what has to sneak a peak.

This year I most definitely did not need y/n snooping around my gifts. Bringing them in from the closet I tried my hardest to place the gifts in empty spots under the Christmas tree.

After doing so, I got to work on breakfast. Seeing as I was the better cook between the two of us. I made hot chocolate and coffee because Y/n was mostly going to sleep till dawn I needed something to wake her up even it was Christmas morning. I turned on Christmas music just something low, but sweet enough to in have in the background.

You know what's funny to me, as a child as kids who believe in a magical person who deliveries present. I remember my older brother Dean beating me at waking up every single Christmas morning. My mother and father would come in hours later and tell us that Santa had come. Dean would beat me down the stairs and always had so much energy, but our parents never seemed against it.

It's funny the little memories you hold on to even twenty-plus years later. The deal between Y/n and I was so. The first year we would visit her family up in Utah and the following year we could visit mine in Kansas.

Eight am and Y/n is still not awake. Alright try for plan two, I walked my way up the stairs with a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit. nothing too heavy seeing as she is just going to wake up.

Walking in through the open doorway. I was met with a beautiful moment, or whatever you want to call it. Y/n was curled up into my pillow tightly hugging it, the blinds that had been left open the night before for the moon's bright beam to cast in were instead the bright sun casting in. It cascaded over her face, down her arms, beaming down slightly onto the skin on her leg.

I quietly set down her cup of coffee and the bowl of fruit grabbing my phone from the back pocket of my flannel pants. Snapping one or two or maybe five pictures of her. In moments like this, a picture is really worth a thousand words.

Throwing my phone back into my back pocket. I walked over to Y/n quietly and gently tried shaking her awake. "My love wakes up," I spoke gently in her forehead kissing it a few times. "My love it Christmas" She didn't budge her grasp on my fluffy pillow only tightening.

"My love I have coffee for you, and I made breakfast." I tried saying a bit louder and more clear. She moved eventually after I spent ten minutes of my morning caressing her arms, her forehead, and brushing through her hair with my hands.

"My dear, it almost nine in the morning," I said pushing the coffee closer to her on the side table in our bedroom. She moaned and groaned as she shifted and was just barely awake. "Good Morning my love," I said gently as I didn't want to bombard Y/n with too much in the morning.

She stretched and reached towards me. "Mornin' Sammy!" Y/n said. I moved out of her way, she swang her legs over the edge of our bed and set her feet into the slippers.

"Coffee?" I asked her, she hummed in response and took the hot cup out of my hands. Y/n hair was wrapped in these odd color things, but according to Y/n, it was to curl her hair in her sleep especially when her hair was wet.

The odd things that women did for their beauty routines. She sipped at the coffee, her head resting on my shoulder. "It snowed last night baby," I spoke as she got up and walked towards the window.

I could write you a dictionary size book of things that I love about Y/n, and that right there, this moment was another I'd have to add to that book.

Nine am. Y/n in the shower, after finishing her coffee and bringing her hidden gifts out and doing the same as I. I worked on dinner ham, muffins for the hell of it. Things I knew that Y/n had fallen in love with when we visited my parents, and of course there were meals that I wanted to desperately try that we had in Utah with Y/ns family.

Ten am. Y/n was done with her shower and currently finishing up her makeup. I slipped upstairs noticing cozy outfits laid out on our now made bed. One for her and me. I made my way into the bathroom, Y/n wrapped in her towel and applying a bit of everything that was laid out against the shared sink space.

I came in and wrapped my hands around her waist. She leaned her head into my shoulder as I kissed her jawbone and her neck. Whispering into her ear, "Merry Christmas, baby." I said unclasping her from my grip, stripping off my pants and tank top.

The hot water ran down my back as I remembered that today I'm asking Y/n the forever question. Last Christmas I had even asked her father for the mission to marry his daughter. Even if he said no, I'm pretty sure his wife would have smacked him and told me 'yes you may, honey'.

Eleven am. I was finished with my shower, Y/n was done with her light makeup. We were both wearing our matching outfits. We made our way downstairs, y/n slipped her phone from her hand and into mine. "Let's take a few pictures, I want to send a few to our parents, and of course Dean," Y/n said as she began to smile awaiting for me to raise the phone in my hands, and up above us.

She never needed makeup, and I made sure to tell her of that every day, or at least every time I saw her with makeup on. "You look beautiful baby, but you don't need the makeup, because I love you just the way you are. And you, you as your wholesome self in more than enough for me." I said as we looked through the pictures.

Y/n started sending off pictures to people, the cute ones were sent to our parents, the one where we were kissing she posted on one of her social media accounts. The last few ones when we made funny faces she sent to Dean.

If I ever lost her, I think I'd lose my mind. Absolute go crazy, not saying she keeps me from going crazy, she's just the love of my life, and I simply wouldn't know what to do with myself if she was suddenly gone.

Twelve pm. "Come on Sammy! Let's open gifts please!" Y/n says jumping all over the living room. I hummed and sat down on the couch. Y/n pulled a few of my gifts out and grabbed hers. Handing a few small ones and a few bigs ones.

Books, cooking books, a photo album, a few other silly little things, but she still had one box for me. "Here open these honey," I said handing her a few boxes that were wrapped in reindeer wrapping paper. She gushed over the paper and then tore into the gifts.

I too had grabbed her books, a few things from the craft store, and literally anything else she had hinted to during the year. A new necklace because the other was tarnished, a subscription to amazon prime because she has a tendency to buy a lot of things.

She smiled having a few tears in the cusp of her eyes. She rushed up from the floor and jumped into my lap, "Thank you, baby! So much!" I wrapped my hands around her waist to keep her in my lap. She was kissing up a storm on my face, missing either on purpose or accidentally my lips.

We stayed like this for a few moments. Just kissing each other, staying in the moment forever. The kissing wasn't harsh or teeth rode. It was sweet and slow, her lips against mine. Moments like this I memorized her shape and the way her lips tasted against mine.

She rested her head against my chest, and we stayed like this for a few, before she got up and noticed that we both two boxes left. "What do you think we can open them up at the same time?!" So we did, opening them and holding the cute jumpers up in the air at the same time. I could barely see Y/ns eyes over the jumper, then noticed something very cute, and funny.

"Y/n, sweetheart?" I asked she hummed in response. "did.. we got the same gift for each other I think." I said finally I could see Y/n's eyes. She gasped and then giggled. There are other things I'd add to that dictionary, or the book, or whatever.

She giggled and got up running towards the bathroom. "I'm going to go try this on Sammy!"She screamed as she slipped down our hardwood floor and into the bathroom. I went and found the box, the box that had the simple ring it, a set of three diamonds on a gold band.

I heard the clasp of the door open, and then Y/n started talking, on one knee I stayed until Y/n noticed I wasn't answering her back. She looked down at me, then at my hands. Back the jumpers that I was also wearing, "You look cute in your jumper love, so I have a whole speech planned out here. I.. umm... I have spent a large portion of my life loving you from afar, then I got you and I could love you up close you are mine, but I want to be able to wake up next to you forever, I want to continue to make you giggle and laugh, smile at the little things I say to you. I so desperately want to be the father of your kids, have more Christmas like this, so I guess what I'm asking you is simple. Will you Y/n L/n marry me?" I asked her.

No moments of silence she was down on the floor with me, kissing my face repeating 'yes' over and over again. "A hundred times yes, thousand times yes. God, I love you, Winchester. "She said as I slipped the three stones onto her finger.

We kissed again but this just felt different, maybe it was because she wasn't just a girlfriend anymore she is the rest of my life, she's my forever. She is my Mrs. Winchester.

We broke from our kiss, she grabbed her phone and took a picture of course of her hand and then one of us again for the second time. Sending it off yet again. She was happy, and that's all I have ever wanted for her.

Completed on: 05/28/2021

Posted on: 05/28/2021

[hhjs]

the art of losing isn't hard to master. (though it may look; like disaster).

pairing. ⤳ bang chan x reader.

genre. ⤳ angst.

alternatively. ⤳ a mystery trope. :3

word count ⤳ 2.07k

note ⤳ sorry for the long title hah. this is inspired by jaurim's song 'twenty five, twenty one.' and the title is a quotation from elizabeth bishop's poem 'one art'.

"I don’t want to see you again."

Chan knows you don't mean it, not even one bit. From the way the sentence comes out all shaky, the way you're pretending to stare off into space in sudden contemplation when really you just didn't want him to see you tear up.

But it still hurts.

It hurts so much that he almost regrets breaking up with you, finds himself wanting to take the words back as swiftly as he'd uttered them in the intimate setting of your favourite café.

Almost. If he says something now, he can taken it all back. Just one word. An explanation. And he can gone back to basking in the warmth of your affection in that selfish manner that he always did.

He doesn't, though, he can't.

Not when he was starting to notice just how absorbed you were becoming with your relationship, minimising your own priorities to make sure the bond lasted, giving up applying to your dream college because it meant you'd be moving away from him.

Sure, it sounded like some heroic bullshit sacrifice in his head, like something infuriating drama protagonists do - but there was not a speck of doubt in him pertaining to the department of seeing you happy.

Even if it had come to this.

Even if losing you was the expense he had to incur to get you to love yourself more than you loved him.

Chan, however, doesn't tell you that. Knowing how stubborn you are, you'll certainly not let go without a fight.

It's easier this way, he thinks, if instead he says he can't do it anymore - and lets you believe it.

"Okay." He says, finally finding his voice and these words, he really means it, "Anything for you."

...

It's the sheer irony that baffles him.

There was a time when Minho used to mock Chan about keeping blind faith in settling down with you, pointing out that, even if it was through harmless banter, it was an absurd thing to want out of a highschool sweetheart.

And the former is also the first one to stop beating about the bush, to tell it as it is, "You're a fucking asshole." Minho says, plopping down beside him. He sounds more disappointed than angry.

A movie plays on before the pair and Minho wastes no time in stuffing his face with popcorn, flaunting that he had no intention of explaining his comment, as if it is just that obvious.

Chan remains silent, baffled by the fact that this the first time he's on the receiving end. He usually acts as the one who dishes out words of wisdom and scoldings when necessary.

When he heard you were going away for college just the next morning, he was both ecstatic and horrified. Ecstatic because things were going according to plan. Horrified because that meant he wouldn't be seeing you at all, even if chancing upon you had grown obviously less frequent than it had been when you were together. It meant he wouldn't find you lounging absently at a local café while your eye brows furrowed, fixated on a particular page, it meant that there would be no accidental brushing of shoulders when you'd end up going to Jisung's parties, it would mean completely falling off of your radar.

However, Minho's outburst acted as a vague consolation, albeit he understood it was wrong, it indicated that you weren't doing well either, it indicated that you missed him like he missed you, it meant that you still loved him.

The idea of forever and always had been embedded in his ideology too deeply to apply reason.

He is always going to love you, you are always going to love him. He knows that much. He believes that much.

That alone is enough. That has always been enough.

...

It's too early in the morning and he is positive that this is an abysmal decision.

But the little care he had for rationality, always in your department was not new.

You push a suit case out of the door, there is an Uber waiting, the sound of rain hitting pavement is at such great volume that he can hardly hear his rapid footsteps.

When you crane your neck his direction, Chan stops walking further, but he is too near to go unnoticed.

"W-What are you doing here?" The question comes from you. He notes that you almost sound...hopeful. Like you would go right back in and snuggle into the comfort of your covers if he asked, like you'd forgive him if he asked, like you'd love him despite the distance that'd keep you apart if he asked.

Chan doesn't ask.

"I just... wanted to see you off." He lies, it's taking a whole lot of self restraint to not go up to you to engulf you in his bone crushing hugs, to uproot you off of the security of your toes. He only seems to stare, feigning nonchalance.

The I'm sorry, the truth, sits atop the tip of his tongue and he inwardly promises that he'll tell you someday.

...

Chan doesn't, of course, anticipate this.

When he finally conjures up the courage to send you a follow request after bashfully asking for your username and twiddling his thumbs over your Instagram icon, the acceptance and follow back request notifications almost reduces him to a giddy child who was allowed to watch cartoons way past their bedtime. The unanticipated pleasure that comes with getting something you had no expectations whatsoever of getting.

What is more shocking, he notes, is just how much your life has changed;

or at least, seems to have changed.

There are endless photos, shots of bright neon tones of a typical college party where you're holding up a solo cup to the air and grinning big enough that your eyes are closed, Chan smiles at this.

His enjoyment is, although, quite transient when another pop up in his notification bar reminds him that you've made your most recent post just a few seconds prior.

Curiously, Chan scrolls upwards, careful not to accidentally like any old photos.

This picture is different, the premise is a concert of some sort, he can tell from the banners, the condensed congregations of people around you, mouths awkwardly paused in uttering lyrics - the disturbing part, is the long, bleached blonde stranger behind you, his gangly arms looped over your chest, your back pressed against his front, while his chin is propped up onto the gap between your neck and shoulder. There is no caption.

You look the happiest here. He knows this. The familiar childish glow of your face whenever he'd crack a dumb pun was etched vividly into his memory.

Uncharacteristically, Chan finds himself putting down the phone on the table so Jisung would notice and elaborate without him asking.

And his endeavour is satisfied, "Oh, that's Hyunjin." Jisung explains, before rolling his eyes when Chan kept looking at him to say more, "They're just friends."

It’s only when Chan lets his breath go, does he realise that he was holding it all along.

...

"Long time, eh?" You smile at him, it's an easy, carefree smile, not the tight lipped ones you'd shoot his way weeks after the breakup. That elicits a weird feeling in Chan, he wants to understand why, know what brought this change.

Were you just that happy to see him? Did you remember that your first date was also on a New Year's Day, just like today? Or was he just lingering in the past, all alone?

Even though Hyunjin's invitation to the party was a nuisance, his delayed presence sparked a hopeful event for Chan, now that you were home for the holidays, he needed a proper chance to finally tell you all that he was holding back and do anything, everything to make up for it.

He imagined all the stories from those photos on your feed, musing over your brief conversations through DMs but back in his room, with a blanket pulled to your chin, while he threw a free leg around your waist.

Chan nods slowly, rummaging through the snack shelves. "Yeah. I can't believe it's been a year already." He prepares a mental conversation in his head as he finally secures a bag of Lays.

You smile slowly, looking down at your chipped nails, "Me neither."

In the living room, a loud pop song is playing, the two of you divorced from everyone, a countdown almost commencing.

From behind the kitchen counter, Chan opens his mouth to ask you about something but can't remember what, the last ten seconds rolling to ten, nine, eight, seven -

"I've been looking everywhere for you." A foreign voice comes but the stranger, on the contrary, is not unrecognisable.

His hair is the same long blonde, he's tall, his eyes are hooded but bright with kiddish excitement, his mouth naturally pouted. And when he says this sentence to you, your face, almost immediately, lights up.

The dramatic exclamation is exaggerated with sets of long flailing arms, Chan wants to roll his eyes at the cheesiness, had it not made you laugh.

You only get to turn your body partially before Hyunjin walks over to your position, he cups your face with one hand and the other traverses to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. It's as if you've completely forgotten about him, as if you're the only two people in the world and Chan, a wistful member of the audience merely permitted to have the luxury to watch.

It is then that Chan realises that Jisung was definitely misinformed. Friends don't do this, friends don't look at each other like this. six, five, four, (But he can't look away, can't look away because he has to face the music, bite the bullet, to accept it for what it is. The spectacle is only but a morbid reminder of how taking people for granted always proves to be fruitless.)

Three, two, one,

"Happy New Year." Hyunjin's mouth moves with brief soundless words, he looks like the happiest man in the world and there's not a doubt he is, with you...

And when he kisses you like that, it's anything but perfect, he keeps grinning against your mouth like he can't believe this is happening. 

The lonesome spectator senses himself thinking that you've never looked a fraction of happy with him as you do with Hyunjin.

Every sound falls back into muteness, all but the ringing in Chan's ears. Every planned syllable deems his tongue to a limping, incoherent mess. He bites it down.

All Chan understands is -

there is no going back from this.

..."You know I never told you." You hold up your fingers to his face, there's a giant indent of a wedding ring against the skin. The ornament catches light and glints.

Chan hums, finding that he was just as enamoured with your smile. After all this time. "Told me what?" He asks, eyes flitting behind your head to see Hyunjin picking out your favourite drink in a memorised fashion, a matching accessory banded around his finger as he points to a menu displayed above. It's only a matter of minutes.

You giggle, as though it's the silliest thing in entire the universe, the equivalent of admitting you used to believe you'd grow a tree inside your tummy if you swallowed apple seeds, "This is going to sound stupid."

You look downright embarrassed when you press your palms against your face and gaze at him through the gaps of your fingers, then rest them back on the table, "Don't get me wrong..like, of course it hurt, at first. And I was so angry at you..." you chuckle, embarrassed, " But if we never broke up, I can't imagine where I'd be right now...if it wasn't for you I don't think I'd be the person I am today." You explain lightheartedly, it's time and familiarity that makes bringing this topic up so easy. Like it means nothing at all. "So I guess I just wanted to say...thanks?"

Chan smiles, a genuine smile,  even if it has a melancholic quality to it, all he ever wanted...really was for you to be happy. And you are. Most certainly.

 So he doesn't tell you more, doesn't tell you about almosts and rain hitting pavements and forever and always.

But he reaches out and pats your knuckles and says - because he means it the same still, "Anything for you."