#what do you MEAN ‘close enough’ NO we must be rigorous about everything or I’ll DIE

[necromimetics]

I’m an enjoyer of applied math. Hypothetically. The problem is half the time I do applied math they’re like “so first we’re going to make 25 assumptions” and my pure math brain immediately violently recoils

[here4theheartbreak]

Afternoon Naps (myg + pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Yoongi Genre: smut Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~5.5k

Tags: Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Vampires, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Vampire Sex, Vampire Biting/Blood Drinking, Sleeping Medication, Consensual Necrophilia (Technically), Temporary Character Death, Vampire Min Yoongi, Human Park Jimin, Bottom Park Jimin

Summary: Jimin finds out his boyfriend's biggest secret, and reveals his own biggest kink. They realize that this can benefit both of them.

A/N: Fifth Kinktober fic, day 7: somnophlia; this fic is also filling a request from ages ago. @sujigguk requested a fic with “you’re not human”

A/N 2: The fic contains technically necrophilia -- vampire lore in this fic has the vampire "dying" (i.e. heart/breathing stops, body goes cold, rigor mortis sets in) while resting in their coffins. All sexual acts are discussed and consented to by both parties prior to this.

“Jimin!” Yoongi’s voice was sharp… And not all that happy when he opened the door of his apartment. Jimin smiled sheepishly. 

“Surprise?” He said softly. 

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi looked tense as he stood in the doorway. From what Jimin could see over his shoulder, his blinds were drawn, and his apartment was still mostly dark. Strange, given it was nearly ten in the morning.

“Did I wake you?”

Yoongi hesitated. “No.”

Jimin’s smile faded a little. “I wanted to come by… It’s been a week.”

“We’ve been texting.” 

Jimin’s smile disappeared completely. “I disturbed you. I’m sorry.” He backed up, ready to head down the hall.

“Wait, no, Jimin. Don’t go. You just surprised me, I’m not used to visitors coming by unexpectedly.”

Jimin looked at him, trying to gauge if he was being sincere. Jimin and Yoongi had been dating for nearly six months. It was great. Yoongi was always there for him, their dates were fun, and they never ran out of things to talk about. The sex was mind blowing. Sure, they fought a little, but never a big thing. The one oddity in all their time together… Was that Jimin was never invited to sleep over at Yoongi’s. Yoongi had stayed at Jimin’s a few times, and Jimin had come over once or twice, but never for more than a few minutes. 

The last time they were together in person, Jimin had hinted at wanting to stay over at Yoongi’s one night. Yoongi had seemed okay with the idea, but also a bit stiff about it. 

“I should have texted,” Jimin finally said.

“Yes,” Yoongi agreed. “But… You’re here, I can spare a few minutes.” He sighed heavily and stepped aside, letting Jimin in. 

“Dark,” Jimin commented as he entered. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” He reached out for Yoongi’s head, only to have Yoongi jerk away.

“I’m fine.”

Jimin scowled then, crossing his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Yoongi blinked at him. 

“You’re acting weird. I’ve been with you half a year, I know when you’re not yourself. What’s wrong?”

“It…” Yoongi’s shoulders sagged. “It’s very hard to explain.”

“Well try. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. Literally or figuratively.” Jimin went to flip on a light. 

Yoongi grabbed his wrist. His hand was frigid, and his grip was tight. Jimin gasped. 

“Don’t.” Yoongi’s voice was sharp.

“Wh… What’s going on? You’re kinda starting to scare me.”

“I don’t mean to.” Yoongi let go of Jimin’s wrist.

“Why are you so cold?” Jimin went forward. Yoongi backed away but Jimin ignored him, grabbing his face. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Are you sick?”

“Not exactly,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Jimin, please…” Yoongi leaned into his touch, his eyes screwed shut. “Please just go home… I promise, I’ll explain everything tonight.”

“No. You can explain right now, Min Yoongi.” Jimin crossed his arms and stood in front of the door, facing Yoongi. 

“It’s not easy,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin remained silent. He sighed. “Fine. I… I really wanted us to last.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes, not liking how this was sounding. Yoongi stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“I’m a monster.”

“What makes you a monster?” Jimin pressed.

“Fangs? Death? Drinking blood?” Yoongi shrugged. “Any number of things. I mean a literal monster.”

Jimin laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, don’t be silly. Yoongi, what is it really?” He asked. He flicked on the light. Yoongi winced visibly, raising his hand to shield from the indoor light.

Jimin’s entire body went cold. Yoongi was standing in front of him. His Yoongi – lean muscle and a sweet, round face, gentle eyes and guitar callused fingers… But not his Yoongi at the same time. The person in front of him was paler than Yoongi – his face almost grey it was so pale. His eyes were dark. Not just dark, but the pupils seemed to have expanded, filling the whites of his eyes and giving him a demonic gaze. 

Yoongi let his hand fall, his expression timid despite the horror his features implied. 

“You’re not human,” Jimin whispered.

“I’m a monster,” Yoongi agreed. “A vampire… Specifically.” He looked down. “Are you going to run away screaming now?”

“Make me, you troll,” Jimin grumbled. He let his arms fall and took a cautious step forward. 

“I’m a vampire, not a troll.”

Jimin grinned at that, seeing the curve of a smile on Yoongi’s lips. “I’ll get it right eventually… Am I in danger? Standing here like this?”

“No. I have excellent control over my feeding… Why aren’t you scared?” Yoongi looked up, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“I am.”

“You aren’t showing it… Aside from a fast heartbeat… I can’t see any fear on your pretty face. And your heart beats fast around me all the time.”

Jimin smiled. “Flirting isn’t gonna get you out of the doghouse… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You’re right.” Yoongi snapped his fingers. “I always forget. When is the right date to tell your new boyfriend you died and came back as a bloodsucking creature of the night? That once a week you have to spend a day in a coffin literally dead or you get wildly sick? Isn’t it the third? Or no, the seventh?”

Jimin slapped Yoongi’s shoulder with some force, smirking when he cried out, rubbing it. “Weak for a vampire.”

“I’m immortal, not immune to my boyfriend’s abuse,” Yoongi grumbled.

“Do you drink blood?”

“Of course I do.”

“Human?”

“When I can.”

“From live people?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, Mr. Park?”

Jimin glared. “You lied to me for six months, I’m allowed to interrogate you.”

Yoongi smiled softly. “I’m frankly just… In amazement that you’re still standing here. And no… Not live humans, not for a very long time. You may proceed with the interrogation – but I insist on us moving out of my hallway and to an actual sitting location.” He pointed to the couch.

“Do you have anything to drink? If I open your fridge… Will I find bags of blood?”

Yoongi made a noise of offense and crossed his arms. “Of course not, I’m not some barbarian. You’ll find a recyclable bottle of that’s filled with blood. But my sodas are in the door.”

Jimin went over to the fridge and opened it. Sure enough, there were three large water bottles filled with a very suspicious reddish liquid. He grabbed a soda from the door and went over to the couch, sitting next to Yoongi.

“How old are you? I’m guessing that twenty-seven was a lie.”

“I was twenty-seven when I died. Thirty-one years ago.”

“Oooh, I bagged myself a silver fox, huh?”

Yoongi huffed once more. “I died at twenty-seven.”

“Mhm… And now you’re fifty-eight.” 

“Jimin, I’m gonna…” 

Jimin giggled. “I guess I shouldn’t tease you… You might bite me… Would you?”

“Bite you? Not unless you asked.”

“Would it turn me into a vampire?”

“No. There’s a very specific ritual for that.”

Jimin nodded. “Cool. So, what does a vampire do? Aside from drinking blood… What’s special about you? I’ve seen you in the day. You complain a whole lot, but you don’t sparkle or ignite like a firework. We’ve taken plenty of pictures together… And you eat way too much garlic. You also sleep at night, and probably too long… And you aren’t any stronger than I am.”

“You’re making me feel real great here, Jimin,” Yoongi joked, smiling as he spoke.

Jimin laughed. “Sorry—I just mean… You seem human. I’ve never… Really assumed anything was off about you.”

“The great thing about humans, is that you all really like to assume everyone is like you. You avoid the things that support the opposite. Inhuman behavior, to some degree, so long as it’s not shocking or jarring, you can brush off as an odd quirk, a funny trait. I’m close to human, yes, but I am not human. I complain in the sun because my skin is sensitive. Bursting into flames is a myth, but I do burn far easier than most humans. My skin’s melanin has decayed over the years without cellular growth.”

“Which is why you’re so pale too.”

Yoongi grunted an affirmative. “Garlic is a myth, as is the no reflection thing. I’m sure hundreds of years ago, maybe? There might have been some truth to it, but modern technology and modern mirrors work different, so I can see myself the same as you. I am stronger than you, but I do well at hiding it most of the time. Any displays of it, you either don’t see, or brush aside. I do also sleep at night, yes – because I’ve put myself on a human schedule. I do this so I can live among you all without problems. Once a week though, I must sleep during the day. Sleeping at night is akin to a human living on a series of short naps at mid-afternoon. It’s not fully restful and it’s dangerous to do long term. I compensate by sleeping through the day one day per week, in the appropriate resting place.”

“R… Resting place?”

“My coffin.”

Jimin’s eyes bulged. “Coffin?”

“Yes, I am dead. I have a coffin.”

“That you sleep in?”

“Once a week. Otherwise, I sleep in the bed.” 

Jimin nodded, his brows furrowed. 

“Gonna run yet?” Yoongi asked.

“No… Is there anything else different?”

“Well… We’re excellent in bed,” Yoongi joked. Jimin glanced up. “I mean it. We have a… Special thing about us. You’ve had sex with other men before me, right?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed that when we have sex… I’m much—”

“Harder.”

Yoongi nodded. 

Jimin pouted. “I assumed it was because I just really turned you on. It’s because you’re a vampire?”

“Well, no, you really do turn me on... A lot. But a few days after I do my daytime sleep, I get naturally more rigid. I’m not sure why – I think it has something do with… Ah, well it’s gross. But it just happens.”

Jimin sat back, sighing softly. “You’re immortal.”

“Yes.”

“Honestly… I think that’s the thing that bothers me most about this. Not that you’re undead or drink blood or… But that you’re gonna never grow old. And I’m…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered.

“If we work out…” Jimin began. “And stay together… You’ll turn me, right? You’d have to – for us to… Be together.”

“Not necessarily. While I wouldn’t hate the idea of someone’s company in my life… I know that a limited existence is so valued and important. It’s something that I would be willing to discuss… If we work out, and when you are older.”

Jimin nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yoongi pressed. “That’s it?”

Jimin shrugged. “We all have secrets, Yoongi.”

“I doubt you have a secret as big as this, Jimin.”

“No… But I have one that… People have left for.”

Yoongi seemed to perk up a little at that, his brows furrowed. Despite the difference in his eyes, the sleek black, Jimin found his expression endearing and sweet. 

“I like your eyes like this… Can you change them at will?” He asked.

“No. They’re like this because I’ve not fed for a while. I have to keep myself fed and rested or they shift; they’ll be back to normal after I wake up and drink… What secret could you have that’s so big, Jimin?” 

“Well… I…” Jimin winced. “God, it’s weird as hell, I’m so sorry.”

“I won’t run,” Yoongi promised. “You’re sitting here next to me after finding out I’m a living dead monster. The least I can do is listen to your secret and try to understand.”

Jimin smiled softly at that. He nodded. “I like… Sleep sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I like the idea of… Having sex with someone while they sleep or are unconscious. With their consent! I mean… I’d never… Do something nonconsensual.”

Yoongi remained silent a moment, thinking. “Do you want someone to have sex with you while you sleep? Or do you want to have sex with someone while they sleep?”

“Both, I guess. I like the idea of both. I’ve never done it. Most people stop talking to me after I tell them.”

“Why would they?” Yoongi pressed. “We all have kinks and fantasies.”

“Yeah, but a lot of them see it as a form of rape. And I get it, it’s a super grey area. You can’t change your mind while you’re asleep, so like… If you say it’s okay, and then as you drift off to sleep decide you don’t want it… Then it becomes nonconsent.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding. “Well I think that can be resolved just by open communication,” he said, touching his hand to his chin in thought. “If you trust your partner and they trust you, you two should be able to communicate what is and isn’t okay. I don’t think a kink like this is unsafe or unhealthy, as long as – like you said – it’s done with full consent.”

Jimin smiled cautiously, his heart skipping a beat. “You mean… You don’t find it gross?”

“Not at all.” Yoongi smiled. “I’m glad you shared it with me. I still don’t think it’s worse than me being a blood sucking monster… But I know it’s a secret you hold close, so I appreciate your trust. But… Would you want to try this with me someday?”

“Would I ever?” Jimin asked. He chuckled a little. “I fantasize about it a lot.” 

Yoongi smirked. He moved little closer, pulling Jimin to him. “Would you want to try it today?” He asked softly.

Jimin’s eyes widened. Yoongi continued. “Look… When I sleep… In my coffin. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I am… For all intents and purposes… Dead. I don’t decay, obviously. But my body goes very cold, my lungs and heart go still… And my body stiffens, as a corpse would. That includes… My dick.”

Jimin remained quiet, processing what Yoongi was suggesting. Yoongi slid his hands over Jimin’s shoulders slowly as he spoke. “So, if someone… Say my very curious, very human boyfriend… Happened to get horny while I was sleeping in my coffin… He could climb in and use my body… Ride me… And I’d remain fully unconscious no matter what.”

“Because you’re dead…” Jimin clarified. 

Yoongi nodded. “Temporarily. I wouldn’t wake for anything, unless you shined sunlight on my body. So… If you want to do this…”

“Would you fuck me when you wake?” Jimin said quickly. “If I was sleeping, would you… Return the favor?”

“I wake in the late afternoon usually. You’d likely still be up.”

“Not if I took a sleeping pill,” Jimin suggested. “I have some, I used to get nightmares and they help. I don’t use them often, but I bring them just in case. I could take one after… And you could… Help get rid of your afternoon wood with my body.”

Yoongi shifted visibly on the couch. His tongue darted out, swiping over his lips. Jimin smirked. He leaned forward, sliding his hands up Yoongi’s thighs. “Does that idea sound good? You like it.”

Yoongi nodded. “I do,” he breathed. 

“We can do it today?”

“Yes but… Jimin… You understand what I mean. When I lay in my coffin… You will be looking at the equivalent of a corpse.”

“I understand. But you’re still you. You say you’ll only be still and cold… You won’t be decaying or rotting or anything you associate with a dead body. And you’ll be waking up and… We’ll be together.”

“Of course.”

“Would it turn you on? Knowing I used you while you… Rested?”

Yoongi smiled softly, lowering his gaze. “Frankly? That’s… An incredibly sexy thought. The thought of you climbing into my coffin with me alone is enough to… Well… I’ve thought of it more than once. I never even imagined you’d be willing to… Let alone wanting to… Do more.”

“Should I stay in the coffin with you? After I finish?”

“I’m afraid not.” Yoongi shook his head. “Waking from my rest is a very jarring thing. I fear I might accidentally hurt you. I have a bed in my room next to the coffin, you can sleep there.”

Jimin nodded. “I do want this as long as you do. And I do want you to… Do the same.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin gently. 

“Hey… You’re a vampire… Don’t you have fangs?”

“They retract. When I’m resting they will come out, so don’t kiss me – you could get poked. But when I’m awake I can pull them in and out as needed.”

“Can I see them?” Jimin whispered. 

Yoongi seemed to be thinking about it. He grinned then. His wide, gummy grin suddenly became something much more frightening… And sexier, when Jimin realized his canines had lengthened and transformed into sharp, deadly points. Jimin’s breath left in a rush. 

“Oh wow…”

Yoongi’s smile dropped again to a relaxed expression. “Satisfied?” He asked, his tone slightly breathier with the fangs in the way. 

Jimin nodded. “I think you need to go to bed soon,” he murmured.

Yoongi smirked, one fang peeking out of his lip. “Horny bastard.”

“Not my fault.” Jimin squeezed Yoongi’s thighs. “Should I wait out here?”

“Please. Though it’s not disturbing I do like going to sleep alone. You’re free to come in in about fifteen minutes… I’ll be resting by then. The lube is in the top drawer of the dresser in the bedroom. 

“See you in the evening,” Jimin said. Yoongi rose and leaned forward, pecking Jimin’s mouth gently. 

Fifteen minutes had never been so damn slow. Jimin finished his drink and paced around the apartment, trying to distract from the ticking clock. He took the time to explore Yoongi’s place; he’d never had a chance to before. He had quite a number of interesting trinkets that Jimin wanted to ask about when he woke up. He pulled off his coat and tugged on one of Yoongi’s hoodies, hugging himself in it as Yoongi’s scent drifted into his nostrils from the warm fabric. 

Finally. Fifteen minutes had passed. Jimin entered the bedroom carefully, letting his eyes adjust to the room, even darker than the living room. He found a lamp near a comfy looking bed and flicked it on, looking around. The light was soft, diffused by the heavy shade. In the center of the room was a large, dark coffin. Jimin approached it carefully, his heart in his throat. Inside was Yoongi, looking much paler than usual. He was entirely still, arms resting across his bare belly. He was in his boxers, his cock comically rigid, tenting the front up obscenely. He was stunning. 

Jimin hurried over to the dresser and opened the drawer, finding the lube easily. He shucked his jeans and boxers, crawling onto the bed. He set his sleeping medication on the bedside stand and relaxed into the pillow. It smelled richly of Yoongi’s scent, his cock thickening against his thigh. He moaned softly, stroking himself. He looked over at the coffin, his stomach clenching. This was really happening. He poured some of the lube on his fingers and spread it over his hole, sighing contentedly as he pushed a finger in to prep himself. 

When he was ready, Jimin rose, sliding the lube and his phone into his pocket. He went over to the coffin, taking a moment to gaze down at his beautiful lover. A vampire… He knew he’d likely have a moment of realization down the line – the understanding that this simple confession had flipped his life upside down. But he’d never been one to shy away from the macabre or bizarre, and he always wondered if supernatural creatures existed. Yoongi’s confirmation of that was… Unexpected, but not unwanted. 

Jimin carefully straddled Yoongi’s lap. He knew he couldn’t wake him, but the fear was half the fun. Yoongi was still hard, his position entirely unchanged from the first moment Jimin saw him. Jimin pulled his boxers down just under his balls, smirking when he saw the tip was a deep purple red. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked gently, surprised to find it cool to the touch. Yoongi really was a living dead person. 

A surprising twinge of arousal spiked through Jimin, making him shudder. He wondered if Yoongi could still come in this state. Only one way to find out.

He shifted over, taking the lube from his hoodie with shaking hands and adding some to Yoongi’s cock, and more to his own stretched hole. He moved over and began to settle into Yoongi’s cock, muffling his quiet gasps in his other hand. Yoongi’s cock was so hard it was almost painful. There was none of the give he was used to, forcing his ass open wide to take the tip, and sliding deep into him. He whimpered, shuddering hard when he took his entire length. 

“Yoongi,” he whined softly. Curious, he reached out, touching Yoongi’s pale, cool face. He held his hand by his nose for a moment. Nothing. No movement of air, no shift, nothing. He moaned again, reality slowly sinking in. There was nothing normal or right about this. But God, it felt good. He dropped his hand down, pulling Yoongi’s top lip back. As promised, there they were, sharp fangs, glinting dangerously. Jimin touched one, ever so tempted to prick his finger on it, let Yoongi taste him… But no. Jimin pulled his hand back. That could be discussed at a later time. He settled back on Yoongi’s stiff cock and whimpered. There was no give. He was gonna lose it fast at this rate.

Jimin began to ride him, moaning openly as Yoongi’s cock slid over his prostate. He reached into his hoodie and removed his phone, holding it up. He found his camera app and angled it to show his face first, his cheeks mottled red with arousal. He moaned openly as he pressed record, not bothering to shy away from looking and sounding obscene. 

“Your cock is so hard, Yoongi. You’re gonna break my ass in half, oh!” He shuddered, biting his lip and twisting his hips down. “Fuck, I’ve never had something this hard up my asshole, Yoongi… I’m gonna gape for hours after I’m done with you.”

He whined, his throat clicking as he struggled to swallow. He turned the camera, filming Yoongi’s body before turning it and balancing it behind him, so he could film himself riding Yoongi. He glanced back, smirking when he realized the camera was catching each long stroke, Yoongi’s cock sinking back into his ass. He spread himself and leaned forward, giving more light for the camera. He fucked himself hard and fast onto Yoongi’s cock, moaning and begging for more, not hiding the pleasure he was getting. He reached back and grabbed the phone, holding it up again.

“I’m gonna come, Yoongi,” he whined. “I’m gonna come from using your thick, hard cock, right here in your coffin. Wanna see?”

He turned the camera and lifted the front of the hoodie. His cock was bouncing with each thrust of his body, slapping gently off Yoongi’s still stomach. 

“I’m so glad you slept shirtless,” Jimin panted. “Make me come, Yoongi… Oh God, please… Fuck my ass harder…” He moved faster, whining high in his throat. It shifted to a shout when his cock began to spurt, shooting ropes of come over Yoongi’s hands and belly. He stroked himself, still riding Yoongi’s cock as he milked the last come from himself. He shuddered and giggled, moving the camera behind him as he pulled off Yoongi. He held his ass open, feeling the cool air tickle him far more intimately than it should.

“Look at that gape,” he mumbled. “Too bad it’s not dripping with your come.” He pulled the camera back as he crawled out of the coffin.

“I think I’m gonna leave you like this… Covered in my come, boxers down… Just so you wake up and know what I did to you.” 

He walked back over to the bed in the corner. “Now, Yoongi… I’m gonna leave the lube right there.” He angled the camera to show himself setting it on the nightstand and picking up the sleeping pill. “And I’m gonna take my sleeping medicine.” He angled the camera back to his face to show him swallowing it. 

“Now I’m going to sleep just like this… No shorts… And I would love it, if you want to… To repay the favor and use my ass while I sleep.” He smirked. “I wonder… Is your come as cold your body was when you first come back? You should let me know… I wonder how that feels inside me…” He shook his head. “Sleep well… See you soon.” He ended the video and sent it to Yoongi, forcing himself to stay awake long enough to hear the buzz of Yoongi’s phone in his coffin. He let himself drift off to sleep, dreams full of sexy, arousing thoughts. 

Jimin’s ass was on fire. He moaned softly, opening his eyes blearily. The first thing he saw was the coffin. He turned his head, spotting the clock… Nearly seven hours since he’d gone to sleep. 

“Morning Sunshine,” Yoongi murmured. Jimin turned, spotting him at his desk. A cup of deep red liquid sat next to him as he worked on something. “How’s your ass?”

“Sore,” Jimin mumbled, reaching back. He was met with a gush of body temperature fluids, pouring from his gaped hole. He whined. “Fuck…” His cock throbbed against the mattress. “What did you do?”

“Me? I simply did as you asked in your video… Very sexy, by the way. Would you like to watch?”

Jimin rolled over, groaning weakly. His cock was hard despite the pain in his ass. It was perfect. “Show me,” he whispered.

Yoongi rose and grabbed his phone. He went over to the bed and sat on it with Jimin, passing him the device. 

Yoongi did far less teasing and talking in his video. He set up the phone at an angle on the nightstand, allowing it to capture most of Jimin’s sleeping body. Yoongi slicked his cock, looking into the camera as he sank into Jimin with a moan. He began to thrust into him quickly, holding Jimin’s ass open as he did. He maintained looking at the camera most of the time, his eyes the same black they were when he went to sleep.

As Jimin watched himself get used on the phone, Yoongi pulled him onto his lap. He’d withdrawn his cock, Jimin could feel. He hissed and whined softly when Yoongi dragged him over and slid back into his come lubed hole.

“It’s sore,” he whined.

“You can get off then, I don’t mind,” Yoongi said, letting his hips go. Jimin smirked. He shifted to get a better angle to watch the video and began to bounce lazily on Yoongi’s cock.

On the video, Yoongi had picked up speed, grunting as he fucked Jimin’s sleeping body. He tossed his head back, shouting and baring his teeth.

Jimin moaned, catching sight of Yoongi’s fangs. He touched his own neck, a little disappointed at the lack of bite marks. Yoongi on video shuddered, his hips going still. He leaned forward, kissing Jimin’s shoulder.

“There’s my first load, Jimin. It was as cold as ice… I’ve never felt your hole squeeze me so tight. Next time I’ll do it when you’re awake… I bet you’ll squeal so pretty when it fills you…” 

Jimin moaned, leaning back against Yoongi. “I wanna feel,” he confessed.

“I’ll make sure you’re awake next time,” Yoongi promised. “Wanna see the rest?”

Jimin nodded, riding Yoongi a little faster.

On video, Yoongi picked up the pace, fucking Jimin’s ass harder than before. He used him for nearly forty minutes, filling his hole three times. Finally, he sagged his shoulders, kissing over Jimin’s back. 

“You’re so fucking sloppy, baby,” he grumbled. He grabbed the phone and angled it down. Jimin’s ass was red, his hole swollen around Yoongi’s cock. He pulled out slowly and come bubbled out, obscene sounds filling the air. Yoongi chuckled. “I’ll leave you like this. When you wake up I’ll give you one more, if you want it.”

The video went black. Jimin leaned forward, his ass aching at the new angle. “I want it,” he whispered.

Yoongi shifted, pulling out only long enough to get onto his knees. He sank back into Jimin’s  already filled ass, and they both moaned at the sloppy noises. Jimin leaned up, wrapping his arms back around Yoongi.

“Bite me when you come,” he whispered.

“You sure?” Yoongi was fucking him hard, his cock twitching.

“Yes,” Jimin promised. He reached down, stroking his cock in time with Yoongi’s thrusts. 

Yoongi was huffing erratically, holding tight to his middle. His fangs grazed Jimin’s shoulder. 

“Are you mine?” Yoongi panted in his ear.

“Yes—“

“Give yourself to me.” Yoongi grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand off his cock. “All the way. Are you mine, Jimin?”

“Yes, yes!” Jimin moaned. 

“I’m yours as well, Park Jimin,” Yoongi whispered. He slammed his cock deep. It began to throb, spilling inside Jimin. At the same time, Jimin felt a sharp pain and then a pressure on his shoulder. Pure pleasure washed over him. His cock began to spurt ropes of come, jerking hard enough to make them land on the floor in front of him. He shouted Yoongi’s name, reaching back and holding his neck as Yoongi drank from him. 

The two collapsed on the bed as their orgasms faded. Yoongi kissed and licked at the wound on Jimin’s shoulder until the blood clotted, sliding his softening cock carefully from Jimin’s aching ass.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, nudging Jimin’s shoulder with his nose as they cuddled back to chest on the bed.

“I’m great,” Jimin whispered.

“No regrets? Still okay with it?”

“Fully… You?”

“It was so exciting,” Yoongi admitted. “When I woke and felt your come on me… And then saw you sleeping… And that video was stunning. You were so beautiful.”

Jimin smiled shyly. “We’ll have to go easy the next few nights… I’m really sore.”

“Of course. I’ll be gentle for a while, let you heal up.” Yoongi kissed over his shoulder. “Did the bite hurt?”

“No. It felt good… How often can you drink from me?”

“I’d prefer not to often. Living human blood, not bagged, it’s… Very rich and sweet, almost like candy. It can become addictive. I’m honored you let me, but I’ll save it as a treat for myself, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” Jimin turned as well as he could. His gaze searched Yoongi’s face, finally dropping down to his mouth, lips pink and cheeks mottled. “It was so interesting. Seeing you in your coffin.”

“I know it can be frightening.”

“No…” Jimin shook his head. “I think it sank in… That I was looking at someone who wasn’t alive. But knowing you’d be awake soon after, it was… This bizarre sort of… Taboo but sexy thing? I’m a freak, aren’t I?” Jimin’s shoulders sagged. 

“No more than I.” Yoongi nudged him again. “We can be freaks together.”

Jimin grinned. “Yoongi?” He said softly.

“Hm?”

“I feel gross.”

“Because of what we did?”

“No, silly.” Jimin laughed. “Because your come is gluing my ass and legs together. I need a shower.”

Yoongi laughed brightly, nodding. “Agreed. Let’s get one... It’s almost dinner, you’re probably starved.”

“You aren’t,” Jimin teased, rising slowly. “No, but I could eat. I’ll take you out after the shower.”

They walked together to the bathroom. “How does eating human food work with being a vampire?”

“Same as it works being alive,” Yoongi said, turning on the water. “It’s just empty calories for me – Which is why I never eat much.”

“There’s so much I feel like I have to learn about what you are… How life is for you.” Jimin crossed his arms as he waited for the water to warm. Yoongi straightened up and wrapped his arms around him. Now that Jimin was aware, he could feel that Yoongi was a few degrees cooler, his skin just a bit paler than human. 

“You can ask anything you need. We have time, and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“Yoongi…” Jimin leaned against him, hugging him tightly. He could hear Yoongi’s heart, glugging along at a lethargic pace. He smiled softly. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Hm?” Yoongi asked, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” Jimin whispered. 

Yoongi went still, his heart skipping a little faster. “Jimin… Say that again,” he said.

“I… I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Jimin could feel Yoongi’s lips curve up into a smile against his shoulder. “In nearly sixty years of existence… I have never heard more beautiful words,” Yoongi admitted. “I love you too, Jimin… I feel like I’ll love you forever.”

Jimin pulled back, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. His eyes were back to their normal soft brown. He smiled. “Coming from someone who is immortal… That’s the most beautiful thing I could hear.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin deeply. He pulled him close, and Jimin melted into the touch. Yoongi may have cold skin, may drink blood and die once a week – but Jimin had never felt safer or warmer than he did at that very moment in Yoongi’s arms. 

[xlehukax]

Thank You For The Music

Foreword: This is for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange! Analogical Soulmate Au, as requested by @romantichopelessly! Happy holidays. And there’s also a playlist!  @sanderssidesgiftxchange! 

Ships: Logan x Virgil, (Background) Patton x Janus 

Word Count: 8374 

Warnings: SelectiveMute!Virgil, like one fight scene, Cursing, Logan’s ignoring feelings, it’s mainly the Logan and Virgil show... I don’t think there’s really anything! 

Summary: Logan’s been asked to assist a local student on campus. Having nothing else to do, he agrees: and so starts a connection that he would’ve never expected, and one that flowers more beautifully than he could ever imagine. (Soulmates can hear each other sing in their heads: Italics are either singing or sign language) 

~~~~~

Somehow, Logan thought his fourth year in College would feel different. Like he’s gone on some sort of journey: like he’s learned in the education manner but also in the lifestyle sort of way. 

It doesn’t appear that way. It seems like Logan’s the same. 

No friends. 

No challenges. 

Nothing to be excited about whatsoever. He’s going to college for the degree at this point, and the title alone. It’s why when the professor for his Microbiology class asks him to stay after, it shocks him. Especially so close to the end of the semester. 

Is he not doing enough? A quick inventory of his mind ensures that he hasn’t forgotten anything. The professor must need something: she’s taken a shine to him anyway, it probably isn’t bad. Logan gathers his things and then places them carefully in their individual places in his bag: once everything is where it belongs, in pockets and folders and sections, Logan presents himself to the professor. She smiles at him over the top of her laptop, eyes sparkling with mirth before shutting the lid of the machine. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Logan,” she grins. 

“I’m going to be blunt here: why have you asked me to stay? I assume that there is nothing out of order.” 

“No, no… your grades are impeccable, participation is great, and you’ve been fantastic. It’s simply that you’re so outstanding that I want to ask a favor,” his professor asks shrewdly. Logan hums for a moment, debating, before wincing in pain and clutching his temple. 

“Logan! Are you alright, dear?” 

“Ah, yes. It’s merely my soulmate,” he says by way of explanation. The professor smiles broadly. 

“How fantastic! Anything good?”

Logan quickly takes stock of the song: his mystery mate sang Overkill yesterday during Office Hours, and Sally’s Song the day before that while he was at his college apartment. He only knew because a) these were repeating songs, and b) he’d looked them up right away. Listened to them after the music fades to hold them close. 

It’s funny that he never once thinks that the original is better in any sense than the sweet song of his soulmate. His (Logan’s assumed it’s a he, based on his own sexuality and interests) music is so sweet: his voice is lilting and beautiful and it makes Logan feel so guilty. So guilty, because he must be the most beautiful man in the world and Logan hasn’t given him anything. Logan does not… sing. 

And in a world where you hear your soulmate’s singing in your own head, it’s a betrayal. 

“So? What is it?” the professor’s voice snaps him back to reality. 

“Oh, I’m not sure. It seems to go… oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. Oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely boy,” he repeats the song in a monotone. The professor snaps her fingers. 

“Ah, The Black Keys. Lonely Boy, a classic!! It’s a good song, your soulmate has some bloody good taste. And, what are you doing, letting them be lonely like that?” she winks at him, “It’s quite the song.” 

“I do not see how this is relative to our conversation,” Logan deadpans, tired of this discourse already. If it has nothing to do with academics, he doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got off-topic. Anyway, you know ASL right?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Perfect,” she smiles gently, getting up from the desk and dusting herself off, “There’s a student at the school, it’s his second year: he’s mute and uses primarily ASL to communicate. So far, he’s been surviving by being with his brother. But the brother is changing schools after this semester to go to a better nursing school and… well, we need someone to look after Virgil. Virgil Williams is the name of the student and Patton Williams’s the brother. There’s not a lot of students who know ASL here, and from what I’ve heard you don’t really participate in extracurricular activities. This would be not only a great way to flesh out your resumé but also simply a great thing to do, you know, humanitarian wise. Would you be up for it?” 

Logan considers for a moment. It’s true, he doesn’t do a whole lot outside of schoolwork: he does tend to have too much free time spent re-reading books. It doesn’t have to be anything special: it’s only helping this kid when he needs it. No problem whatsoever: he’s tutored people before, it’ll be similar. 

“I don’t see why not. Do I have an opportunity to meet with them before I agree completely?” 

“Oh, of course! They should be at their dorm now… here’s the dorm number,” she passes him a slip of paper and what this job will entail and waves him off. The dorm’s only a short walk away: it’ll be less than a ten-minute walk from the lecture hall if he crosses the Courtyard. 

Logan walks briskly: he doesn’t require the extra exercise due to his rigorous workout schedule but it’s always nice to stretch his limbs. He breaks into a light jog, his bag bouncing slightly on his back as he moves, and makes it there in exactly 8.7 minutes instead of 10. Logan wipes the sweat from his brow with a cloth before entering the dormitories and heading to the shared Williams dorm. It’s on the third floor, right outside the elevators. 

Logan takes the stairs. 

He combats a sudden influx of nerves at the door: swallows it deep and regulates his features. Professional, he thinks to himself. Be professional. 

His knock is answered immediately as if they were standing at the door. Logan’s presented with a man who breaks out into a broad smile immediately: his hair is pulled up into a small bundle at the top of his head, sparse brown curls sticking out haphazardly. He’s quite large and strong-looking: he’d be intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that same sort of sparkle that the professor did, his large circle-rimmed glasses hiding absolutely nothing. 

“Oh!! You must be the guy the Prof knew!! Hello! I’m Patton!! It’s so great to meet you!! Agh, I’m so excited! Well, Virgil too,” he grins. Logan blinks. He is… a lot. 

“Greetings. I am Logan,” Logan signs the words alongside the verbal words to demonstrate his fluency. Patton squeals and Logan winces. 

“Haha, sorry about that. Again, eee! So excited! I’ll introduce you to Virgil,” Patton holds the door ajar for Logan to enter, gesturing to the small pile of shoes to remove his. Logan gently unties his trainers and places them beside a pair of Doc Martens and Toms. They’re about as different as they could be: one is black and bulky with thick purple laces, the others a sky blue with little paw prints. Polar opposites. Logan diverts his attention to Patton, who’s been jabbering on about something or other. 

“-and there he is! Virgil, come on out kiddo- meet Logan!” Patton coos at what at first glance seems to be a shadow but in reality is a man who practically hides by the door of the conjoined bedroom. He’s encompassed by an oversized hoodie. 

“Hello, it is nice to meet you, Virgil,”  he signs out silently. Patton bites his lip to stop himself from speaking, but his noises of excitement escape anyway. Virgil signs back a meek hello: his hood falls off in the process, and Logan scrutinizes the face that he’s apparently going to be assisting for a while. 

Virgil has long dark hair: unkempt and uncut, old dye lingering stubbornly on the tips of it. His eyelashes are long, drooping over his cheeks, as he avoids Logan’s gaze. He possesses dark circles under each eye- so dark it seems intentional. Virgil tugs his hood over his head the moment the silence stretches a bit too long, and he’s gone: a rabbit ducking into a hole. Logan wishes he’d put the hood back down. 

In all regards, Logan means to say that Virgil holds palpable beauty. 

The idea within itself isn’t strange: Logan understands the various societal norms and standards that society adheres to beauty and usually makes deductions off of that, but there is… something about Virgil. Virgil’s not muscular looking, or overly lean, or anything of the sort. He’s simply…  enchanting. 

“Well, say something!” Patton shouts, breaking the silence. “Or, I mean, sign something, Virge. It’s too stifled in here: do either of you want something to drink?” 

“Water?” Virgil signs. His hands are shaking.

“I’ll have one of those too,” Logan adds on. Patton smiles at the two of them and finger guns. “You can hear, correct?” Logan asks, keeping his tone easy. He makes sure to enunciate each of his words, just in case. Virgil blinks up at him moonishly. 

“Yes,” Virgil says, worrying at his lip. 

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to help you,” Logan attempts to smile at him comfortingly: judging by Virgil’s expression, it seems more like a grimace. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, alright?” Logan sighs. He pulls out a chair at their small table and lets Virgil sit in it, pushing him in. Immediately after, Virgil pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He’s vanished completely into his hoodie. 

Logan sits next to him, rather than across: he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s being interrogated. 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for?” Logan replies, more of a question than an assurance. “My apologies Virgil, but you’re not trying to impress me. I am simply here to introduce myself so that I can begin to help you. I am here for you. You can take as long as you want.” 

Virgil peeks out from under the hoodie like a prairie dog emerges from a hole. Hair first, then curious eyes, then his hands. 

Logan smiles. 

“Now, let’s draw up a contract here, to outline what we’ll be doing this year. I do believe,” he retrieves the papers the professor had given him, “that you already have a solution for classes, so you will not require my assistance there. It’s more after school hours and personal activities, no?” 

Virgil nods meekly. 

So… Virgil just needs a… friend? A friend who knows ASL? Logan’s heart swells in his chest: Virgil just needs a friend. 

Logan doesn’t let his excitement show: because deep down, deep enough that he’ll never admit it fully- let alone say it aloud- he’d truly like a friend too. 

And as Virgil glances over the contract and bites his nails and spares him the smallest glance before Patton returns with two glasses of water and a plate of supermarket cookies… Logan can’t help but feel like this will become more. 

The contract is solidified: Logan will go to Virgil after his classes end, assist him with homework or anything else he needs at the time. Logan will be on speed dial for him if talking to people if needed. Logan will be paid a small sum per day, as well as the equating service hours. 

Patton can’t stop thanking him with tears in his eyes. Virgil doesn’t look at him once, spares him no glances. Rather, his eyes are downcast for the next hour that Logan’s there. He has a little fidgeting toy and presses it in his lap. Logan exchanges cordially with Patton, Patton cheers animatedly, and Virgil is silent. 

“If I may ask… why now? Is this not your second year of college? Why would you leave now?” Logan asks. Patton’s expression saddens. 

“Oh… well, I’m transferring to a better medical school after this semester and- I couldn’t leave Virgil here without any help- he waited for me so we could go here together and… I can’t leave with no safety net for him,” Patton says tearily. He wipes at his eyes and goes to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil sinks deeper into his hoodie. Logan feels deeply uncomfortable. 

“So thank you, Logan: you seem so nice, and so smart, I’m sure that I’ll be leaving him in capable hands,” Patton assures him, and then looks at the time mounted on the wall, “Oh! You must be going now, huh? I’ll walk you out,” 

“Goodbye, Virgil. I look forward to seeing you soon,” he says curtly, before letting Patton lead him back to the door. As he ties up his shoes, Logan opens his mouth hesitantly. 

“You are… you are a good brother, taking care of your younger sibling like that,” he does his best at comforting. Patton laughs at him. 

“No, no! Virgil’s my older brother by two years. Technically, he should be at your level: but he waited for me to go. We’re really close and we help each other out so… Goodness, that’s the reason why I’m doing all this, reaching out to the teachers and organizing things for him. I want to -no, I need to- help him out. Like he’s helped me,” Patton explains. Logan blinks. This means two things. 

Patton feels guilty. He feels oh so guilty, and Virgil probably feels betrayed. Betrayed and alone. 

Virgil and Logan are the same age. 

~~~~~~

The end of the first semester comes quickly. It was only a few weeks away, and Logan spends minimal time with Virgil: giving the brothers space to make amends before he comes between them. 

On the last day of the quarter, Logan makes his way to their dorm room. Music had been stuck in his head all day: his soulmate singing the same song over and over again. It’s beautiful, of course, but nagging as he tries to focus. Logan debated singing a little “shut up please” but even that little snippet of musicality makes him nervous. 

And what would his soulmate think? What would he think, after years of silence, that the first thing he gets in return is a demand for silence? Logan shivers at the thought of it. The song goes: Time is an illusion that helps things make sense, so we’re always living in the present tense- it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends, but you and I will always be back then. 

Logan likes the scientific simplicity of it, and finds himself humming along as he swiftly walks across the courtyard to the dorms. His soulmate’s voice rises with the music: piano, he thinks. His soulmate is playing the piano and singing over and over and over again. In his mind's eye, Logan wishes he could comfort him: do the soulmate things that soulmates do. Embrace him and calm him and quell his fears. The music fades in time for him to get to the dorms: Patton’s already outside, bags packed. 

Logan is giving, or rather attacked, with a hug from Patton. 

“You are leaving now, yes?” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s not worming out of the embrace despite his discomfort. Patton releases him after a moment, worrying at his lip. 

“Yeah! I’ll visit as often as I can, call me if ANYTHING happens, and-” 

“Patton,” Logan grips his shoulders, “I can handle this. Go on now,” Patton nods tearily. 

“You promise you’ll take good care of my brother? You have to- to pinky promise, because if anything happens to him it’s going to be my fault,” Patton wipes his eyes, and there’s that intimidating that he always knew Patton had the potential for: “You have to promise. I love Virgil more than anything or anyone in the world. He is the kindest, most thoughtful person. You may not see it right now, but he is. Virgil is the best person I know. You have to help him when he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it,” 

“I promise, I’ll perform to the very best of my ability Patton,” Logan says steely, “I promise. You go and pursue your dreams.” Logan and Patton both glance up to the window of the dorm that Virgil’s in: the curtains are closed, and Patton sighs. Gives Logan a meaningful look. 

Patton juts his pinky in his face, and Logan exasperatedly links his. Patton’s face brightens, and leaves to the nearby road where a taxi awaits. In Logan’s head, a new song begins. It starts with a guitar and then continues with his soulmate’s angelic voice: “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe-” 

Logan watches him go for a moment: and then he starts walking into the dorms to check in on Virgil. Logically, he’s probably feeling due amounts of stress and uncertainty in the new situation. 

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…. images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe,” 

Logan’s heart feels full, an odd feeling: there’s something about the music and the situation that blends and rushes into his chest so wonderfully. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be with your soulmate: life and soul singing together in perfect harmony. 

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe,” 

Logan takes the stairs step by step, enjoying the music as long as he can. 

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…” the music stops all at once, guitar too: Logan misses it for only a moment, before he remembers that it’s no passing street musician but rather his soulmate. His soulmate who sings so perfectly. The soulmate he’ll never meet. 

He arrives at the Williams’ dorm- err, now just Virgil’s, and raps on the door. He waits for a “coming!” but then realizes his mistake. He waits patiently for Virgil to open it: and when he does, it’s only a crack. Logan stares back at the scrap of Virgil’s face he can see. 

His lips purse. 

“Would you like to let me in?” Logan asks gently. Virgil’s face tightens nervously, and he signs something quickly. 

“I’m not okay right now,” he says. Logan swallows. 

“Can I help with anything? Or should I leave?” he keeps his voice as soft as he can. Virgil’s head shakes a vehement ‘no’. 

“Virgil… I-” he tries to come up with a reason, a real reason for him to stay. There is none. If Virgil says he doesn’t need any help then there’s no reason to stay. Logan swallows. “If you have no need for me… then I… I should leave,” he sighs. The door closes shut behind him with a click. 

Logan’s moving to leave when he has a new idea. He raps on the door once more. Virgil’s face peers through the crack in the door again. He rolls his eyes at Logan. 

“What is it?” he signs. 

“Fancy a game of chess?” 

~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is a silent but deadly good chess player. He’s forward thinking and takes no risks that he can’t counter the backlash of. Logan is thrilled to play with someone so astute. 

“Checkmate,” Logan announces, after a long and difficult game. Virgil huffs in mock indignation, and knocks down his own king. “You’re quite proficient at this, Virgil. We should play more often.” 

Virgil blushes, signing a quick “Thank you” and then zipping his hoodie up further. Logan finds himself smiling at him. 

“Would you like to go again? Or do you have work to do that I can help you with?” 

“Again,” Virgil signs, hands quivering slightly. Logan chuckles and resets the board for another go. Virgil bites at his nails and waits. It’s too quiet without Patton’s incessant yammering. Logan decides to ask the first question that comes to mind. 

“Do you have a soulmate?” 

Virgil makes sweater paws and ducks into his hoodie more. 

“Oh- I’m sorry, is that a bad topic-” 

“No. I do not have one.” 

There’s been cases of people ‘missing’ soulmates: only to find that they were dead, or that they didn’t want a soulmate and merely ignored them. Or like Logan, who don’t sing whatsoever. 

“Ah… well, that’s a shame, Virgil. You’d be amazing to have as a soulmate, I’m sure,” 

Virgil flushes deeper, if it’s possible, and hugs himself. Logan finds himself smiling again: Virgil’s cute. 

Perhaps he said it out loud, because then Virgil’s growling at him and signing a “Fuck you, I am not!” 

“Maybe just a little bit?” Logan teases, he teases, such an odd and different thing for him to do. But teasing Virgil is different. It’s like another game and Logan doesn’t feel out of place or silly: it’s still serious.

“No! No!” 

“I think you are,” 

“No! What? No!” 

“Hmm,” Logan merely says, finishing the chess board. 

~~~~~

His soulmate has a crush. A sort of crush that’s teetering constantly between deep pining and attempting to squash it. 

It’s apparent, between the lines of “Fly Me To The Moon” and “despair”. In other words, I love you. Cause it’s not romantic, I swear. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. I want you to be here, but please don’t come near. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. It’s not love, I swear. 

Today’s song is “Raincoat” (according to the internet) and if that’s not appropriate, Logan doesn’t know what is. Once more, Logan wishes he has the confidence to thank him for the soundtrack that’s been accompanying his life as it rises in joy each day. 

These songs… they’re a quick change from the dreary songs that had been going on a few weeks ago. Logan, ironically, doesn’t mind the sappiness, actually. Usually he would, but it fits his recent joy. 

Virgil’s exactly what he wanted, what he could’ve never hoped for. He’s smart, he’s clever, he’s shrewd, he’s not touchy, he respects boundaries… 

It’s perfect. Logan goes and sticks with him each and every weekday after classes end. They work together, they read together, they watch True Crime shows, they eat dinner together, they play chess and cards and backgammon and Clue and everything possible. They talk: and miracles upon miracles, Virgil seems to like him. 

Today is different. Today is a weekend: there’s no real reason that Virgil should need him, he’s never before, but he was invited to have lunch with him anyway. Even though it’s going to be snowing! Even though it’s freezing! Even though in any other instance Logan would be curled up at home with a good book and Star Trek. And rather… rather they’re going to get Hot Pot at the small university town in Logan’s ramshackle car. It gives Logan the strange feeling of hope rising in his chest that Virgil wants him around as much as he does. That Virgil enjoys it as much as he does. 

Enjoys the company, the quiet, the whole thing. 

He doesn’t even have to go up to the dorm: Virgil’s waiting for him outside the building. Logan waves after he gets out of his secondhand car: Virgil offers a small one in return and walks up to him. He’s all bundled up in several mismatched layers: though he still wears aggressively ripped jeans with skinny knees peeking through, he’s wrapped in several warm coats. 

Logan gets a sudden urge to press a kiss to his shaggy hair and hug him tightly, the slouching man at the ideal height. He squashes it quickly, blushing anyway at the mere thought of such romances, and lets Virgil into the passenger seat without looking at him. Virgil taps his hands on the front of the car, a rare grin donning his features. Logan swallows. 

Virgil has never looked more beautiful than he does right now. With a smile and all of those layers and his hood just barely adorning his head. Logan notices now that his makeup is different today: a sparkling purple rather than the usual dark tones. 

“Where to, Virgil?” 

“I do not care!” he signs excitedly. Logan chuckles. 

“How about sushi, then?” 

Virgil smiles and nods. Logan sets the car into reverse, and then drives out of the parking lot. Virgil fiddles with his fingers. I should say something…

“Would… would you like to listen to any music, Virgil?” Virgil’s head bobs an exuberant yes, and Logan gestures to the old car radio: Virgil fiddles with it, and finally ends up with a channel that’s not staticy. 

‘You’d be like heaven to touch… I want to hold you so much,’ At the beginning of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Virgil sinks into his hoodie: Logan casts his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Virgil- the scrap of his face that he can see is ruby red. At least the car isn’t silent anymore, he thinks to himself. Virgil’s quiet (well, not signing), and the song plays to completion and fades into “This Guy’s In Love With You”. Virgil, if it’s possible, seems to hide even more. 

“We’re almost there, do you want me to turn it off, Virgil?” Logan suggests. 

“It’s fine.” 

“If you say so… seems like you’re hiding but…” 

“Fuck you.” 

‘Say you’re in love, in love with this guy… if not, I will just die’ 

Logan turns off the radio as they turn into the parking lot of the local sushi joint. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Virgil. 

“Eat in or take out?” 

“To go,” he signs. Logan hums: maybe one day, they’ll be able to go out together for a meal. Virgil doesn’t like public places due to his anxiety, and Logan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable and he’d never push him but… it is a classic ‘friend’ activity to go out for dinner together. It would be nice, but having a friend generally is nice and he’s not about to lose him over some stereotype. 

Virgil’s not ordinary, so why would their friendship be? 

“Come now, Virgil, let’s order,” Logan gets out of the car, helps Virgil out, locks the car. It all feels very normal, very quaint. He has to admit that he enjoys it, despite what one would think if they met him. 

Walking into the restaurant is normal. Ordering food (ordering for both of them)? Also normal. They wait for their sushi in the front, Virgil warming his hands by blowing on them. 

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?” 

The question bursts out of Logan with little warning: he doesn’t even register that he said it until after it’s out of his mouth. He’s about to rescind the words when Virgil responds. 

“Yes. Yes. I love spending time with you,” He blushes slightly, looking away, “And you make me feel safe.” 

Logan blushes: he grabs the newly presented food and goes back to the car- but Virgil grabs his sleeve. 

“Do you want to sit in the park?” Virgil asks, nervous after the flurry of hands.

“It’s freezing outside,” 

“I know,” he signs, his expression saddening slightly.

“There’s no one out here.” 

“I know, I can see. I’m mute not blind,” Virgil rolls his eyes, heading for the car already. Logan chuckles and clasps his shoulder: Virgil stiffens under his touch.

“I don’t think I said I didn’t want to,” he teases. Virgil’s eyes widen, and then a smile creeps up his lips. 

“Okay!” Logan and Virgil walk right next to each other into the park: Virgil signs quite fast that he rather likes the cold, and that the skeletal trees remind him of his favourite movie, and does Logan like Nightmare Before Christmas, and what about stop animation? And halloween movies? 

Logan chuckles and answers all of his questions, slowly fielding them back to him. Virgil never talks this much when they’re in public. It’s nice to see him opening up, Logan thinks to himself pridefully, Is this my doing? 

He doesn’t mean to preen, but it happens anyway. 

“Why are you doing that with your chest?” 

“Oh, apologies, Virgil. It was accidental.” Logan reels himself back in: it’s so strange to have to do that. He’s never done anything like that, something that breaks his front stage appearance. It’s odd: like there’s another, smaller, smiling, animated Logan inside of him. A little Logan that’s been ignored and malnourished for a while now. Virgil giggles though, and Logan stops amidst his musings to stare at him. 

That was… cute. Why was that cute? Genuinely cute, not teasingly. 

Virgil catches him staring and glares at him, though his cheeks flush. 

“What are you looking at, nerd?” 

“Ah- it’s nothing. Would you like to sit down here and eat?” Logan points to a random bench: Virgil shrugs and sits, holding his arms open for his food. Giving him his food and sitting down next to him is a battle of wills: if it was another other person, in any other situation, he’d excuse himself and leave. But it’s Virgil, and the man looks so thrilled to just sit with him: it’s his friend. He’s not abandoning him. Even if his emotions are crawling up his throat. 

The silence is amicable as they eat. The first flakes of snow start to fall, and Virgil’s attention is drawn to them immediately. He watches the snowflakes float down slowly, enraptured. 

“You’d think you’ve never seen snow before,” Logan chuckles. 

“Fuck off,” Virgil signs fluidly. He doesn’t even look at Logan, simply eats his sushi and quickly stands to spin in the snow. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Yes,” Logan agrees, as he watches Virgil laugh quietly and kick the powder around, as Virgil’s eyelashes are decorated with snowflakes, as he holds his tongue out like a child, as Virgil looks so free and unafraid in his lonesome company… “It’s quite beautiful indeed.” 

~~~~

Patton’s coming back in two weeks. The second semester is almost over, spring finally showing her colours after a frigid winter, and Logan’s almost nervous. The music in his head doesn’t help whatsoever to calm him. What if something changes? It’s not like Patton’s staying, he’s allegedly very happy at his new school, but… Logan can’t help but worry at the idea that something in their dynamic will change irreparably if Patton reenters. 

There’s nothing you can do about it, he assures himself once again, Just keep doing your job. Logan’s class lets out early, and he takes a brisk jog to meet Virgil outside his class. By now, Logan knows his schedule by heart and knows where to meet him. 

He waits outside the lecture hall, student after student exiting… he waits until it’s fifteen minutes after his class has ended. Frowning, Logan peeks inside: it’s devoid of people, even the professor. 

“Virgil?” he calls out into the empty room fruitlessly. Panic starts to rise inside of his chest as he calls for the anxious man. “Virgil? Virgil, where are you?” 

He searches each aisle of the lecture hall, calling Virgil’s cell phone. Virgil hates it when he calls him, but if he’d just pick up, it means he’s okay. Logan feels incredibly antsy as he runs out of the room, sprinting at full force (he’s a strong man) around campus calling for Virgil. He wipes at his face: he can’t have the budding tears block his vision. He needs to find Virgil. 

“Virgil, where are you? Virgil, I need to find you. Virgil, please please be okay,” he dashes around a corner and drives his heels in to stop. 

Virgil. 

His beloved hoodie in a secluded alleyway. 

Logan reaches down and grasps it: he’d never leave it alone, let alone in a public place. Logan shakily picks it up into his hands, feeling the fabric: it’s dirtied. He gently folds it and puts it under his arm.

He’s starting to walk away when he hears the muffled shout and the sound of a punch’s impact. 

“Oh, so you want to talk now, huh?” Another punch. “Fucker.” 

Logan walks purposefully in the direction of the noise: two large women and one large man are whaling on Virgil, kicks and punches and spit, who’s curled up on the paved ground in the fetal position. Logan takes out the first buff woman with a strong punch to the side of her face, the second with a well placed kick and shove. The man runs away, pulling his fellows along with him. 

“Virgil, they’re gone now. Are you alright?” 

Virgil makes a broken sob, holding his midsection with his eyes downcast, and spits out some blood. Logan sighs and bends down to Virgil’s level, and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from his book bag. He gives Virgil his hoodie (which he takes to immediately) and rubs his back. 

I should’ve gone after them, made them pay- 

“OH MY STARS, are the two of you alright?” a fanciful voice calls out from the entrance of the alley way. 

“We just saw a trio of assholes running away with some wicked bruises-” 

“Remus, that’s not the point!” The two boys walk into the alley, one worrying with a red letterman’s jacket and coiffed hair, the other (Remus) morbidly interested with a large denim jacket and wild hair sticking up every which way. They have the same face, unnervingly, though the wilder one sports a partially-grown mustache and the other has a scar though his eyebrow. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Are you okay?” Remus asks, extending a hand to Virgil. Virgil looks away and tucks into Logan more. Remus retracts his hand with a shrug. Logan gives the both of them steely looks. 

“If you’re here to promote any more harm or mockery, I advise you to leave concurrently.” 

“Ooh, put those big words away, Daddy,” Remus mocks. His brother elbows him roughly. 

“Remus, be nice. They’ve clearly been through quite the ordeal! Greetings, I’m Roman, this is Remus. We’re in Virgil’s class, and we saw him being… escorted, one could call it-” 

“Forcibly swept away!” 

“-Thank you Remus, out of class so we followed along after reporting it to the professor. He seems to be in quite a state: is there anything we can do?” Roman finishes, rolling his eyes at his twin. Logan sighs and adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t want to accept their help. He can take care of Virgil by himself. But…

He takes a closer look at the poor beaten man, at his bloodied mouth and shirt and his bruises and scrapes and thinks beyond him. 

“I thank you for reporting it to the teacher. This is a heinous act, and I loathe to think of what would’ve happened if I arrived later or not at all,” he attempts to look thankful, but judging by their expressions, it doesn’t work. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could you alert the on campus clinic that we’ll be coming? One of you? The other can make sure they don’t come back as I take Virgil there,” with that, Logan takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, holding Virgil tightly in his embrace. Virgil turns into him, making a pained sound. 

It breaks Logan’s poor heart. My friend, my friend, my friend- he’s hurt. 

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” he whispers to him. 

“Cute!” “Ick.” 

“Oh come on now, Remus, they’re precious!”

“I came over here for the bloody beat down! Not touchy feely lovey-dovey!” 

“I will never understand you. You’re absolutely vile,” 

“Ah, look in the mirror lately?” 

“Excuse me,” Logan growls, diverting their attention from their bickering, “Are you going to help or not?” 

“Ugh,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I guess I’ll go to the clinic.” 

“Goodbye, Remus- you see, he’s a bit of a pain, always been that way,” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly at Remus, who returns the gesture in a more lewd fashion. “Alright, let’s help the emo up,” Roman extends his hands to help: Logan turns away, holding Virgil alone. 

“He is not emo. Virgil is a selective mute,” Logan frowns at Roman. 

“Aha, it’s just a mere quip!” 

“Oh,” Logan swallows. They walk in near silence to the infirmary: How weird it is that the silence with Virgil seems familial and warm but with this Roman it feels charged and uncomfortable. 

“You aren’t a very funny guy, are you?” 

“Excuse me?” Logan glares at him through his glasses, holding Virgil tighter. 

“Take no offense, but I mean… you’re very uptight! Serious. Grumpy. Straight to the point. I’ll stop prattling on synonyms, but I think you get the point now,” Roman explains. 

“I- I’ve never thought about it that way. I presume you’re right,” he frowns. Logan’s never felt like any of those: he just likes working. And now he feels foolish: perhaps that’s the reason that he’s never gotten anywhere socially. Is it his inability to “quip”? 

Would Virgil be happier with him if he could? 

As if he heard his thoughts, Virgil winces in pain in his arms. 

“Oh! Virgil. Should I hold you differently? Are you uncomfortable?” Virgil looks up at Logan blearily: his eyes open in recognition and a full-face blush breaks out all over his face. Virgil takes a bruised hand to hide his face. 

“Awe look at ‘im! Debbie Downer is shy!” Logan whirls over to glare at Roman’s almond eyes angrily. Virgil turns away. 

“Don’t talk to him that way,” he growls. Roman flushes and stammers. 

“It was only teasing!” 

“It was hurtful, and the last thing he needs right now is that. So do me a favor and leave those quips to yourself,” he reprimands. 

“Yes, sir,” Roman salutes. Logan looks away from him and back to Virgil. 

“Hey. Why did those thugs hurt you anyway?” he questions. Virgil frowns. “You don’t have to tell me-” 

“No- I will. I was- I was singing in the bathroom,” he signs shyly. 

“Wait- how could you-” 

“Sometimes I talk when I’m alone. Or sing. I’m nervous around people, when I’m by myself it’s okay,” 

“Oh,” Logan shouldn’t feel so betrayed, he knows he shouldn’t: this is the way Virgil is, after all. He’s a selective mute. He can speak when he wants. And if he doesn’t want to speak around Logan well- it’s fine. It’s his choice. 

It shouldn’t bother Logan. 

“So those jerks beat you up purely for the angelic music of your soul? Their cruelty knows no bounds, if they were to hurt you for communicating with your soulmate! How dare they, those vile, disgusting, cotton headed ninny muggin ruffians!” Roman supplies, filling Logan’s silence with declarations of war. Virgil laughs slightly at Roman, rolling his eyes. Logan swallows his questions, his pleas for “what about me?”. 

Virgil can like whoever he wants. It doesn’t have to be just Logan. 

~~~~

Virgil had asked Logan to drive him to the airport to pick up Patton. Logan wanted to say no, to say that he didn’t want to, hell, just leave him at the airport but… Virgil’s face betrayed his excitement, and Logan couldn’t put him down. 

So now he’s waiting in the pick up zone with his car, waiting for Virgil to come back and completely ignore him again. Logan blinks.

Is that what this is about? 

Does some part of Logan, some illogical part that manipulates his feelings, worry that Patton would mean Logan’s out of the picture? Logan grips the steering wheel. It’s Virgil’s choice! If he wants to hang out with Patton, sure. Sure. It’s fine. 

Logan makes a low growl. 

It’s not fine. 

~~~~

And… there was nothing he could do. He stopped coming to visit Virgil during the mid-semester break: why should he? Virgil was with Patton. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Logan around… 

Logan hates it. He hates not going over each day, each class ending with Virgil’s tiny smile. 

He hates his soulmate, whoever he is, for singing so sadly whenever he wakes up. 

“What's the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What's the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, 'cause I have to know… I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow…” 

“Shut up,” Logan tells him quietly each time he goes at it again, “Shut up. I don’t want your questions, I can’t answer them.” 

Logan, for the first time in his life, isn’t happy doing his work. There’s no gratification from finishing something: there’s no hunched over man beside him gesturing wildly as he finishes so quickly. There’s no giggle as he presses his glasses higher on his nose: there’s no smack on the shoulder when he corrects his work. It’s so… so bland. Was it always like this? 

Before Virgil, was it always like this? 

Logan finishes his test and hands it in at the front: his professor gives him a confused look. Logan twitches as his soulmate starts to sing: “It's you I like… not the things you wear…” 

“Is everything okay, Mr. Adleman? You seem… listless, lately. Distracted. And you took all of the allotted time to finish your work- quite out of the ordinary, I’d say,” 

“I assure you, sir, everything is normal,” he merely says, before adjusting his bag and exiting the classroom. 

“Not the way you do your hair… but it's you I like,” 

“Shut up,” Logan murmurs under his breath, walking stiffly with his head down down the hall. His soulmate’s voice is beautiful, as beautiful as always… but Logan can’t bear it. He’s already dealing with so much! To hear his soulmate’s longing notes doesn’t help. If anything, it exasperates his issues. Logan is grumbling under his breath when he hears it: and suddenly, all his issues get worse. 

Patton’s in a classroom, with his teacher and a few students, singing to them: 

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” 

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” and his soulmate croons at the same time. 

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,” 

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,” 

They both stop at the same note, and Logan swallows. 

Patton. 

Patton, smiley, hazel-eyed, exuberant, talkative, Patton, is his soulmate? Patton, the Patton he’s been mildly despising for the past few days.

 I can’t believe it. But I presume… he has a right to know. And maybe we can make this work? 

“Ah… Patton,” Patton’s face whirls to Logan’s in the door, and his face lights up. Logan can’t help but set his face: aren’t soulmates supposed to elicit some kind of joy in their partners? When they finally figure it out, isn’t it supposed to be some revelation? 

“Logan!! How nice!! I haven’t seen you this whole trip, what a delight! Virgil’s been all out of sorts without you around, it seems,” Patton grins, sliding off the desk he was sitting on and walking over to Logan. 

“I- I think- I think you’re my soulmate,” he stammers. 

“What?” 

“I- I heard your singing, in my head, as you were singing in here-” 

“Oh my god. No, no, Logan,” Patton smiles at Logan tearfully, his hands landing on his shoulders, “That was Virgil. I started singing that song because Virgil was singing it again when I left.” 

“That’s- that’s impossible how-”

“If you need any more proof, then just look at my soulmate: I met him at school, he flew in after me,” Patton smiles dreamily and waves at a man sitting in the corner, typing on his phone: he has two black forearm crutches and deep burn scars  across the left side of his face. 

“Hullo,” he greets from the other side of the room, “I’m Janus. Pleasure, fellow Patton soulmate,” Logan’s mouth dries as Patton giggles. 

“It’s really Virgil. That- that makes a lot of sense but- I can’t believe it-” 

“Okay, how about this, Lo?” Logan’s nose scrunches at the nickname, “I’m going to send a message to Virgil: and you go sneak back to the apartment. He’ll sing. It’ll match up. Then you have to confess. He’s thought he’s been alone… for so long. He’ll be so happy: so thrilled to have a soulmate… even more so if it’s you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patton shakes his head, chuckling. Logan looks away: his teary eyes are too much for him. Logan clears his throat. 

“Let our third go, Pat!” Janus calls, his voice smooth. Logan casts him a glare, though he blushes, and walks off. Thousands of thoughts swirl through his head, clouding his vision. He almost loses his way to the dorms. His mind is so full, so so so full, and then a voice breaks through it all. 

“If I could ride a bike, I’d zoom around the world, with you sitting there behind me…” 

Logan’s breath hitches. If that’s Virgil, he hates not seeing it before. Meeting him and not loving him right away. Not beating around the bush. But embracing him with everything he is, using all he knows to help all he needs. 

“I’ll take you to places, past several faces… just livin life so carefree. If I could sail a boat, I'd cruise across the seas, a sweet adventure for us two,” 

His pace increases as he gets to the dorms: he runs up the stairs maybe a little too fast. The music increases in volume but perhaps it’s in his head. The door to Virgil’s room is cracked open. 

“I'll be Jack and you Rose, just please don’t let me go, cause I'll be nothing without you. Oh when you call me… I'm drifting on clouds, like I'm dreaming,” 

Logan’s footsteps falter as he peers through the door. Virgil, with a guitar, singing those notes so sweetly. It matches up in his head, it matches perfectly, and despite himself, Logan starts to er up. It’s perfect harmony, it makes his heart swell and the whole world brightens. 

This is what it’s supposed to be like.  This is my soulmate. Virgil’s voice rises and falls, and it becomes so mind numbingly soft. 

“But in the morning, I'll wake up and see that you're stuck… here with me,” Virgil sings, his voice sad, “If only you knew, what I would do for you. I'd jump up and hold you… so tightly…” Virgil sobs, “Logan. Logan. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m sorry. I miss you.” 

Logan’s chest pulls. His voice is like an angel. Virgil, his soulmate, wants him back. Everything he thought… was wrong. He needs to tell him, he needs to- 

No. No, it would embarrass both of them, and Virgil’s anxious. He needs to do it in a way that would make no room for error, no room for suspicion of any foul intent. 

Logan… needs to sing. 

~~~~ 

It’s all planned out, only a few days later. The sun is out, the weather is warm. Patton has Virgil entertained, introducing him to Janus in the front lawn. Roman and Remus are keeping people away in their respective fashions so that they have privacy. Logan adjusts his tie, getting ready in their apartment. He wants to have the song at it’s apex before meeting him as his soulmate. 

Logan clutches the ring in his pocket: a customary soulmate ring, black and fitted to Virgil’s finger. They haven’t been together, and he doesn’t have to accept it of course but… he wants to do this right.  

This has to be perfect. 

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing. 

“I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore… If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before,” Logan sings softly. He chuckles- something so foriegn to him, so averse to what he wanted to do just a week ago- and he doesn’t sound bad. As he sings the next few lines, he runs out to the window by the elevators and can just barely make out Virgil on a picnic blanket rising to his feet and looking around confusedly. Logan carefully walks down the stairs, taking his time as he goes: 

“So I say- thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thank you for all the joy they’re bringing: who can live without it? I asked in all honesty, what would life be- without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it… to me,” he sings, breaking out into the fresh air. Logan sings the next few stanzas under his breath, making his way to Virgil’s picnic spot. Virgil’s standing up, shaking Patton’s shoulder and signing wildly. 

“I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair: I wanna sing it out to everybody…. What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” his voice rises as he nears the grass, heart beating wildly. 

Virgil’s fallen to his knees, his crying sounding even from where Logan stands, dozens of feet away. 

“Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music,” he’s suddenly close, standing at Virgil. Virgil looks up, tears running down his face. He gasps: he smiles: he laughs. “For giving it to me.” 

Virgil stumbles to his feet, and wraps his arms around Logan’s middle. He chuckles, and hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. Virgil cries into his chest, hiccuping and laughing all the same. 

“So I say,” he rubs his back, and presses a light kiss into his hair, “Thank you for the music, for giving it… to me.” 

There’s no fanfare, no wild confetti or cheering. It’s quiet, as Patton and Janus laugh and Virgil tearily accepts his ring before digging back into his chest. It would be perfect like this but then… 

“Logan,” Virgil whispers, hiding in his chest, “Logan.” It’s so quiet, but it makes his heart burst in joy. Virgil didn’t have to say anything, he would love him anyway, but it shows. It shows the trust. 

“Surprise,” he whispers back, pulling him in closer. “Thank you. For everything, Virgil.”

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed! 

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call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh wow WOW cuties LOL i was not expecting this fic idea to keep me up in my sleep and occupy all my waking thoughts BUT thank you so so  much for you words of support!! hehe well....here we goooo i hope that ya’ll are ready teehee--also tags will be added as they come! You can read part one here

Two 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, jeongin in this fic is my bb and i will protect him, sexy and smart jeongin tho still hehe 

CWs: mentions of death, people dying/killing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of getting drunk, hungover, and vomiting, a bombing. 

Word count: 5.2k 

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE

The road was long and winding, pitch black, desolate, quiet and foreign. In the backseat of the car, Chan had slumped his head over on Jeongin’s shoulder and bobbed with the motions of the road. His nose would twitch in his sleep, and he would make little grunts of nonsense words. He had worked himself up after the banquet, and actually hadn’t stopped his “love confessions” until you told him to shut up or you would shut him up. 

Your partner’s glasses were illuminated from the screen of his laptop which he tapped quietly away at. You too felt drowsy, but sleep would be for later once you had properly arrived at the safe house, or safe hotel, or safe hole in the ground...whatever it was. 

“You hear anything from Carroll?” You slung your arm over the seat and lowered your voice. 

“Nothing yet.” His eyes flicked around the screen. “It’s almost like it’s too quiet. I’ve already told her that we have the prince and that he’s safe, but..nothing.” 

“You don’t think...they got targeted too?” 

Chan snored lightly on his bodyguard’s shoulder, and he didn’t dare to move an inch. 

“I sure as hell hope not. But...that would explain why things have been so quiet. If this was a larger scale attack...I don’t know what this could mean then.” 

From the darkness of the outside world in the car windows, you passed a forest of pines and oher types of stoic trees making up the mountainside. 

“Well, I think that we should be optimistic for the time being.” 

Jeongin nodded. He looked to be a mess: blood had splattered at his white shirt collar and in specks on his neck. His cracked lenses however, didn’t keep him from his work. He had pulled his tie loosely around his neck, and had also provided his jacket as a pseudo-blanket of sorts for the prince. The prince, had offered his own jacket to you seeing as you only had your dress, but you had been managing just fine. You accepted it, but only because it could soothe his chivalrous ego. He had a hard night already, so you saw it best. 

“Two, where are you taking us?” You called to the mysterious driver. 

Ever since meeting him at the hotel, he had been nearly silent the whole ride. 

The man cleared his throat, “As far away from here as I can. I don’t know of any safe houses so...I’m just trying to remove us.” 

“I can find one for us if Carroll doesn’t get back to me....which she should...” 

Jeongin was not one for speaking of his mother as anything other than his boss. Since he had been assigned to be your partner a few months ago, he had never referred to her as his mother, nor did he ever seem to harbor any emotion for the stern woman. Both of them had been a bit allusive to you, but that was simply how it was in this line of work. You didn’t know things about the people around you, and you didn’t need to ask. You had wondered if he had worried about her, or thought about her when you were on missions. The young man had trained rigorously, and had passed each exam from the academy with flying colors. After considering it for a while, you figured what immense pressure he must've been under: son of the woman in charge, a master at infiltration, espionage, manipulation, cybersecurity, and a million more things; he had to prove himself and more. 

You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, but you almost did wish that you had known more. 

Two fiddled with the radio, settling on a station that played some kind of country-western type music. 

“What’s your specialty Two? How’d you end up a part of this shitshow?” 

The driver laughed, then hummed along with the music for a moment. “This has been my gig for few years, but I’ve never been a part of this unit before. Carroll always saw it best for my services to be used in other places.” 

“You have a specialty?” Jeongin asked while still typing furiously. 

Two scratched the back of his head. “I do a little bit of everything. But...let’s just say that I’m good at making friends. That’s why Carroll likes me.” 

“--You know her personally?” Your partner quipped, but the edge to his voice didn’t sound like judgement, but rather caution. 

“We’ve had a few meetings.” 

“Hm.” 

You kicked off your heals to massage your aching toes. If only they had attacked at a time when you had the proper footwear. 

“You said we could also call you J?” You sprawled over the back seat in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable. Still, the plastic seatbelt buckles poked into your back. 

“Yes. You can call me J.” 

And that was that. No “What’s J stand for”, or “where are you from”, “where’s your home base,” “how did you rank at the academy?” You added questions to the list of things that weren’t allowed as well. 

Jeongin tore off his glasses with an exasperated sigh to rub at his tired eyes. Chan made a happy little noise, presumably because he had found a cozier spot on Jeongin’s shoulder. He had now gotten the chance to sleep off his drunken stupor that may or may not had contributed to his sudden confession, and the reason behind the two pitstops you had taken for him to retch on the side of the road. 

If he was a prince, he might’ve also been one mess of a prince. In all of his grace and confidence, the pleasures that he partook in would often get the best of him at times too. 

You gave up on trying to get some sleep, but rather sat up to watch that paradoxically handsome and misshapen prince. Just like this: sleeping, vulnerable, with some kind of lopsided smirk on his face, he was much less than the regal figure that you had painted him to be in your mind. For maintaining appearances the whole day long, you hadn’t ever really gotten the chance to see him like this before. His façade faded, and you surmised that maybe he really was different from the way that he let on. 

“I’m so fucking tired.” Jeongin yawned. 

“Get some sleep then. I’ll stay up to watch things.” 

“That’s just it. I can’t sleep even if I tried.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Can you pass me some hand sanitizer or something? There’s...blood on my hands.” 

Your partner’s voice cracked slightly. It was then when you realized that this had been the first time that he had fired at real people. 

“I’ve got a water bottle? Is that enough?” 

“Yeah. It’s fine.” 

He splashed the liquids around while wiping his hands away, then flicked the remnants of water away. 

“Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Chan’s coat draped over your shoulders, and you pulled it in closer around your arms. The night had been cool, and the AC blasting in the car didn’t make it much better. 

Jeongin licked his lips. “Nothing was supposed to happen tonight. We made sure of it. No one was suspicious, we ran background checks, we checked the whole area...” 

“Hey,” You attempted to turn your tone softer, “We couldn’t have seen it coming. They just rolled up out of nowhere, there was no way that we could’ve stopped it--” 

“--Innocent people died tonight. If they were out for the prince, or maybe they weren’t, why so much collateral damage?” 

“Obviously they don’t care.” 

“Bastards.” Jeongin took the last bits of water to slug. “We’re gonna fucking find out why they did all of this.” 

Two shifted in his seat, “Any word? Hate to mention it, but I’m getting kinda tired. It’s past three already.”  

“Fox?” 

He clicked around, then shook his head. “Still nothing.” 

Chan snorted a bit in his sleep: an action which woke him up. 

“Wha-what? Where are we? Are the there yet? What time is it? Fuck...my head feels like it’s splitting...” 

“We’re finding somewhere, your Highness. We’ll be there soon.” Your partner motioned for you to hand him another water to give to the disorientated prince. 

Chan nodded while he rubbed his temples. “Shit. Please tell me that I just made this all up. That it’s some kind of fucked up nightmare...” 

You threw Chan’s coat back to him. “Unfortunately, no. We’re trying to figure out everything that we can.” 

“Who the hell were those guys?” Water dripped down his neck in a way that you pretended not to notice. “They were wearing crests. I couldn’t tell, but weren’t they red?” 

“Very observant, your Highness. F?” 

The younger man bit his lip, “I’ve already tried finding where the crest is from, but I can’t find anything that resembles it within our database. I was able to see one up close. It looked like a heart or something like that, and a diamond. I’m guessing that it could’ve been maybe a spade? Like the kind that you see on playing cards? Still, since we’ve never seen it before, we can only assume that they must be a new group.” 

Chan nodded, but anyone could tell that the information had flown right over his head. He licked at his wet lips, then sighed. 

“Bee, You okay? Fox? I suppose that I should ask you both.” 

“I’m...fine.” His sudden concern came as a surprise, and your partner looked just as shocked. 

“I-I’m fine too. No holes in me or anything.” Jeongin suppressed a laugh. “But you’re not, your Highness. How much did you have to drink?” 

“Oh...enough. I guess that I lost track at some point. Those kind of things are boring anyway.” 

“Fox? You’ve got that locale?” Two clicked the turn signal. 

“Oh! Yeah, I’ve got one. Sorry, It’s about an hour from here.” 

“Locale?” Chan cocked his head. 

“A safe house. Or something like that. We need to lie low while we wait for instructions.” 

“No one has said anything...? Not even...my father?” 

Jeongin shook his head gravely. “No.” 

The young prince fell silent, and you watched as worry fell over his clouded eyes that were lined with bags. Normally his expression was anything but strained, but in this moment, you saw doubt sweep over him like the darkness on the road ahead. You leaned the farthest you could from your seat to grab at his hand behind you. 

“You’re safe with us. Nothing is going to happen to you.” 

His hand was warm, maybe a little clammy, but it was soft, like that of a prince, naturally. Still, it was strong and veined. Chan’s thumb rubbed soft little circles into your own skin, muttering, “Thank you.” For once, his eyes which would normally devour you like some kind of rare dish held you earnestly. I trust you, they said. 

“Two. Let’s switch.” Jeongin slammed his laptop closed. “I’ve got it from here.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The safe house was quiet. As most of them where. It was even a bit stereotypical: a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods on nearly all sides. It had a little overgrown garden, and a shed that looked like it held either all kinds of gardening equipment, or the real thing that sheds were meant for in your business: ammo. It had a white painted porch with cracking paint, as well as porch swing with rusting chains. In the early morning the windows were are black, but still faintly reflected the massive array of sparking stars above your heads. The only thing less antique about the home was the touch keypad on the front door. It beeped with a little tune, then flashed the insignia of the agency: a ticking clock. 

“Two, can you find a generator or something? Get the electricity up and going?” 

“Can do,” He said, then disappeared. 

Two was mostly a quiet man, a feature that gave you both reasons to trust him and to be suspicious. Besides him being a bit smaller in stature with thin legs and characteristically round cheeks, there was something different about him that you couldn’t place; something unexpected. You wished once again that questions weren’t on the list of things that weren’t allowed. 

“There should be clothes around here somewhere.” Jeongin padded his way through the dark rooms. “You shower first your Highness.” 

Chan tripped over his feet as he spread out his arms to find his way. You giggled lightly at the action. A man really was stripped down of any and all sense of composure when his life had been threatened and he had to have his bodyguards pat his back while he had gotten sick after one too many royal drinks. 

The lights flashed on, flickering at first with the sound of the lightbulbs waking up after a long sleep. The interior design of the place was exactly as you had expected: it was a family home with a fireplace and several chairs and couches covered in dust. Bookshelves were full with the strangest assortment of reading material and board games there held a thin layer of grey dust too. The kitchen was small and cozy: it had all the necessities. A stained glass chandelier hung over the wooden table for eight, and was decorated with glass hummingbirds and pink flowers. In odd corners of the house, children’s toys had been sitting untouched. A family must’ve been living there, and you wondered what must’ve become of them. 

Two returned with spiderwebs caught on his dress coat. “Water should be hot in about thirty minutes or so I think.” 

Your partner crossed the room, raking a hand through his snowy white hair. “I’m gonna try and make the calls again. See if I get anything. If not, we’ll have to...begin Operation Cheshire.” 

It was the phrase that you had hoped neither you nor your partner would have to say. 

Chan slumped down in one of the upholstered chairs, throwing dust into the air as he did. Compared to the rest of the room, him and his designer clothes seemed comically out of place. “Wha-what’s that?” 

Two pinched between his eyes, and your chest shook with an unsure inhale. 

“It means that we assume the worst. HQ got taken over and we’re all at risk. Information about us could be accessible to anyone. Essentially, we go into sleeper mode until we can reconvene with other agents...if there are any more. We dissapear. Next, we work on getting you back home, no matter what it takes.” 

“HQ?” What are you talking about?” Chan toyed with his diamond set cufflinks. “HQ? Like whoever manages the bodyguards??” 

“Your Highness...” You and your partner exchanged knowing glances. “We’re more than bodyguards.” 

“What?!” 

“We’re operatives. Agents. We work for an intelligence agency that specializes in a bunch of different things...protecting royalty if needed.” 

“What the fuck?! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Chan slapped his leg. “Fuck! No one tells me anything!!! I get that I’m a fucking prince but I’m not fucking useless!” 

The memory of the confidential file reemerged in your memory: the promise that you had made to His Majesty The King after he had requested a “special hire” to watch over his son. The file itself had contained a several thousand words or so that you hadn’t bothered to read, but rather skimmed till you got to the signature part. Carroll had simply nodded before you put your pen to the paper. 

“It was for your saf--” 

“--My father did this, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Some kind of sick way to keep tabs on me? See what I’m doing?? God! The man never trusts me. If the thinks that I’m that much of a disappointment...this is just--” 

“Your Highness, it’s been a long day, you’ve been through a lot, just take a shower and get some rest. Alright? We’ll talk more about this in the morning.” Two stepped forward with his hands folded in front of him. His interjection was unlike his previously quiet presence. 

The prince sighed, tapping his tragically expensive shoe on the hardwood. 

“Fine. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

Chan’s eyes grew dark with an authoritative air that you had seen before. His façade had slipped over him like a cloak. He rose, buttoning his jacket, then tweaking his sliver brooches decorating his neck. 

“Fox. Bee. Two. Thank you. Good evening.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Chan knew that it was you at the door when you would knock two times, then pause, and knock twice more. In your hands, you held a cup of warm milk. For a prince, even he couldn’t reject the beverage to help him fall asleep at night. You had seen him order it at hotels on more than one occasion. Jeongin had found a nearby store to get food for the morning. The two of you had suddenly found yourselves as now both his bodyguards and his servants. While you waited, you hoped to God that Carroll would compensate you for the extra work. 

The door creaked open, revealing your prince modestly dressed in plaid flannel, hair dripping slightly in wet strands. You had never seen him as simple as this before: no princely persona or cold exterior to upkeep. He looked...normal. 

“What is it Bee?” 

“I thought you might like some...well, this.” You provided him with the cup. “I know that it’s nearly morning, but you should still try to sleep in. We’ll take care of things. 

He took the ceramic mug from your hands, fingers barely brushing against yours for mere moments. 

“Thank you.” He hushed with a thankful smile. “Would you like to come in? We could...just kind of...sit for a minute.” 

Behind him, sun peaked at the horizon, a splitting of red piercing the navy deep of the night. The colors muddled, blurred, a bit like the color of blood fading into the deep fabric of one’s formal wear. It was desolate, but still beautiful. 

“To be honest,” His eyes fell, “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

You had saved the biggest room for him. It smelled of mothballs and other old things like sheets that had rested in a dark room for much too long. Still, there was a kind of familiarity to it all and the way that the matted rugs and brass vintage lamps lit the room with a soft yellow light. The full sized bed creaked once you had sat down. In his golden halo, Chan’s brown strands appeared to be softer, and not as prim and staged. 

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier. I realized that there are things that are out of my control. You know more than I do, and I accept that. I trust you...a-and Fox.” 

You rubbed your hands into the jeans you had found in the cupboard. They had dirt and grass stains from work in the garden you presumed. 

“It’s okay. I understand that you would be scared. It’s okay to be. I...get scared sometimes too. I know that it might look like it, but I fear...for my life too. So does Jeong--Fox.” 

Chan’s voice cracked. “Is someone out to kill me?” 

You sighed, sensing his hesitation. “I don’t know. But we will know soon.” 

The prince stared down at the white bubbles in his milk, then swirled around the liquid to watch the way that that it moved. 

“I don’t think I’d like to die. Would be pretty unfortunate, don’t you think? I feel like I’ve got so many other things to do. A kingdom to manage, people to govern, much more bottles of Scotch to drink, parties to attend...” 

His eyes met yours, and you could see the very fragility of the life that he spoke of right in them. He was right in that dumb speech of his. He really was just a person. 

“...I like to think that I’ll get married someday to someone that I love. I actually would really like to do that.” He chuckled. “Lame, right? Someone like me who always bounces around. Wouldn’t take me for one?” 

“Mm. No. I think that from what I’ve observed of you, and I’m trained to observe, I think that bouncing around...means you’re looking for the right thing. And, I guess that it’s fun too.” 

Chan chuckled, “You’re good at observing.” 

You paused, remembering Lee Minho from earlier. 

“Were you looking when you were talking to that man at the banquet? He was very handsome.” 

The prince placed the cup down. “He was. I don’t know. He just seemed kind of interesting. The kind of mystery that only a stranger has. I would’ve liked to have talked to him more now that I think about it. Maybe it would’ve been worth my time.” Chan twisted his back to crack it. “I don’t know if you saw but he had some really nice fucking thighs.” 

“Ahhh. Nice thighs. Didn’t know that you cared for that.” 

The two of you laughed together a bit like old friends. It felt nice. 

“...Bee. I should also probably apologize for how I acted back before we got in the car. I was...drunk, scared. I said some things--” 

“--That you were in love with me?” 

“Yeah...that. I realized that...I’ve been...unfair to you. You don’t deserve the ridicule. You’ve only ever been helpful to me and--” 

“--Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” You shrugged. You had met hundreds of guys like him before, at least you thought. 

Chan sighed as if he was gathering himself. “Bee. I did mean what I said.” 

“What? Ch-your Highness, you don’t mean that.” 

He laughed, “It’s alright. You can call me Chan. And...yes. I did. You’ve got a kind of mystery to you too. Frankly, I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“This...this is inappropriate.” You shifted, the rising off the bed. Your cheeks warmed, but you couldn’t know why. Maybe he was just too damn charming. But, he was like that with everyone. 

He rose too, hastily following you on your way to the door. “Bee, wait.” 

“Chan, you can’t do this. It makes things...complicated.” 

He advanced, slowly, closing the space between you. “It’s only complicated if you feel the same.” 

“I-I don’t.” 

The prince’s hand carefully rose to cup your face, a gesture so gentle that you shied from the feeling. Even this close still he smelled of white roses. 

“Have you ever heard of conflict of interest?” Your breath hitched. 

Chan grinned, “There you go making this complicated again.” 

A wandering hand of yours acting on its own reached to tug hold of his shirt. 

The prince leaned in closer, nearly close enough to breech the gap between his plush lips and yours. 

“What if I don’t mind making things...” He whispered the word, grazing his mouth over yours, “...complicated?” 

“Ch--” 

He pressed his weight fully into you, a smashing of lips met with incessant heat and your back shoved into the door. His tongue easily twisted around yours, and his soft gasps filled up your mouth. It had taken you a couple seconds to realize what had happened, and to decide what to do with yourself. His mouth was blazing, it was as if he was weaving a spell, or perhaps you had made it up for yourself. He kissed you with vitality; like he had never tasted anything like you before and was starving for you. You realized, perhaps you had wondered what it would’ve felt like. One hand squeezed tighter to his shirt, and you kissed back, meeting his heat. 

Jeongin’s voice called down the hall, “Bee? Bee, are you there?” The sound of your bedroom door shut. 

You pushed Chan off you with flat hands on his chest and an amazed smile on his face. 

“This...this doesn’t mean anything.” You gasped, reaching for the knob after a moments pause. 

Chan snickered, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Goodnight your Highness.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

For a man so young Jeongin liked his coffee black, and drank it like an old man too with his nose buried in a newspaper while it fogged up his glasses--or what was left of them. 

“I finally got correspondence from Carroll this morning. She said that HQ experienced some kind of blackout and all the systems went offline. It wasn’t safe for her to contact us on a regular line. They got everything back up and running and everything seems fine, or so they think.” 

Your partner had already made himself comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and a cotton tee with slippers. You never would’ve guessed that he was a trained assassin on the side. 

Two returned huffing in the door from his morning run. He was one of those people. 

“Any word?” He rubbed his face off with a dishtowel. 

“Disgusting.” You sneered at the crude action. 

“Well, we’ve got thousands of miles between us and the kingdom and what seems like a hell of a lot of guys on our tail, but, after I sent Carroll the info about the red crest, she wants us to do some digging. 

“With the prince in tow?” You lowered your voice lest the sleeping royal heard you. “I don’t think so.” 

“It sounds like she’s convinced that the person behind all of this could be someone who attended the charity ball. And, I don’t really disagree. They must be good at keeping secrets if they evaded us.” 

“Hm. You’re right. A high profile event like that, even though its for a good cause it’s always a competition with those snobs. I just don’t know who could order something so cruel...all those people in the same place...” 

“Since it’s a new group, they must still be underground. So, to see who lives underground, you’ve got to go there yourself to find out. Or, in our case, find someone who knows the rabbit hole.” 

Two grabbed a chair, ruffling his deep brown soaked hair. “What does that mean?” 

Jeongin flipped his laptop around. “This is the man that we need to go see. Codename White Rabbit. Or as he calls himself--” 

“--Bun.” You cut in. “Yeah, I know him.” 

Both of the men chimed, “You do?” 

“Yeah, he’s undercover ops for the agency. He’s sort of a jack of all trades. He owns some kind of front out in Egypt. It’s called The Tea Party. Bar up front, but in the back he provides all kinds of information--for both sides. His cut is that for any information he gives to the agency he gets cash compensation. If anyone would know about anything underground, it would be him. As I’m sure Carroll told you, he’s a stickler for meeting in person. He’s one of us. I think.” 

“You think?” 

“He also does...other deviant things. I heard that these days he’s had a couple dealings in some...substances. Black market stuff. Carroll also provides safety for his business in return for his information.” 

“That...sounds illegal. Immoral even.” Jeongin’s eyes widened upon hearing the news about his mother. 

“You’ve got to pay to play you know.” 

“So Egypt then?” Two wiped off the back of his neck with the dishtowel, stretching out one of his toned arms. “I’ve always wanted to go there.” 

“Oh--one more thing.” Jeongin took a rather long sip from his cup. “The King’s counsel reached out to me too this morning. They asked me if the Prince was safe and where we were. I have them loose details of both. They seemed somewhat relieved.” 

Chan sauntered down the steps with a massive yawn, stretching up his arms and shirt to reveal an inkling of his abs. You also pretended not to notice it. 

“Gooood morning everyone. Fox. Two.” He dished out a wink. “Bee.” 

“Morning your Highness.” Jeongin nodded, and crossed his legs. “Feeling well?” 

“Ahhh much better.” He poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, staring out the little window over the sink, then took an indulgent sip. “It’s peaceful here. I kind of like that.” 

“Your Highness, we’ve received word--” 

Chan rose his hand to shush your partner, then languidly took another sip. “I’m still enjoying my drink F.” 

A light buzzing resonated somewhere in the house, a bit like the sound of a dryer, and the home started vibrating. Your water glass on the table rippled. 

“Two, did you notice if there was anything strange about the house?” 

The buzzing grew nearer. 

Two looked puzzled, “No, why?” 

The vibrating grew more violent, and your glass shuddered off the wooden table, shattering on the ground upon impact. 

Chan squinted out the window, “Is that a--” 

“CHAN GET DOWN!” You shrieked. 

Within milliseconds the whistling of a bomb screeched through the air, then crashed into the rickety ceiling, splintering wood everywhere and demolishing the furniture. 

You had seconds to act while the matte black bomb hissed with a steam releasing from some seam and ticked. You sprinted to grab Chan’s arm as hard as you possibly good, all in a blur, pummeling your bodies against one of the shattered windows, and hurling yourself out to the morning dew. You had no time to see if Jeongin or Two had made their exit, but looked out, towing the prince so hard you must’ve done some damage to his shoulder. You stumbled to your feet, tripping, and grunting until the bomb diffused, and exploded the cottage altogether. You covered Chan’s head and most of his body with your own as a shield and the shards of wood, metal, and brick came flying. 

“Ar-are you okay?” You patted the prince down in his shock, who stared blankly with empty eyes. 

The prince’s flannel had been torn to shreds with glass, and blood oozed onto the fabric on his arms. 

“Yeah...yeah...I’m...fine.” 

“BEE! Y/N!” Jeongin screamed over the flames to find you. 

“OVER HERE!” You bellowed back, and your partner came running with Two behind him with terrible cuts on his face. 

“They knew. They FUCKING knew.” He panted after reaching you. 

“We have to get out of here.” Two gasped, and blood ran down his face, nearly into his eye. “If they know where we are now, they’ll come to check to see if the damage is done. We have to move.”  

The sky filled with an angry smoke, and the once peaceful forest filled with the colors of orange and red. 

“The car?” 

“Broken windows from the blast but I should be able to get it going. There’s spare parts in the shed. And ammo. A fuck ton of it.” 

“We’ll need it.” 

You pulled the prince to his feet as he blinked wildly at you and your team. 

“Fuck.” Was all the could manage. 

In your complete surprise, Chan’s bloodied and cracked hands pulled your face into his, kissing you with lips that tasted of the salt of blood. 

“I fucking love you Bee. I’ve decided.” 

Jeongin’s jaw dropped in the corner of your eye, so you promptly slapped the prince upside the face. 

“You’re in shock. We need to get out of here.” 

A wrinkled smile danced on the royal’s face, and you might’ve thought that it was a bit charming. 

“Admit it. You love me too Bee.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

[hot-wiings]

The One Where [Y/N] [L/N] Can't Show Up To Her Toxic Family Dinner Alone, So She Turns To Her College Peer For Help.

Edited: 12-4-2020

Once your college professor dismissed the class as over you were quick to open your phone and check your messages. Once unmuted, it vibrated and chimed a dozen times bombarding you. Messages from your mother overflowed your notification bar. You just didn't have the energy to deal with it right now. With a scowl, you set your phone back to mute mode and harshly shoved it into your backpack.

"Everything all right?"

Your chemistry partner was pilling books back into his backpack when he asked you the imposing question. He zipped the bag close, stood up, and turned to you, giving you a concerned look as he slung his backpack on his shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"We've been partners for nearly a year, I think I know you enough to know when you're not fine."

Your eyes glanced up at the white-haired man before glancing back at your lap. Your chemistry partner, Natsuo Todoroki, was a nice young man. Natsuo was funny and kind, he noticed when you were having a bad day, and he'd try to ease your troubles. Maybe that was why you often found yourself studying your partner more than your notes. Normally you'd relish under the gaze and attention of your charming, pretty partner, but today wasn't just one of those days.

"It's stupid. Like, really stupid, and unimportant."

"If it's bothering you then it's not stupid. C'mon, I'll buy you lunch and you can tell me all about your problem."

You huffed as you stood up and pulled your bag over your shoulder. You followed Natsuo to the cafeteria, while he walked off to get and pay for your lunches, you found some empty seats. Your leg bounced as you waited for him to come back. The idea of opening up about something so personal made you anxious.

"It's Soba Saturday."

"Thanks."

Natsuo took a seat across from you and smiled as you took a bite out of the food. Happy that you were happy with your food, Natsou digs into his own.

"So partner' what's up?"

"As I said, it's really, really, stupid."

"You're obviously worked up over it, it can't be that stupid."

You let out a ragged sigh as you took a delicate bite out of your food. Embarrassed, your eyes avoided him once you swallowed and set the fork down. Natsuo had shared so much with you as a friend and confidant, you knew about his family, every nitty-gritty detail, but you opened so little in return.

"My mom texted me asking if I was bringing a date home for Christmas. My parents... They're pretentious and rich, you know? Marrying, and settling down, becoming a house mouse while my husband takes over the family business. That's the future they want for me."

You clenched your fists just getting aggravated thinking about it. The toxicity was hard and you were trying your best to escape it, but you could only flee so much when you were poor without your parents. Natsuo reached across the table and grabbed your hands, pulling them into his cold ones.

"I know if I show up alone my mom's gonna get in my business, then she'll try setting me up with rich men she thinks are suitable. I just- I can't do another family Christmas alone."

"I understand what you mean. I told you how my dad's a bastard, he's tried setting me and my sister up with suitable people before, never works out, just makes us hate him. I don't even wanna go home for Christmas this year, so... I have a proposition."

"I'd love to hear it."

"I'll go with you."

His voice came out quick and fast, almost making him sound nervous, but Natsuo didn't get nervous, it wasn't a Todoroki trait. You look up from your lap to his eyes. A small smile formed on your face as he proposed the statement. You let out a chuckle as a light blush brushed your face.

"You wanna be my date?"

"We don't have to go like that, we can fake date. Think about it, you need a rich, suitable guy to show up with you. You need me. Someone to convince your pretentious parents you're ready to settle down, and, I, can get out of my own family Christmas and obligations to see the bastard man."

"Fake dating... Fake dating and convincing my parents that we're in love. That's a lot to deal with, you're sure your up for it?"

"Yeah, you might say... We already have some chemistry together."

You laughed as that feeling bubbled up in your chest. That feeling you got whenever you were around your partner, your lab partner. It was stupid, so stupid. The idea of fake dating him bubbled you, even if it was fake, the idea that he got to be your boyfriend for an evening or two excited you.

"Okay, you dork, it's settled. You're my fake boyfriend."

Your leg bounced rigorously as the car drove on the road. You watched the road signs, anxiously noting how far away from your home you were each time a new one appeared. You lived a couple of hours out from the city you and Natsuo attended college in. Coming from a rich family, you and Natsuo probably would've attended the same social circles and school had you not grew up so far away.

Your thumb tapped away at your leg as Christmas music blared through the radio. Your whole body screamed anxious and distressed. Now that you've had time to brew and process the deal you and Natsuo made you regretted it. What were you thinking, taking your lab partner, who was also your crush, on an overnight trip as your fake boyfriend? It was just going to cause you trouble.

You had feelings for him and your family was toxic. The idea of letting him in was disturbing. It was your home where you grew up, the place you learned to hate yourself, the place that taught you to be closed off, and mean. He'll meet your mom, your dad, and your godawful siblings. He'll see how horrible your family is, and the idea of letting him see the environment you grew up in was so daunting.

What if he decided you were awful too? What if he changes lab partners?

"We're here."

"Great."

Your voice came out placid and tight. Your nervousness and exhaustion could be heard in your voice. Emotions brought out every time you saw your family, he mistook it as nerves brought on by the fear of fake dating.

"We should probably lie down some rules."

"Yeah, I've never fake dated before. I don’t know what you're uncomfortable with, but no kissing on the lips."

Natsuo pulled his keys out of the engine ignition and pocketed them while he lightly laughed at your proposed rule. Heat rose to your cheeks as his voice met your ears.  

"We're supposed to convince them we're in love, but I can't kiss your lips?"

"I know it's silly, but to me it's romantic and I’d like to keep this professional. Besides, you still have my cheek, hand, nose, and forehead."

“I see your points, if it makes you feel more comfortable then lips are off-limits.”

You let out a relieved sigh. You weren't sure you'd handle kissing Natsuo. It was too personal, too romantic. The more you progressed on this endeavor the more you worried. Your parents were gonna know, they were gonna know. 

"No kissing your lips, what about hand-holding?"

"We can hold hands, hug, anything a couple would do, just no sex or kissing."

"Two days, as a handholding loving boyfriend. Let's do this."

Natsuo got out of the car and while you zipped up your coat and fixed your scarf he rushed to the other side of the car and opened your door before you got the chance. His cold hand was on your hand pulling you out of the car, he smiled softly at you as he helped you out.

“Thanks, you didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to, I'm your boyfriend after all.”

You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear as a light blush spread across your skin. Never had you been more thankful for the cold air for you had been able to play your pink cheeks off as an effect of the cold weather and not his words. 

“You go in, I’ll get our bag.”

“You sure?”

You nibbled on your lip as Natsuo walked away from you. He turned to you with an ever-growing smile present as he winked. 

“Yeah, I'm a good boyfriend aren't I?”

“The sweetest ever. See you inside.”

You made your way to the door and gave the heavy wooden door a hard knock. It wasn't long until one of the servants opened the door. The head butler, Godwin, opened the door and threw you a gracious smile before pulling you into a hug. 

“Welcome back, [Y/N].”

In your time living here as a child, Godwin spent a lot of time with you. It was his job to watch over you and your siblings along with the other staff members when your parents were gone, which was often. He was the one who taught you to be kinder and nicer, more humble than your other siblings. He was the one who encouraged you to go to college despite your parents raising you to live in a world with their racist, sexist ideals. 

“It’s good to see you, Godwin.” 

Your mother came down the stairs with her overly expensive Christmas dress flowing with her. She looked like the average rich person trying to show off her money. Pearls, diamonds, and obvious plastic surgery. Your father followed behind her, adorning an expensive tailored suit and a matching tie, no doubt your mother's idea to make it seem like they had a perfect marriage to their guests when it, in fact, was not. 

“Oh, [F/N], you're here!”

She walked up to you and awkwardly wrapped her arms around your body. It was weird and awkward. Your mother didn't like giving affection out to her children, or really anyone. Now that you were older, you didn't crave the attention from her. Your father didn't even attempt to greet you. 

“I thought you said you were bringing a guest, Oh I knew you were lying. Lucky for you I thought ahead and arranged for one of your father's friends to come over as your date for the evening.”

“Mother, anyone friends with father is going to be way too old to be a date for me, besides that fact, I did bring a date.” 

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed to ask your mother for help, I did give birth to you after all.”

She sneered her words at you. This was a classical move of your mothers because she gave birth to you then that must mean she knows you better than anyone else, she also used it in the stance that you owed it to her to do what she wanted.

“You’ll love him. He's the owner of a multimillion-dollar company, he's rich, and his wife just died! You’ve been single for so long, you need a man to take care of you”-

Your mother is cut off by the sound of Natsuo walking in with your bag and slamming the door shut, trying to keep the cold out. Considering it was an overnight trip, you thought sharing a bag might make you look more intimate and close. 

“Sorry I took so long babe, I didn't zip the bag all the way closed and it opened on the ride here, I had to put everything back in it.”

“Mother, father, this is my boyfriend.” 

Natsuo dropped your bag on the floor and shook your parent's hands starting with your father, and then your mother next, respectfully the way you shook hands with the rich. You supposed growing up as a Todoroki he had to learn these tricks and rules the same way you did. 

“Natsuo Todoroki, nice to meet you, sir, ma’am.”

“Oh wow, Todoroki? Like the hero family Todoroki?”

“Yes, ma’am... Endeavor is my father.”

You could tell by Natsuo's stance that he was uncomfortable with the way your mother was asking about his social status and checking him out with a tight fake smile on her face.

“Yes, I remember now, I saw your family on the news. How did you snag this one [Y/N]? A Todoroki, I'm impressed, then again... He is the brother who chose not to follow the life of a hero.”

You both ignored your mother's catty comment as Natsuo grabbed your hand and pulled you against his side. He kissed your cheek, eliciting a light blush for the second time that day, however, your mother's focus was on your 'boyfriend', and his focus was on your mother. 

“Feels more like I'm the one who snagged her.”

“Well, you must tell us how you met. Goodwin! Take their bag up to [Y/N]'s room!” 

You rolled your eyes as she yells at the butler. You'd think after years of working for her she would've remembered his name, but she didn't.

“Godwin, we can take our bag up, we need to change into our dress clothes anyway. Mother, you really should remember the names of your staff.”

“They're just the help, details like their names don't matter. Ever since you went off to that school it's put silly ideas in your head. Natsuo don't be afraid to remind her who's boss, she might try to force those ridiculous relationship norms on you.”

The comment comes from your father who had been mostly silent throughout the whole conversation. The comment comes from your father and it didn't sit well with Natsuo. As your father laughs at what he said, Natsuo picks your bag up and chuckles at him. 

“Oh, [Y/N] and I both know who the boss of this relationship is. [Y/N] attends more classes than me, so I always make sure the apartment is clean, and food is ready on the table for her. It's only fair, I wouldn't want her to think these ridiculous relationship norms where the woman cooks and cleans and the man provides is right.”

Before your father gets another word in edgewise, Natsuo pulls you along with him to the staircase, letting you guide him to your bedroom with appeased smiles on your faces. You pushed the door open and let Natsuo in before closing it and locking it. You flopped over on the bed, and he followed suit before taking a look at your room. It was the same as always, the way you left it after high school, never changing except for when little things got moved around for dusting and vacuuming by Godwin. 

“So... What'd you think of my parents?”

“They’re... interesting?”

There were a wide variety of choice words Natsuo wanted to use. He did not like your parents, and it bothered him knowing that you grew up being raised with such ideals. Natsuo might have had a bastard for a father, his father might have hurt his mom, and his family in more ways than one, but his father never once told Fuyumi that she couldn't pursue her dreams. He never once told Fuyumi that she had to follow old gender norms, never once was Fuyumi taught to layover for a man.

"It's okay, you can say it. They're good awful."

"I didn't want to upset you or offend, but my father literally drove my mom insane, he gave her a mental illness and he's nice compared to them."

"Just wait until you meet my siblings."

You let out a laugh as your fingers played with the blanket on the bed. Your hands were so close. It was sweet to him, the sound of your voice. He'd never admit out loud, but he was so in love with you. Ever since he first laid eyes on you in chemistry class. Ever since you sat down next to him and introduced yourself, ever since you accidentally blew up your first experiment. Ever since you kept apologising for catching him on fire, you hadn't a clue who he was, or who his father was. You were normal with him. Every little thing you did lead up to his feelings for you. Every little thing you did added to the strong feelings had had, like a brick house.

To the naked eye, Natsuo was a desirable man. He was rich, filthy rich, and he had that Todoroki charm. Everyone wanted him for his status or his looks. They didn't know him, the real him, him with an abusive father and fucked up family. For all those reasons, Natsuo always thought that you wouldn't want to be with a boy like him. Someone who came from such a broken background, someone so weak, unable to stand up to his father. Guys like him never got the girl, at least not the girl that he wanted but Natsuo also never imagined that you came from a background similar to his. It was so ethereal and special to be here with you, to be the one you were opening up to, even if it was a fake relationship, Natsuo was trying desperately to shoot his shot.

"You're so strong, you know that? Your parents raised you with these unrealistic standards on how you should act, but you're in college, you're pursuing your dreams. You're amazing."

Natsuo's hand reached out and grabbed yours, his cold one in yours soliciting goosebumps and a little shiver. You quickly tried to pull your and out of his and stood up to make it look like you weren't trying to avoid skin contact with him.

"Thanks, Natsuo... You're amazing too, I mean hello, they way you subtly told my father to shove his marriage ideals? It was hilarious, he was not expecting that."

You looked away from Natsou to hide the blush in your cheeks, you were thankful for the way he stood up to your father for you. You could never have done that in a million years.

"Anyway, we should probably get dressed, and go down before my mother thinks we've started having sex. You can get dressed in here and I'll go to the bathroom, just knock when it's safe for me to come out."

You grabbed your dress out of the bag and scurried into the bathroom. You started with makeup, then you reapplied your deodorant. You were so nervous that your family would see right through your lie. After taking a few deep breaths you heard Natsuo's knock so you quickly unzipped your silk, baby blue dress and pulled it up to your body. Nervously, you popped your head out the door and bit your lip.

"Can you... Can you zip me up?"

"Sure!"

You let the door open more and pulled the front of your dress tight against your body, worried and nervous to be partially naked in front of him. Natsuo sauntered into the bathroom and zipped the back of your dress up. His cold hands glide up your back and then fell down on your hips. It made you shiver again before throwing him a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

"No problem, you look beautiful."

You looked in the mirror at the two of you together. This time as the blush rose to your cheeks you didn't have the cold to blame or the ability to turn around and hide your face.

"Ready to meet the rest of the snake nest?"

"I survived your parents, I think I can handle your siblings."

Arm in arm looped together you made your way downstairs and into the entertainment room with Natsuo. Your siblings were sitting on the couch, but once you walked in their eyes struck you. They heard you brought a date and they wanted to check him out. Their eyes glazed over him some of them in interest, some in disinterest. All judging.

"I heard you brought a boy, didn't believe it."

The comment comes from your older sister. Her voice was full of disdain and disinterest, undoubtedly ready to leave.

"Yeah, mother said you brought a boy, didn't think he'd be so hot."

Natsou coughs uncomfortably as you showed a tight, fake smile to your sister. You couldn't lie, it hurt that your younger sister would so blatantly flirt with your boyfriend upon meeting him, whether he be fake or not.

"Don't be such a slut, [Sisters Name]. That's your sister's boyfriend."

Your older brother scolded his youngest sister for her lustful behavior and she rolls her eyes before she crosses her arms in a pout. Your brother was the nicest out of all your siblings. He was nice to you and your siblings in his own way, protective of his younger siblings, constantly scolding and trying to keep you all in place. That didn't mean he couldn't be a snake, he could just tolerate you and your siblings more.

"Besides, he's not all that hot."

"Oh he totally is, it's seriously a wonder how [Y/N] got him."

You brought Natsuo over to the couch and sat down next to him. You even made sure to sit close to him, close enough so you could lean into each other like a cute couple.

"I think I prefer your parents."

His words whispered in your ear earning a light chuckle from you. Your sister, the younger one, evidently didn't like how close you both were. With a harsh glare, she rolled her eyes again.

"How did you even meet? Seriously, I wanna know why he would downgrade to someone like you."

Natsuo scratched the back of his head awkwardly and nervously He didn't understand why your siblings were so mean to you. His father was a bastard, that closed you off, that he could get. Despite that, he and his siblings never put each other down like they were doing.

"More like she downgraded to me. We met in school, lab partners. She had all the boys chasing for her in school, but somehow she chose me."

Your sister scoffed and this time you rolled your eyes. She always gave you such shit over the littlest things. You didn't have the energy for this, at least not sober. You whispered into Natsuo's ear softly.

"I need a drink, you want one? We'll need it to get through the evening."

"If your alcohol mixing skills are anything like your chemistry mixing skills, then no."

"Meanie, I'm a great chemist, I practically carry our grade."

Natsuo chuckled against your cheek, before pulling back and kissing it. Again, a blush adorned your cheek with no way to hide it. It was brief and quick, but his cold lips ghosted against your cheek. All you could do was abruptly stand up with a smile on your face.

"I'm gonna go find an alcoholic beverage. I'll be right back, play nice with him."

Natsuo watched helplessly as you walked off into the distance. He sat there quietly, patiently waiting for you to come back. Natsuo was such a cool, calm collected guy, but alone with your siblings, he felt nervous. Seeing the way they acted with you gave him a bad impression of them, but he has to play nice because he was your boyfriend.

"You know, an alcoholic drink does sound great."

Your older sister stood up from the couch and walked off in the same direction as you did, the kitchen presumably, to make herself a drink as well. Soon, your brother left the room as well, your little sister bit her lip as she watched your brother walk off in the direction of the bathroom. She was quick to stand and in the place you once held occupied.

"My sister said play nice, but I'd rather play rough."

She slid her hand over his thigh and inched it closer to his crotch while she smiled up at him, nibbling on her lip.

"What are you doing? I'm here with your sister, I'm her boyfriend."

"Ugh, what do you even see in her? She's not even pretty."

Before Natsou could reply, before he could defend you, your sister climbed across his lip and planted her lips against his. He wasn't kissing her back, but with her on top of him, her pressing her face against his, and her fingers deeply gripping his clothes it was difficult to get her off of him. He wasn't kissing back, he was trying to push her off but as you walked up with two margaritas in hand all you saw was your fake boyfriend kissing your sister.

It hurt. It shouldn't have, but it hurt. He wasn't yours, not really. He was just your lap partner, your friend. He wasn't your boyfriend, you were just fake dating. He wasn't yours. He wasn't yours, but it hurt to see your sister all over him. He wasn't yours, but for the night he was supposed to be. He wasn't yours but for the sake of your lie you did what any girl would do after finding her boyfriend cheating on her: You dumped your margarita down the skank.

"[Brothers Name] is right, you are a slut! And you- you-"

As your sister pulled herself off of Natsuo she looked up at you shocked with alcohol dripping down her body, you ignored her and turned your attention to Natsou. Your eyes were blurry but you had to will yourself not to cry.

"I don't need you here. You can just leave."

You didn't wait for Natsou to get up and leaves nor did you want for him to talk and explain anything to you. You simply took off in the direction of your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Natsuo quickly jumped up on his feet and took off in the direction of your bedroom. He didn't knock, he didn't wait for permission, he just busted in and ran over to you.

"If you want to make out with my sister, that's fine. I get it, she's pretty, she's hot, she's better than me. She's everything you'd want, but you were supposed to be here with me! You were supposed to be here as my boyfriend! My parents were supposed to think we're in love. You were supposed to be mine, I don't care if it's fake, you cheated with my sister!"

The tears were leaking down your cheeks as you yelled at him. No words could pass Natsuo's lips, no matter how hard he tried. They couldn't. Seeing your tears, a product of him hurt. It hurt. He hurt you. He was trying his best to shoot his shot, he was trying to subtly woo you.

"Your sister came on to me, I tried pushing her away. She's really is a snake, you said it yourself!"

You still sniffled as you nodded at him. He was right, you had said that. He was right, she is a snake and this is exactly what she would do just to screw with your life.

"I'm sorry, your right. I shouldn't have acted like that, you're not actually mine. Natsuo, I do need you, I need you here."

"What if I wanted you to really be mine?"

You sniffling stopped as Natsuo took closer steps to you. He placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled your lips against his. This was different from earlier. The kiss wasn't quick, it was long. It was long and passionate, yet cold. Despite your shivers, you found yourself leaning into him, into the kiss.

"You- You can't do that, it's against the rules."

"Screw the rules. I just- I wish you needed me every night of the year, not just Christmas."

Natsuo ran his hands through his hair nervously. He thought speaking against your father and defending you against your sister was enough to get his point across. This idea of verbally speaking it, it scared him. This was uncharted territory for him.

"I want you [Y/N]. I want you every day of the year. I want to kiss you on the lips, I want to hold hands, I want dates and hugs. I want more than chemistry class and Christmas gatherings."

"Then you can have me! Have me every day of the year. Be mine, every day of the year. Take me on a date, hold my hand, kiss my lips!"

Natsuo pulled you against him and your face collided with his chest. You buried your face in his chest as your arms wrapped around his body and a smile formed.

"Let's not fake date, be my actual girlfriend."

You leaned up and left a quick chaste kiss on Natsuo's lips with a smile.

"I don't want anyone else to be my actual boyfriend, I suppose you might say we chemistry."

[selfdestructivecat]

@the-local-lunatic13

THAT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

Ok so this is gonna be a long list, since my head is only empty when it’s of greatest inconvenience.

Also please read the tags for potential triggers! Lmk if I missed any and I’ll add them right away.

Without further ado, here’s my interpretation of a Sanders Sides Pokemon AU!

* Ok so first of all, the sides are all gym leaders.

* I picture this in the Galar region, but probably with different towns and the like because I don’t remember any of them.

* Basically, just assume that all of the towns are made up, but that Dynamax still is a thing.

* Let’s start with Patton because his story is the least sad.

* His family runs a Fairy Type gym/pokemon nursery.

* Patton is the eldest in a large family, so he eventually became the new gym leader following in his father’s footsteps.

* He has two dads, one who was the gym leader and the other who is a pokemon breeder. They’re both pokemon breeders now and work in a Pokemon Center.

* They are definitely responsible for Patton’s sense of humor.

* Patton and all of his siblings are adopted, but they’re so close that they might as well be related by blood.

* Patton loves taking care of pokemon and would be a pokemon breeder full-time if he could

* But he also loves his family so he continues to run the gym to raise enough money to keep them comfortable and happy

* The Pokemon team I have come up for him is:

* - Togekiss

* - Boltund

* - Greninja (cuz frog)

* - Altaria

* - Frosmoth

* - Hatterine

* (If anyone has any better ideas for pokemon for any of the sides, feel free to throw your suggestions in the notes!)

* Moving on to Logan...

* Like Patton, he also inherited his gym, a Psychic Type gym, from his parents

* However, his family life isn’t nearly as happy...

* Ever since he was old enough to throw a pokeball, his parents have trained him rigorously to become the next gym leader

* They handpicked all of the pokemon in his team

* Except for a Lucario, which Logan caught as a Riolu when he was very young. His parents only let him keep it because of its battle prowess

* So Logan’s team is:

* - Lucario

* - Gardevoir

* - Alakazam

* - Raichu (alolan)

* - Malamar

* - Onix

* (Also this should be obvious by now but not all the pokes will match the gym’s type cuz that’s boring)

* Logan took over the gym when he was 15 and has been running it basically on his own ever since

* His parents still get the final say in all major decisions, even though they don’t really do anything

* Logan resents them, but doesn’t have the courage to stand up for himself

* ENTER PATTON

* Logan is at first pretty skeptical regarding Patton, since he doesn’t seem to take his job seriously

* After challenging Patton to a battle, however, that stance changes remarkably fast after facing a narrow defeat at the hands of Patton’s pokemon

* Even so, he tells himself that he doesn’t have time to become more than colleagues. He must be cordial with Patton so they can coordinate as gym leaders, but that’s it

* Meanwhile, Patton takes one look at this emotionally-repressed man and thinks to himself

* “Oh, this is the guy I’m gonna marry.”

* He then takes literally every opportunity to flirt with Logan

* And he is not subtle AT ALL

* Like he literally goes up to Logan one day and is like

* “I know you’re not ready for it right now, but one day I’m gonna marry you and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

* And Logan is VERY confused and VERY flustered because feelings? What is happening to my heart!? Am I getting sick!?

* (And his parents would absolutely disapprove because they are huge homophobes and want Logan to have an heir to pass on the gym to)

* But eventually Patton manages to break Logan’s walls down and they become close friends

* (And eventually more)

* Now, the twins!

* Their situation is pretty similar to Logan’s, at least to a certain point

* Their parents own a Fire Type gym, and were so excited to have a child who would eventually take over the gym

* Two things happened that they did not anticipate

1) They ended up having twins

2) The mother died during childbirth

* Driven by grief, stubbornness, and resentment, the father had the idea that, in order to make the twins as strong as possible, he would put them against each other at every opportunity

* They would constantly be competing to become better than the other, creating an extremely toxic rivalry

* It didn’t work... at least, not at first.

* When they were very young, Roman and Remus were inseparable.

* Even when their father tried to put them against each other, they would rebel against him and not listen

* (Remus had no issue with this, but Roman quietly longed for his father’s approval, even though he knew it was wrong)

* They had a dream that they would run the gym together, and they would talk long into the night about the gym they would create and the pokemon they would train

* That was, until their father started to take a different approach

* He noticed that, despite the two boys receiving the same education and training, Roman had a better affinity for battle (at least when it came to fire types)

* So he started giving Roman more praise and attention

* Roman was thrilled to finally make his father proud

* Remus, on the other hand, was tossed to the side

* Roman was reluctant to give up his father’s attention now that he had received it

* (Looking back, Roman wishes more than anything that he had given it up)

* The twins were driven apart, Roman being trained to take over the gym, and Remus being completely ignored

* One day, Remus ran away, disappearing in the middle of the night.

* Roman was devastated

* He wanted nothing more than to search for Remus, but he knew that if his brother didn’t want to be found, he could vanish off the face of the earth

* Years pass, and Roman takes over the gym

* His father passes away from illness when he was 16

* He can’t find it in himself to grieve

* Roman continues running the gym, hating how quiet the halls are and missing his brother terribly

* One day, he receives news of a new Poison Type gym being established, one heavily criticized for its unorthodox (and, some complain, absolutely disgusting) gym structure and puzzles

* For the first time in years, Roman smiles

* Their relationship is not nearly as close as it was when they were children, and they still have a lot of that competitiveness that was hammered into them, but they’re trying

* And of course, their pokemon teams!

* Roman’s team is:

* - Charizard

* - Wigglytuff

* - Aegislash

* - Milotic

* - Gallade

* - Butterfree

(Maybe he should have more fire types but I like all of these Pokémon for him and they don’t really have a common type among them and ahhhhhhhh...)

* While Remus’s team is:

* - Garbodor

* - Muk

* - Tentacruel

* - Gengar

* - Mawile

* - Venomoth

* While catching up on everything that happened while they were separated, Roman asks Remus how he managed to establish his own gym so quickly

* Remus smirks, saying that he had a little help from a certain dragon...

* WHICH IS JANUS! HE HAS A DRAGON TYPE GYM!

* And this is where we get into that sweet sweet angst

* Janus was born in a small village surrounded by mountains

* A few months before his birth, a disease spread throughout the village

* This disease would coat the skin in angry red boils and drive the infected delirious with sickness

* One day, Janus’ parents found him shivering with a fever, the left side of his face covered in boils

* Fearing for their lives should they catch the disease, they brought the child into the mountains and abandoned him in an old, dark cave

* He wailed in pain and terror until his throat was so hoarse he couldn’t cry anymore

* Dialga, the legendary dragon-type pokemon with power over time, heard his cries and took pity on the child

* Dialga reversed the effects of the illness, curing the child but leaving shimmering scales where the boils used to be

* Dialga then tasked the dragon type pokemon in the cave to look after the child, not trusting humans to ensure Janus’ well being

* A family of Dreepies, Drakloaks, and Dragapults takes a particular liking to Janus, raising him as one of their own

* Eventually, when Janus is a bit older, he goes to visit the town he was born in (supervised by his dragon family, of course)

* Only to find that the village was gone, abandoned by the few survivors of the horrible plague that spread throughout

* Janus felt no remorse

* He knew that he could only rely on himself, and that if he wanted to survive in this world, he needed to be aggressive

* The following week, he said goodbye to his family, only taking with him his best friend, one of the Dreepies in his family that was now a powerful Dragapault

* It wasn’t easy, as he had to learn the language and social etiquette of the people around him (being raised by pokemon would do that to you)

* He even had to resort to stealing in order to survive, which kept him on the run

* Until one day, he met Remus, another kid on the run

* Together, they were an absolute menace. To this day, the two of them have never lost a double battle

* Eventually, they both opened their own gyms, Remus a poison type and Janus a dragon type

* When not busy with the typical duties required of gym leaders, they’re basically inseparable

* Remus is the one person Janus trusts whole-heartedly

* I headcanon them as either really close friends or queer-platonic partners, but I’ll leave it up to you to decide their relationship!

* By the way, Janus’ team consists of:

* - Dragapult

* - Mimikyu

* - Zoroark

* - Arbok

* - Salazzle

* - Kimmo-oh

* So that leaves one side left...

* Ima be honest, I based Virgil heavily on Piers, but bear with me ok?

* Virgil grew up in a very poor town with his mother, as his dad abandoned them when he was very young

* And when I say poor, I mean that there wasn’t even a Pokemon Center

* Even so, he didn’t wish for anything. He didn’t care about traveling or becoming a great pokemon trainer. He just wanted to be with his mom

* (His anxiety made it hard to leave the house, anyway, so he was in no rush to go on some grand adventure)

* His mom had a dream to open a pokemon gym that both 1) incorporated music and 2) was more down to earth than the grand stadiums that were now the norm for gyms

* When she was pregnant with Virgil, she was more than happy to give up that dream for her family

* However, when her husband, their main source of income, abandoned them, her dream became more of a necessity

* The entire town was on her side, knowing that a gym could bring money to their town

* Their “gym” was nothing more than a small, outdoor stadium, but his mother loved it

* The few curious pokemon trainers who decided to challenge the unofficial gym absolutely loved her, and slowly she started to gain a bit of notoriety

* Virgil was terrified. He was afraid that his mom would get hurt by the powerful pokemon that constantly challenged her

* (And he missed her terribly. She still made time for him, but it wasn’t as much as before she took on the role of unofficial gym leader)

* And so, his mom brought him his very first pokemon: an Eevee that always seemed to know exactly how to calm him down

* He loved his Eevee, and he felt a little bit less alone whenever his mom had to leave for work. He was ok.

* Unfortunately, fate had cruel plans for the young boy

* His town was cast into shadow as a maddened Dynamaxed pokemon appeared a few miles away

* His mom, the strongest trainer in town, left to take it down, despite how much Virgil begged her to not go, or to take him with her

* (She had to go. The second-closest city to the dynamaxed pokemon was still very far away. Help wouldn’t come for a while. She was all her small town had.)

* (...She didn’t return)

* The entire town was in mourning, holding a huge ceremony to honor her memory.

* Virgil was inconsolable, barely speaking and refusing to leave his room for almost an entire year

* If it wasn’t for the people in the town, who cared for him as deeply as they did his mother, he probably wouldn’t have eaten.

* The unofficial gym, without a gym leader, was abandoned, and its small glimpse of fame was lost, plunging the town back into a seemingly inescapable pit of poverty and obscurity

* Until one day, a group of thugs came and terrorized the town, letting loose their pokemon and stealing everything they could get their hands on

* Virgil was terrified, but he couldn’t just stand there while people got hurt. With only his Eevee and his only experience being watching his mom in her matches, he challenged the thugs

* He didn’t stand a chance. His poor Eevee was at its knees within moments

* Virgil was distraught, hating his weakness and how he couldn’t protect the town that had become his family. He tried to fight the thugs himself, only to be knocked back by one of their Pokémon’s attacks.

* He got back up and charged again, tears in his eyes and bile rising from how scared he was

* His Eevee, terrified for its master and inspired by his bravery, began to glow...

* ...and in its place stood an Umbreon, body pulsing with newfound power

* This scene rallied the other people in the town, who banded together to drive the thugs away, Virgil and his Umbreon leading the charge

* From then on, Virgil vowed that he would become a strong Dark Type gym leader and create the gym his mother never got the chance to

* He trained hard, swallowing his fear to capture and train more pokemon for his team

* Which consists of...

* - Umbreon

* - Houndoom

* - Galvantula

* - Gothitelle

* - Corviknight

* - Noivern

* The townspeople, much like Team Yell in Pokemon Sw/Sh, would often go to other cities singing Virgil’s praise and unwittingly causing all sorts of problems

* Virgil has no idea that any of this is happening

* Eventually, word gets out again regarding this unofficial Pokemon gym, attracting the attention of the other gym leaders

* Roman is sent to investigate

* He doesn’t expect much, given the general appearance of the town (it doesn’t even have a pokemon center, after all)

* He’s even more put off when he recognizes the outfits of the trainers in the “gym” as the strange people who have been causing trouble all over Galar

* Even so, he has a job to do, so he dons a disguise and plows through all of the trainers, eager to finish the gym so he can go back home

* His desire to leave vanishes faster than a Pikachu with Agility the moment he lays eyes on Virgil

* Just like his mother wanted, Virgil’s battles take place during a rock concert, so Virgil waiting on a makeshift stage with a guitar in hand

* (Virgil feels like he’s going to explode with nerves, just like he does every time a trainer challenges his gym, but the memory of his mother gives him courage)

* As his Umbreon leaps into battle, he begins to sing

* And holy shit Roman is in love

* The small area is filled with spectators cheering and singing along to the song, and despite it being a far cry from any grand stadium Roman has ever battled in, it has more spirit than anything Roman has ever experienced

* It’s the most fun he’s had battling in years

* Virgil is a tough opponent, a testament to his years of pushing himself, but in the end Roman has more experience

* Virgil is devastated at the loss, knowing it would be a blow against the gym’s reputation, but manages to put on a smile and offers Roman a pin: their unofficial gym badge

* Roman smiles, removing his disguise to pin the badge to his clothes and Virgil is like “holy shit that’s Roman the famous fire-type gym leader oh no he’s really hot oh no what have I done I GAVE HIM A HANDMADE PIECE OF SCRAP METAL OH NO”

* And Roman, ignorant to Virgil’s crisis, is like “cmon, we gotta get the paperwork done to establish this place as an official gym!”

* When later asked, Virgil would firmly deny it, but at that moment he had literally burst into tears

* Roman still wears the badge Virgil presented to him to this day, even though Virgil has repeatedly offered him one of the higher-quality badges they now give out as an official gym

* Virgil’s gym is the only one that doesn’t have Dynamax, since he still has some trauma from his mother’s death

* Prinxiety eventually happens because I say so

* And all of the gym leaders are friends also because I say so

I might add more to this AU if people are interested! And feel free to add your own ideas! I’d love to hear what you think!

Sorry for rambling, but if you managed to get this far, thanks for reading! :D

[heliads]

The Watching Hawk Chapter 1: Case File

Bucky Barnes is constantly haunted by his past, but the memories of his days as a Winter Soldier will come into a new light in the form of the Watching Hawk, his old HYDRA partner. Will he be able to trust her, and will she be able to move on from his mistakes?

series masterlist / next

The hum of the air conditioning is a distant sound as Bucky Barnes stares down at the closed case file in front of him. “You know, you don’t have to take this one on.” His best friend of several decades, Steve Rogers, leans against a wall in front of him. His voice is drenched in concern, like Bucky is a delicate man who could be set off by anything. “I know your relations with HYDRA,” Steve continues, “And if you think this will be a bad idea, it’s fine to stand down.” Bucky looks up at Steve again, then at Natasha and Sam, standing next to him. “I’ll be fine.”

Steve looks at him one more time, a searching look. Some days Bucky swears the Super Soldier Serum that made Steve Captain America must also have given him the ability to read minds. It wouldn’t surprise him if Steve’s been peering inside his head every time he sees Bucky. Steve nods slowly and continues on. “Alright. We don’t have a lot of information on the target, so we wanted to see if you knew anything. You know, from your days as a Winter Soldier.”

That piques Bucky’s curiosity, and so he finally flips open the manilla file folder in front of him. The only thing in the folder is a single, blurry image, but the sight of a woman framed by great arched metal wings in the photo is enough to elicit a sharp gasp from him. “I’m in. I’ll take the mission.”

Instantly, Steve leans forward. “You know her?” Bucky’s laugh is as harsh as a winter night. “Know her? I’m the reason HYDRA has her in the first place.” Bucky clears his throat, as snippets of memories long gone flash by him. He doesn’t remember much about what happened while he was under HYDRA’s influence- the mind control and rigorous programming was enough to erase anything and everything from him. Over the months after Bucky left, bits and pieces have started coming back to him, including the identity of this young woman.

“It was a warm summer afternoon. She was just coming home from work. She didn’t have the metal wings by then, they were still the natural feathers. She kept them hidden under her jacket so no one could tell she was an inhuman. She said hello to a neighbourhood kid, smiled at a passerby on a bike while she was getting the mail, and went into her house. When she saw the HYDRA agents waiting for her in the living room, she was able to defend herself using her wings and her fighting abilities. She took out all the soldiers, so they sent in me.”

Bucky pauses then, as he waits for the pieces of the memory to fall back into place. He hasn’t thought about that day in a long time, and he’s not sure if he really wants to. “She was strong, even without the wings, but in the end, I was able to knock her unconscious and take her in. They made her a Winter Soldier. We were often stationed together on operations.”

Natasha looks at him, her face unreadable as always. If he was supposed to be the ultimate soldier, Bucky supposes she would be the ultimate spy. Even after years of training, he can barely get anything out of her.

“When was the last time you had contact with this woman? Is there anything else you can tell us- a name, a weakness?” Bucky frowns up at the sound of Natasha’s voice. “I haven’t seen her since I was still with HYDRA.” He’s not entirely sure when that was- times and dates all melt together into a pool of distant memories when he was under mind control. “What exactly is this mission, and why does it involve her?”

Steve taps at a screen in front of him. It changes to display an image of a well-dressed politician, making his way up marble steps in Capitol Hill. “This is Dominic Cole. He’s a pretty solid politician, as far as politicians go. Unfortunately, he’s got the interest of HYDRA, because he’s about to present a new policy in a week that will allow the government to look into shady business dealings that could expose HYDRA operatives. There’s a pretty good chance it’ll get approved once he presents it, so HYDRA’s sending in a team to take him out. I think this woman, whoever she is, will be on that team.”

Bucky nods slowly. “The Watching Hawk.” Sam looks at him through furrowed brows. “What does that mean?” Bucky places his hands flat on the table in front of him, the photo still staring at him from in between his palms. “That was her codename. The Watching Hawk.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side as he studies the woman in the photograph. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he last saw her- could be months, could be decades. He has no way of knowing, but she still looks the exact same.

 “We were usually partners. They would send in both of us on the more dangerous field ops, the ones where there was basically a guarantee that no normal soldier would come back alive. She was different from me, though- I was under full mind control, and my memory was wiped periodically. They were worried that another brainwashed soldier could join up with the first and revolt against them, so they gave the Hawk her memory. She had free will, and could do whatever she wanted and say as she pleased, as long as it met with the HYDRA expectations. I think there were still some residual mind blocks, guaranteeing she couldn’t leave the premises unless ordered to, and she couldn’t hurt any of the HYDRA soldiers, but she could still think and do whatever she wanted. You’ll have to take that into account when you find her. Other than that, there’s nothing I can remember that you wouldn’t already know from when you tracked me down.”

Steve lets this information sink in, then looks back down at the photo from the case file. “Well, we won’t be able to have one great ‘Remember who you are’ moment like last time, but we should be able to take her down. Natasha, Sam, and I have experience with finding Winter Soldiers, and you know how they think. I think we’ve got as many cards to play as we can.”

Sam interjects. “Also, I’ve got wings too.” At Bucky’s raised eyebrows, he spreads his hands wide. “Look, if she can fly, it’s probably a good idea to have someone on your team who can fly after them, right? I feel like none of you really took that into account.” Steve does his best to smother a smile. “He’s right. We’ve all got our parts to play.” With that, he goes over the plan in more detail, leaving Bucky to question whether or not this will actually work.

Before he knows it, Bucky is watching a digital readout in a surveillance van parked near the Capitol. Dominic Cole, the man they’re supposed to be protecting, is making his way to work. The team decided to let Cole walk to work, seemingly without a guard, in the hopes of drawing out an attack. Steve’s got a theory that if HYDRA’s plan to take out Cole comes to light, they’ll call it off, but Bucky’s not sure if that will work or not. Regardless, here comes Cole, and just like clockwork, here comes a black van barrelling towards him. 

When soldiers dressed in black start racing towards Cole, Natasha springs out of hiding and starts to take them down. Bucky, Sam, and Steve join her, making sure Cole gets to safety before focusing their attention back on the HYDRA soldiers. They’re actually doing a pretty good job of causing a commotion and keeping them at bay, so Bucky supposes he’s not surprised when he sees a winged silhouette walking towards them from the smoky background of the city.

Bucky ducks around the black van, firing at the soldiers as he goes, making sure he’s headed towards the figure. He’s about a few yards away when she finally sees him, and her silvery wings arch up around her. “Well, if it isn’t Sergeant Barnes. I see you have your memory back.” A gun is in her hands before he can even blink, and it’s all Bucky can do to throw himself behind a nearby car to avoid the gunshots. “Less than you’d think.” He comes back from around the car, grabbing a long knife from his side and plunging it towards her unprotected arm as fast as he can. She blocks it, of course, and the two former allies find themselves locked in hand-to-hand combat.

“You can come with me, you know. Leave all of this behind.” The Hawk laughs, loud and incredulously. There’s a note of manic rage that Bucky swears wasn’t there before. “Now that you finally have your tongue, you use it to joke with me? We both know there’s no chance of that.” The fighting halts for a second, both opponents circling each other warily. “We used to talk about leaving, didn’t we? I may not remember much, but I do know that.” The Hawk charges him once more. “You’re so bold now that you’re out of their reach. Do you really think there’s any possibility that I’d go with you?” 

One of the HYDRA soldiers has a pouch full of small explosives, and they’re hurling them at the two fighters. Bucky is forced to duck for cover while still fending off the Hawk’s attacks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that you once fought by my side, and once dreamed of a world where we could live without HYDRA.” The Hawk scoffs. “They were only dreams, Barnes. You know what you did.”

One explosive lands right by their feet, and the resulting explosion launches them both a few feet back. Bucky scrambles to his feet, noticing that the Hawk is holding her fingers to a scratch running across her arm. Her face is streaked with soot, as he imagines his face is as well. At seeing her like this, dirty and slightly vulnerable, Bucky is thrown back into memories long gone.

“Y/N.” The name rises to his lips, bidden by a time circled by darkness. He had called her that, once, when they were both captive by HYDRA. When she had trusted him, as much as you could trust anyone. When they had fought side by side, and sat even closer on the flights back from the operations to the HYDRA base.

For a second, Bucky swears he saw a glimmer of emotion flash across Y/N’s eyes, as if she too sees what he sees- two soldiers who swore to protect each other from everything, even when they had no more control over what happened to them than an infant.

But just like that, it’s gone, and a snarl of anger rips its way onto Y/N’s face instead.

“I will never forgive you for what you did.”

Before he knows it, the Hawk is gone, leaving Bucky behind in a haze of smoke and shouts of fighting soldiers.

He remembers her name, and he remembers her touch, but the only thing Bucky cannot remember is what he did to cause her such pain.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: As a Jedi, you had to formally accept your new apprentice and your new Master.Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka from the beginning of their apprenticeships to their ends. AN: It's 1 am but I am here and queer and crying about baby Padawan disaster lineage. Read on AO3!

It was in the aftermath of their disastrous situation that Qui-Gon said the words Obi-Wan had been dreaming of hearing for such a long time. He always thought it would be in the aftermath of a tournament, perhaps after he had shown great courage and self-control, or maybe during a meditation session in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had Obi-Wan thought he’d be clinging to his new Master’s robes, bloody and full of dirt, tears running over his cheeks as he tried to get a grip on his emotions and panic. In the moment Obi-Wan had not once thought about his fears. There was only what was and what must be done. He had focused only on his task and now that he was finally allowed to reflect on his actions, it all came crashing down on him.

His shoulders wouldn’t stop shaking and he couldn’t calm his breath and the world wouldn’t stop spinning. Obi-Wan must look like a youngling, helpless and overwhelmed, but no matter what shame befell him, every other emotion was much larger, the size of a sun.

“It’s alright, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon soothed him, running his hand in circles over his back. “You have done well.”

He had, hadn’t he?

Obi-Wan had finally proved himself. He knew he was meant to be a Knight someday. He saw it in his dreams sometimes, flickering images of calling out to a Padawan or two, never clear enough to see their faces, but Obi-Wan knew they were his.

He had to be there for them.

“Obi-Wan, I want you to listen well,” Qui-Gon said. “Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir.”

The words, so kind and full of hope, almost made Obi-Wan cry even more. He bit on his lips and forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir," Obi-Wan replied.

Qui-Gon smiled down at him, happy, and everything was exactly as it was meant to be. The weight of every world finally left Obi-Wan’s shoulders and he knew he was on the right path.

X

Obi-Wan took in the sight of little Anakin Skywalker. The seamstress of the Royal House of Naboo had put together a proper outfit for him. The boy looked the exact part of a Jedi, even if his robes were admittedly a little fancier than the typical Padawan robes. There was no use to get extra clothes for younglings likely to tear them and outgrow them within a month, but the look suited Anakin and Obi-Wan had almost smiled when the boy had put on the robes, amazed at how soft they were.

“I’m tired,” Anakin said, yawning, and rubbed his eyes.

They had decided to stay on Naboo for another month so they could sort out Anakin’s legal paperwork. As it turned out, freeing a slave wasn’t as easy as just buying them. They had needed to get his chip out and get him the right citizenship. Anakin Skywalker had been granted the Naboo citizenship, gifted to him by the Queen herself. Not in an official ceremony, it couldn’t reach the Senate that Naboo royalty had bought a slave but Obi-Wan was sure that Anakin had appreciated the informal dinner more than he would have anything excessively festive. It all was very overwhelming to him.

Obi-Wan opened up the doors to their quarters and against all expectations, Anakin did not head to bed immediately. Instead, the boy went to their little kitchen to make tea. Obi-Wan had gotten used to Anakin’s habit by now, and yet it struck him how rigorously he stuck to it. Anakin picked out the one tea brand that they had been able to find that was to both their tastes, spicy but sweet, and slowly filled two cups with the tea. He gave one to Obi-Wan and took the other for himself.

The first night they had slept in these rooms, Anakin had only hesitantly offered a cup to Obi-Wan, cheeks hollow and pale, and then, hours later, quietly asked for permission to sleep next to Obi-Wan. They had come far already in such a short time. Anakin had gained some fat and spoke more freely.

His Padawan was doing well.

Obi-Wan let out a low breath.

“Anakin,” he said. “You know you are part of the Jedi Order now, right?”

Anakin nodded quickly as if he were afraid Obi-Wan would take it away if he wasn’t fast enough. This wouldn’t be a problem had Obi-Wan already gone through with it. “Yes.”

“And you are my Padawan. Do you know what that means?”

“You will teach me?” Anakin replied, his statement more a question.

“Exactly. Nobody has told you yet, but we have a tradition.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste of the tea. He wondered how Qui-Gon had felt when he’d taken Obi-Wan on. Had it been similar to this? He desperately wished his Master was still here so that he could ask him for advice.

“Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

Anakin frowned ever so slightly and tiled his head.

“I said that I will teach you everything I know and I know you as my Padawan,” Obi-Wan repeated in Basic. “It is something a Master swears when they take on a Padawan. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you our language as well.”

“Oh.”

Anakin held his cup in his hands and Obi-Wan supposed that if not for it, he would be fidgeting and pulling at the hems of the sleeves.

“Is there- is there anything the student swears as well?” Anakin asked carefully. He was looking at Obi-Wan’s hands, not daring to meet his eyes,

“Yes, there is,” Obi-Wan said. “Very good, Anakin. Try to repeat this: Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir.”

Anakin stumbled over the words, his tongue unused to the vowels and soft melodic lift. Half his words were unidentifiable, and yet Obi-Wan felt his heart warm. This journey wouldn’t be easy, but they had taken the first step. Tomorrow would be another day and life would go on.

For the first time since the fight against the Sith Lord, Obi-Wan actually thought of the latter as a positive thing.

X

Anakin wasn’t sure what to think of the youngling. He hadn’t wanted a Padawan. He was barely twenty, much too young for being responsible for a child, never mind for one stuck in a battlefield. If he didn’t teach her well, she’d die and it would be his fault. The weight of the responsibility on his shoulders was almost too much. And yet, as Anakin looked at Ahsoka Tano with her slumped shoulders, he thought maybe.

The fact that the Council had just assigned him a Padawan, even if he could refuse her, still irked him and he’d be having words with them. This was not the Jedi way, but as his Master had pointed out endlessly over the last few months, none of this was the Jedi way.

“You're reckless, little one,” Anakin told Ahsoka.

She, somehow, managed to look even more saddened by that. They’d definitely need to work on that if she was to be Anakin’s Padawan. He couldn’t have an adorable youngling commanding his men. Not that she’d be in command for a long time.

“You never would have made it as Obi-Wan's Padawan. But you might make it as mine.”

Ahsoka quickly lifted her head, staring up at Anakin with disbelief written all over her face.

Anakin cracked a smile. Maybe this could give birth to something great.

“Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir,” Anakin told her seriously.

Ahsoka beamed at him and quickly hurried to her feet to do a proper bow.

“Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir,” Ahsoka replied, almost stumbling over her words in her hurry to get them out.

Anakin smiled at her and then, remembering the warmth of Naboo, threw an arm around his new Padawan, hugging her from the side as he slowly guided her back into the direction of their company. He was glad this campaign was over. He needed to figure out what he was actually supposed to do with a Padawan and Ahsoka was likely going to crash within the hour from all the excitement.

New beginnings, Anakin thought, were worth it.

Translations:

“Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir.” - I will teach you everything I know. I know you as (my) Padawan.

"Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir." - I entrust you with my education. I know you as (my) Master.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Journey to Hogwarts// Chapter One - Home Sweet Home?

A/N: CHAPTER ONE to our new series! This was co-written with talented @kalimagik​ and edited by us all (@obsessedwithrandomthings​ @firewhisky-kisses​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​) - we so enjoyed the process of writing this, and we only hope you enjoy too! Any feedback would be so appreciated!

Warnings: Swearing

Series Masterlist

For all that the Ministry of Magic had suffered in its long and established history, it had never had to deal with five muggles landing in the office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Kingsley Shacklebolt thought he had seen it all; he had survived two wars, had suffered the deaths of countless friends and family, and had achieved the highest position of power in wizarding law. He had become the Minister for Magic.

Yet nothing could have prepared him for the letter from McGonagall, asking for his help with the muggles now sitting in her office. Kingsley rubs his temples before apparating to the grounds outside of Hogwarts; he didn’t need a seer to tell him that he would be ending this day with a headache.

--------

The tension hung thickly in the room as Professor McGonagall watched the 5 girls. Having taken their names already, there wasn’t much else to say. Kiara held her gaze firmly. She was astounded, but not going to look away until she got some answers. Ellie, Ana, and Des looked around the room in awe. Everything was exactly as it had been described in the books when it came to the Headmistress’ office.

Between the moving portraits, the ornate decorations, even the pensive floated in the open doors of the cupboard. It was so amazing. Mel, however, was fidgeting. As cool as this all was, none of them really knew what was going on.

“Excuse me, but what are we doing?” Mel finally asked. She even raised her hand. Professor McGonagall’s intense stare was enough to make anyone feel as if they were in a classroom.

“We’re waiting for the minister,” she replied solemnly. Kiara could just see McGonagall’s firm grip on her wand. She was weary of them all.

“Well, do you know how long this is going to take?” Mel pushed even further. “Who’s going to feed my fish? I only left enough food for a week!”

“I’m sure your fish will be fine,” Des turned to whisper to Mel, trying to calm the girl down.

“Bubbles McGee is my emotional support fish; I’ll have you know and I only left food for a week and didn’t tell anyone to check up on him!” Mel snapped.

McGonagall sighed through her nose, murmuring patiently, “The Minister for Magic will be here momentarily, then we’ll have some idea of when you will be back home to your… fish.”

Kiara could tell that Mel wanted to keep going, so she shot her a look, telling her to keep her mouth shut. None of them knew how much trouble they could potentially be in. A knock on the door caused everyone’s attention to snap from the awkwardness sitting in front of them.

“Uh, Headmistress, I hate to interrupt, but you’re needed in the great hall.”

Every single girl’s head slightly turned to peak at Ellie. Her cheeks were bright red as a result of Blaise Zabini’s sudden entrance into the room. The heads then swirled around to Kiara as Neville appeared beside him. Unlike Ellie, she was smirking and not embarrassed in the least.

“This is an emergency, Professor.”

The Headmistress nodded curtly, standing up from behind her desk. “There are charms and enchantments. I trust that you as young ladies in a strange place will not make a mockery of yourselves. Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Zabini, please stand and wait outside.”

Professor McGonagall’s emerald green cloak swept across the floor, it was almost as if her feet weren’t even touching it. Neville and Blaise stood aside to let McGonagall out of the room. The two looked over the group sitting in the office once before closing the door.

The moment that the lock clicked into place, Ana jumped out of her chair.

“Uhh, what are you doing?” Ellie questioned, swiveling around to watch as the blond hopped up the small stairs to where the Sorting Hat sat.

“Des, watch the door,” Ana instructed, looking at the hat closer. It was definitely old and musty, but it also sent something almost electrifying as she reached up to touch the brim.

Des grinned as she made her way to the door. She stopped in front of one of the portraits and met the eyes of Phineas Nigellus Black. “You look nothing like your descendant.”

Phineas Black snorted, breaking the silence of the portraits. “I shall be taking that as a compliment.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…” Ellie pointed out. “What if something happens. We did just wind up in Hogwarts. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But we have gotten to see McGonagall, Neville, and even Blaise,” Kiara wiggled her eyebrows as she got up to join Ana.

“We’ll be right here, Ana,” Mel chimed in. She didn’t necessarily want to go first, but she was intrigued. It wasn’t everyday that you could be sorted by the very Sorting Hat that you’ve read about for years.

Eyes were wide as Ana picked the hat up off the shelf. Its face appeared almost instantly. It let out a yawn before it began to speak in a sing-songy way.

Adventure awaits for those who choose to accept it.

Not everything is what it seems,

But you all have the means.

Don’t forget from where you came, the path is lit.

If you choose to remain here,

A life new for you begins.

If the choice thins,

Leave this world with clear air.

Your placement is just that,

You’re getting it from a hat,

I have seen things from the past,

But the future arrives fast.

Keep your friends close,

Don’t let them go.

They will be more important than you know.

If you forget, you shall be left morose.

Now try me on,

Let’s see where you fall.

With me in your head,

You will hear the call.

“Woah,” Ana’s eyes were wide. The hat was calling out to them. She had to try it on. Pulling the hat over her hair, it sunk down below her eyes. The talking sent chills down her spine and the hat’s words are something that she will always hold close to her heart.

“Gryffindor!” the hat called out. The grin on Ana’s face told her friends all they needed to know.

“Ki, here. I think it’s your turn.” Ana’s grin held steadfast as she plopped the hat on Kiara’s head.

“Slytherin!” that hat called a mere moment after touching the girl’s dark hair.

“Okay, it’s my turn! El, watch the door!” Des made her way to where Kiara and Ana were already standing, throwing the hat onto her head.

“Gryffindor!” Des squealed, passing the hat to Ellie by the door.

“Common, nothing bad has happened yet!”

Ellie slowly pulled the hat down over her eyes. “Hufflepuff!” It shouted.

“Mel, you’re the last one.” Ana took the hat from Ellie, carrying it towards the girl who still sat in her chair, not yet moving. She took the hat eagerly. It took a bit longer than the others, but ultimately the hat made its decision.

“Slytherin!” Mel’s smile rivaled Ana’s when she first tried on the hat.

“Brilliant! Now we all know which houses we really belong in,” Ana clapped her hands, taking the hat shortly after and carefully placing it on the shelf. The hat looked as if no one had touched it.

Ana had just taken her seat when one swift knock signalled the reentry of Professor McGonagall and the entry of the Minister of Magic. Kingsley Shacklebolt glides into the room, looking at each girl. “I got your letter, Minerva. You were right; I had to see this.”

His deep brown eyes ran over each of the women individually; not missing how they shrink slightly under his investigative gaze. “Ladies, welcome. I’m sure you know where you are.”

They each nodded. “Nevertheless,” Kingsley continued, “You must understand how unusual this is.”

“That’s an understatement,” Kiara whispered under her breath.

“Oh! You’re the Minister of Magic! I’m happy that was true!” Ellie turned giddy. Kingsley, however, chose to ignore her comment, no matter how odd it was that a muggle knew about his position.

He nodded in greeting before speaking. “As you all know, this is highly unusual. Muggles should not be able to access Hogwarts. We are going to have to ask you questions. The ministry’s aurors will take care of that. If you would please follow Headmistress McGonagall, we will begin your individual sessions.”

“Alone? We can’t be questioned together?” Des spoke up.

“It is customary,” Kingsley replied simply.

One by one, each girl followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors. Neville brought up the rear, so naturally Kiara hung back. Ellie and Mel were chatting about the school towards the middle. Gushing about all the points that were correct in the book and the aspects that were completely left out, like the skylights that allowed so much sunlight into the darker corridors. Des and Ana were right up front, each thinking about what Kingsley Shacklebolt had in store for them.

“Anastasia? Follow me.” Ana entered the Great Hall first, no students to be seen anywhere yet. She exited in a little over half an hour, head still held high. “Kiara Jones.” Ki went next, exiting with the same grace that she’d held up through the entire journey so far. “Eloise Vienneau.” “Desiree Leighton.” “Melanie Hunter.”

Each girl in and out. Only consoling smiles could be provided in passing, no one daring to say much of anything at this point. They all endured the same rigorous questioning and felt as stressed as the one before them. Waiting in the hallway, students began passing by, whispering as they saw the girls years ahead of them.

Mel was starting to get anxious. The Aurors, Kingsley, and Professor McGonagall seemed to be taking ages in the Great Hall, no doubt discussing what to do with them all.

“Do you think they’re going to tell us what’s going on soon?” Mel asked, breaking the silence.

“If we don’t know what’s going on, I highly doubt that they do…” Kiara picked at her nails.

“They are well versed in magic though. They could have some ideas!” Ellie pointed out, taking Mel’s hand in her own.

“This is all just too unbelievable! When are they going to tell us something?” Mel hopped out of her chair and began pacing. The ground beneath her feet almost seemed as if it was heating up as her thoughts spiralled. Then, the candles began flickering.

“Uhhhh, Mel?” Des seemed to notice the change first. “Mel?!”

“WHAT?!” BOOM! The momentary outburst was just enough for an explosion. The side wall of the corridor cracked and a hole appeared...almost as if it was a way out.

“Woah.” Kiara’s jaw dropped.

“D-did I do that?” Mel asked, stepping away from the wall.

Before anyone could even begin answering her, the Great Hall doors swung wide open. “What is happening out here?!” Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened when she saw the hole. “WHO did this?”

Each girl stood in front of Mel, willing to stand with her to the end. Kingsley stood behind Professor McGonagall, with a small smile on his face. “It seems to me, Headmistress, that these young ladies may have magic. We shall figure out what their appearance means later, but I think we must see if they all possess a gift. Perhaps we should make arrangements?”

“You mean they are going to stay here?” Neville asked from beside McGonagall.

Kingsley turned back to the girls. “We’re unsure how you arrived or how to send you home, so we will have to find you places to stay. Mr. Zabini and Mr. Longbottom will escort you back to the Headmistress’ office. Wait there for further instructions.”

--------

For a while, they all felt comforted by the very presence of each other. If they were to stay here for an unknown amount of time, they were all in unspoken agreement that they would have each other to lean on through it all.

McGonagall remained seated at her desk. Blaise and Neville returned to flanking her as if bodyguards. Though they stood behind McGonagall their eyes were on a girl each. Blaise ran his eyes over Ellie, appraisingly, clearly happy with what he found when a slow smirk graced his lips.

Kiara watched Neville; each in a game of stalemate. Their conversation from the corridor played in both of their minds. The first of many, they both hoped.

The atmosphere in the office became charged as a knock sounded on the heavy wooden door. McGonagall’s voice rang out through the large office, granting those waiting outside permission to enter.

A small crowd of adults made their way into the room in a single file line. The five girls stood from their seats, following McGonagall’s lead. Upon the sight of the younger Malfoy, Mel brushed down her clothes and hair, making herself look somewhat presentable despite her sudden outburst of magic a moment ago.

Des’s eyes followed the lithe figure of a man each girl is familiar with. Sirius Black strutted into McGonagall’s office with the air of someone who had walked into their second home. Des’ eyes ran over the man, resisting the urge to shout ‘I told you so’ to his ancestor to the right of them. Remus Lupin accompanied Sirius into the office, Tonks not far behind. They had been aware of a situation in the castle, but they didn’t expect to see five supposed muggles standing a few steps behind McGonagall, each looking as if they’d fallen asleep expecting a dream and had instead, woken up in a nightmare.

The famous red hair of the Weasley family entered last; closing the door to the office behind them. Molly Weasley led the pack with Ron, George, and Fred following close behind her; Ron’s wary eyes running over the group of girls.

All families stood in the foyer to the office, all eyes on the five girls. The five girls eyed them all back, not sure whether to be star struck or nervous.

“Is this what Bubbles McGee feels like?” Mel wondered quietly. An amused snort left Kiara but both girls quickly fell silent with a look from McGonagall.

The silence was heavy, no one really knowing what to do, but Ana couldn’t hold it in anymore. She’d been looking at the twins for a moment too long. “FRED! YOU’RE ALIVE!” she squealed, feeling the excitement and relief flood over her.

Ellie quickly elbowed her in the ribs, knowing it would be better to keep their knowledge about the Wizarding World a secret. Des, Kiara, and Mel were no help though as they joined Ana's outburst. Ellie was relieved too, but she couldn’t help but shake her head while Fred just looked at his brothers with a massive smirk on his face. He could get used to five girls being happy that he was alive and around.

McGonagall cleared her throat, bringing the girls’ rambling to an end.

“We’ve encountered an unusual situation. These five girls landed in my office over two hours ago now and we have no idea why. Minister Shacklebolt questioned them and they’ve been determined to have magical powers though to what extent, we do not know.” McGonagall fixed her gaze on the five girls behind her, “Would you introduce yourselves to our guests?”

Individually, they introduced themselves for the second time that day.

“Desiree Leighton.”

“Melanie Hunter.”

“Eloise Vienneau.”

“Anastasia Weston.”

“Kiara Jones.”

Narcissa Malfoy stepped forward, a smile painted across her vivid red lips, “What would you like us to do, Headmistress?”

“As I stated in my owl, I’d like you to house these girls. They are to report to me each morning before their lessons here, but they need a place to stay where they can also come to terms with this extraordinary situation.”

Sirius stepped forward, grey eyes on Des, “I’ll take Desiree, if she’d like? She’d be very comfortable at Grimmauld Place.”

Des beamed, “I have a feeling I’ll be very comfortable there too, thank you.”

Remus stepped forward, clapping Sirius on the shoulder, “Would Kiara like to come with us? It would help with the trip to Hogwarts, and I have a feeling you’d like to start Herbology early.” Remus, as observant as ever, had not missed Kiara’s quick glance at Neville when introducing herself.

Molly Weasley raised her hand in the air, “We have room enough for one. We’re housing Harry at the moment until he finds his own place to stay so it’s only Bill’s room that’s empty as of right now.”

Ana smiled at the matriarch of the Weasley family, “I’d like to stay with you if that’s okay? I like the idea of being with a large family.” Ana played with her fingers shyly as she waited for Molly’s response.

Molly beamed, warm eyes crinkled at the corners, “Of course, dear.” Her eyes individually meet those of each girl, “Though you are all welcome at the Burrow any time. And Ana, I’ll take you to Diagon Alley to get whatever you may need for school.”

All of the other families nodded in agreement, letting a wave of relief float over the girls. They now had a little peace of mind knowing that they didn’t have to worry about buying robes, books, wands, and potions ingredients themselves.

“Would any of you like to stay with the Malfoys?” McGonagall prompted, a hand outstretched toward Narcissa and Draco.

Mel stepped forward as if propelled by a deep instinct, hand in the air. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Ellie smirked, “Of course you do. I’ll also go with the Malfoys.”

Mel grinned at Ellie, “Eager to see another Slytherin, Ellie?”

Ellie laughed, “Just as eager as you, Mel.”

McGonagall clapped her hands together, calling the room's attention to her. “Now that that is settled, I’ll let you go with your respective families – please don’t cause too much trouble.”

McGonagall watched the girls walk away with a familiar feeling settling deep in her gut. Minerva McGonagall had survived the Marauders, had survived the Weasley twins and yet she had a feeling these five girls were going to cause more trouble than the Marauders and Weasley’s put together.

******

Journey to Hogwarts taglist: @just-an-outstanding-auror​ @jenniweaslee​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​

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Chapter 12: The Petals on Her Brow

“No.”

“But—”

“No. Close your eyes.”

“This is boring! Do I really have to—”

“Yes.”

“But—"

“Yes. You do. I will not tell you twice.”

— — —

Back in the cabin, Team Regular People had set up camp in the living room.

Only about an hour had passed since breakfast, but in that time, they’d already managed to turn the couches into literary chaos. On the coffee table, stacks of atlases and maps had been supplemented—then supplanted—by the hundreds of pages of chemistry notes that Nott was supposed to be preparing for the summer semester. Jester similarly had strewn all her summer homework onto the carpet. Fjord was half-slouched in an armchair buried nose-deep in a tome titled The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, looking for all the world like would rather throw himself into the ocean than keep reading.

And as those three languished in the rigors of academia, Caleb, Beau, and Caduceus were sitting at the kitchen table, hunting for Yasha’s mystery flower. So far, they had already eliminated almost everything growing in Eastern Europe, though Caleb had been convinced for a while that the flower was liverwort.

“Its name is ‘Leberblümchen’ in German,” he said. “We used to see it in our garden.”

Beau stared critically at the page, then turned to examine Yasha’s drawing. “Your thing isn’t pointy enough,” she said. “And it doesn’t have enough of those…stringy things in the middle.”

“Liverwort is usually blue, too,” Caduceus said. “Sorry, Mister Caleb.”

He sighed. “It is fine, perhaps we should move farther south.”

Beau pulled over another book and started flipping through the pages. “Do you miss being home?” she asked idly. “I know you haven’t been back there in a while.”

She mentally kicked herself when she noticed Caleb’s smile turn melancholy.

“Oh, fuck, I didn’t mean to remind you—”

He shook his head. “No, no, it is alright, Beauregard. I do miss it, of course. In many parts. Your beer in America is piss poor, for example.”

She immediately rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you say that all the time.”

“It’s a sticking point. Oh, and your trains are very bad—”

“Ugh, I know—”

“—and none of your restaurants know what eggs and soldiers is.”

“No one knows what the hell that is.”

“I don’t,” Caduceus piped up. “What is that?”

“It is a soft egg eaten with little strips of toast. It is the only way to eat toast,” Caleb said wistfully.

“It sounds like you haven’t been back in a while.” Caduceus dipped his head. “It must be difficult, being so far from your family like that.”

“Ah.” Caleb’s expression changed. It was subtle, but the softness in his eyes went still. “That is…I do not have family there, anymore.”

“Oh, I—Caleb, I’m sorry—”

He raised his hand. “It is alright, Caduceus. You did not know. It is not, ah….”

“He doesn’t go around advertising it,” Beau said.

“Well,” Caleb huffed, though not at all angrily, “that is certainly one way to put it. And…yes, to elaborate a little more, since the rest of these people already know, I…some time ago, something happened back home and I decided to leave. It…was not an easy choice, but inevitable, I think, in some ways. And while I do miss Germany, as I said, being here, with my friends, has helped me quite a lot. I am…I find that when I say ‘I’m okay,’ lately, I mean that more and more.”

“You should’ve seen him before,” Beau grinned. “He had such a stick shoved up his ass he could barely smile—though, uh, I guess that’s not surprising since—”

She shut her mouth. She opened it.

“I’m going to go back to staring at flowers now.”

Caleb snorted. He slid another book across the table. “Here, try this one,” he said. “Plants of Italy. If it is not in here, we switch to the Americas.”

She took it. “Thanks. Here’s hoping.”

“Let’s go for another thirty minutes,” Caduceus said. “Don’t forget, it’s important to stretch and take breaks.”

— — —

“Seriously, if you don’t let me, I’ll die.”

“You will not.”

“I will. I swear, I will. I have to take a break. Ten minutes. Five minutes! Sixty seconds, at least, or I drop dead.”

From her perch on the large grey boulder that lay at the edge of the woods behind the cabin, Yasha opened one eye and saw that Mollymauk was already lying down.

He’d rolled off his log and was even in the grass. She frowned. “You are not even trying.”

“I tried, but none of this makes any sense! Sit still and try to ‘feel myself’?” He made air quotes. “Yasha, dear, if that’s what you really wanted, I definitely would not be sitting still.”

He waggled his eyebrows. She ignored him.

“Controlling your energy instinctive,” she said instead. “It is tied to our ability to see and read auras. But because you do not know how to do either, I am doing my best to explain it to you. This is the only way I know how. You are really not taking this seriously.”

“You think I’m not taking this seriously?” He scoffed. “Do you really think I would put myself through any of this if I didn’t think I had to? Need I remind you that my family was attacked by those crazy bikers as well?”

“What? They are not your family,” she blinked. “We were your family. But you left us when you fell.”

He made a show of dramatic incredulity. “Then I also need to remind you, dear, that I haven’t the faintest idea what that means. I’ve got amnesia, remember? Accidental hellfire and devilish charms aside, I really am not a demon. Not culturally.”

She frowned. “Culturally?”

“And I’d really prefer not to dwell on it,” he continued. “As far as I’m concerned, as soon as I get this ‘aura’ nonsense under control, I’m going to go home and get back to living an extraordinary, charmed, non-demonic life.”

Her frown took on a confused note. “But…you are a demon. That is that.”

“No, no, you’re not getting it, Yasha.” He rolled over and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me. Whoever had this body before, maybe, maybe that person could’ve been a demon. But whoever that was, they weren’t me. They were just some stupid asshole who got buried in the earth for, for—I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t even care. Because it’s no concern of mine.”

“Er…buried?”

“Long story,” he shrugged. “Not important. What is important is that the person you see now, that person is me—Mollymauk Tealeaf. Fortune-teller, sword-spinner, lover of…well, lover. You aren’t going to get anywhere until you at least understand that. Alright?”

He rolled back over, crossed his arms on his chest.

“Besides, it seems as if—at least, from the context clues that I’ve pulled together myself—you’re missing a few memories too, aren’t you, Angel? Maybe you should try reinvention.”

Yasha was silent a moment. Eventually, “But I still know who I am. I did not lose that.”

“A pity.”

“It is…no, it is not a pity. It means I still have a purpose. And a past.”

Molly scoffed. “A past isn’t worth bragging about. The present, though, now the present is something.”

She titled her head. “Er…meaning?”

He waved a hand. “Well—well, okay, for example, can you honestly tell me that you aren’t enjoying what you have right now? In this cute little cabin? I still happen to be offended that you don’t think the carnival is my family, but you seem to have found one of your own, too. These people, here, and their delicious pancakes.”

“W—yes, the pancakes are good, but—"

“And those tiny little blueberries, delicious!” he sighed. “I haven’t had berries that sweet since…who knows?”

“You…like sweet things?” Yasha blinked. “Wait, go back, what was it that you said about family?”

“Oh, so you do care that you upset me?”

“I did?”

“Of course you did! My god, The Fletching and Moondrop might not’ve been the most functional of units, it might not’ve been the most traditional, but I certainly cared about them a lot. They found me when I had nothing, was no one. They gave me a home. They took care of me. They were my whole world, and trying to deny me that is basically like—it’s spitting in my face!”

Her gaze drifted downward. “I did not know. I am sorry.”

“Oh, cheer up, cheer up!” He scrambled upright. “You didn’t know, it’s alright, Yasha. God, have I just made an angel feel guilty? Isn’t it supposed to be your job to do that?”

Her brow furrowed. “I have been trying to do my job for two hours. I am supposed to teach you. You do not listen.”

“Because that’s boring. Sitting still is no fun.”

“I explained it already, Mollymauk. You are not just sitting still, you are centering yourself to connect with the world’s energy, then turning it inward—”

“Oh, I know! Why don’t I teach you, instead?”

She stopped. Her brow furrowed. “You…what?”

“Let me teach you something!” He clapped his hands together, eyes shining with glee. “Come on, come on, what do you say? It can be anything you like! Tarot reading!”

“No, what—”

“Alright, alright, it’s not for everyone, okay…how about sword spinning?”

She frowned. “Why would you do that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why not? It’s flashy, exciting, and you can show off your skills! What, think won’t don’t have the dexterity for it?”

Something in Yasha bristled. “I am good with swords.”

“Then prove it! I’ll go back into the house right now and fetch the glass ones, then—"

The fog cleared; she caught on. “Wait, wait. If you go in, I am sure that you will not come back out.”

He laughed, completely unashamed. “Fine, fine, how about…oh! Why don’t I teach you to make flower crowns?”

She immediately opened her mouth in protest, but for some reason, somewhere along the line, the response that came out was a semi-choked, “Huh?”

“Flower crowns!” He grinned again, sensing weakness. “Come on, it’s great if you like flowers. Don’t tell me you don’t have those in Heaven.”

“I…it is called Elys—of course we have flowers.”

“Perfect! Do you have a favorite kind?” He leaned forward. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be quick, and then I’ll absolutely pay attention to the energy stuff. Just ten minutes! Only ten.”

She wanted to argue again. She knew she had to, it was her duty, her responsibility to tell him no way, to pick him up and throw him over her shoulder and sit him up straight and threaten him until he listened…

But what she said was:

“…fine. Ten minutes, and then we start again.”

“Yes!”

— — —

“Do you think he’d look good with pink instead?” Jester let a strand of Caleb’s hair fall from her hand and back onto his shoulders. “Caduceus could probably help, too. Couldn’t you, Caddy?”

“Sure I could.”

“I don’t know,” Nott rubbed her chin. “I mean, pink, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great color—”

“Thank you.”

“—but close to the original. If we’re going to do a dye job, it should be wild.”

Caleb counted to ten. “The ‘if’ in your statement should sound more hypothetical,” he said.

“Well, it’s only if you want it, Caleb. But you know, you’d look really cool with dyed hair!” Jester gushed. “How about a streak? Like Fjord? To be stylish?”

“I’m glad you think I’m stylish,” Fjord called from his armchair, Conventions now draped across his face. “But you know I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Right, right—”

“What, really?” Nott glanced at him. “What happened? Don’t tell me it was a prank someone pulled.”

“Why?” he grunted. “Upset you didn’t do it first?”

“Yes! Of course I am!”

He sighed, and tugged the book off his face. He ran a hand through his short black hair and found the shock of white streaking through it.

“I got it in the accident. With the shipping company, remember? That whole thing with the engine malfunction. Big storm, boat went down, but, uh, I got rescued.”

“Yeah,” said Nott, immediately relenting. “I…remember. You nearly drowned.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I noticed this grey streak after leaving the hospital. So…either a nurse used some real strong hair dye, or…I dunno, maybe it was from the stress?”

Jester very quickly reached over and squeezed his hand.

He gave a tiny smile. “It’s alright, it’s been a while since it happened. And you know, thanks to all the bad press they got after, they had to do something for me. So…it balanced out.”

“They sent you to college,” said Caduceus, remembering. “The scholarship?”

“Yeah. And an offer to work for them again after I graduate.”

“Hell no!” screeched Nott. “Are you kidding me? After everything that happened, do they really expect you to work for them again? Or even to go out on the water?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I really liked sailing, I…I miss it sometimes, actually. But I probably shouldn’t go back to them, that’s true.”

“What was the name of the company?” she demanded. “I’m going to leave them terrible reviews.”

“I don’t think you can do that for corporations.”

“Just give me a name, Fjord, it’ll make me feel better, if not you.”

He sighed and put his book back on his head. “U.K. Toa Shipping Industries. Have fun.”

“U.K.?” Caleb gently tugged himself free. “It is British?”

Fjord was quiet for a moment. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I don’t actually know. I always assumed so, but I guess I never asked.”

“That’s it,” Caduceus suddenly said.

They all turned.

“That’s what, Caddy?” Jester said.

“Fjord’s accent,” he grinned. He sounded incredibly satisfied. “You’re British now, aren’t you? I knew there was something different.”

A pause. Then:

“Oh my god, I completely forgot—”

“Nott—”

“That’s right! You did do that, Fjord—”

“Jester, I’m begging—”

“You told me you were Texan,” Caduceus nodded. “You talked all…twangy, before. In freshman year.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Nott all but beamed.

“I want to die,” Fjord moaned. “I want to die, it was—it wasn’t a phase, but…oh god…” He sunk down even lower in his chair.

“It’s a sweet reason,” Jester said supportively. “Real sweet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Fjord, can I tell him?” she asked.

He vaguely waved his hand and Jester removed his book to tap him on the nose.

“Well, you see, Fjord did it partially ‘cause he was going to America and he didn’t want to stick out as the British kid. But he also did it because he wanted to remember his old captain. Vandren.”

“He was Texan,” Fjord mumbled. “And it wasn’t just, you know, remembering by itself, it was also…I dunno, I wanted to emulate him. He was…he had this way of commanding a room that just…you know.” He shifted awkwardly. “I…I wasn’t the…most confident person, before. When I was younger, especially. But putting on a mask, pretending to be Vandren, it…helped. Especially since nobody knew me here.”

Caduceus hummed his understanding, and nodded.

“What changed?”

Fjord’s cheeks colored. “Well…you know. After a while, I realized it was…pretending to be Vandren was preventing anyone from knowing me. The mask was comfortable, but it wasn’t…true.”

Caduceus smiled. “Jester was right. That is very sweet. I’m happy for you. And this accent isn’t bad.”

Fjord chuckled. “Thank you,” he tipped his book like a hat. “That is—thank you kindly, partner.”

“It’s tragic that you decided to be genuine,” Nott sighed, leaning back into a cushion. “Your southern accent was way hotter—”

“I got it!”

This outburst came from Beau, who had ended her break early to resume the search. Fjord all but threw himself out of the living room in pursuit of this new distraction.

“What?” he asked, sliding into the kitchen. “Is it a match?”

“Fuck yeah it is, look! Everyone, look!”

The rest trailed in behind him and gathered around Beau, who was practically vibrating.

“Trientalis borealis! The starflower!” she yelled. “Here it is—” she slapped Yasha’s drawing onto a page displaying a faded photo. “It’s a perfect match, seven pointed petals, a lot of yellow stringy stuff in the middle. And it’s tiny. Half an inch wide.”

“The starflower is one of the more common spring wildflowers native to eastern North America,” Caleb read, sitting down in the chair next to her. “The species name borealis refers to being from the north, although this plant is also distributed in the Midwest and the higher elevations of the southern Appalachian Mountains. Depending on latitude and altitude, starflowers generally bloom from mid to late spring into early summer.”

He leaned back, and gave Beau an amazed look. “You are right, this photo is exactly the same. You…you did it, Beauregard, that is…incredible.”

She punched the air. “Now who’s the king of nerds?! Wait, gross…”

— — —

“—little longer, you just need a second color. Something, hm…maybe blue. Or yellow. Preference?”

“P—what? Oh, uh…either is fine.”

Yasha and Molly had drifted away from their makeshift stools and into the forest, coming through the grass for summer blooms. Molly was flitting from flowerbed to flowerbed, plucking up stems and laughing when bumblebees had to spiral out of his way. Yasha had taken to sitting below a tree trunk, moving as little as angelically possible, so as to not disturb her crown.

Molly had placed it atop her head, and she could feel the petals on her brow. They were purple wildflowers. They were soft.

Yasha was always surprised by just how soft flowers could get—after all, they had to live outside all the time and there was so much danger, so much weather, it was a miracle they could grow at all. Still, it made her nervous to touch flowers; she was worried that her big, calloused hands would break them, maybe damage or ruin them somehow—

“Don’t be silly, love. You could never do such a thing.”

Yasha flinched, startled. “What?”

“Er…I just asked if you liked these,” Molly frowned. He’d flopped back down beside her and was showing off a hand of pudgy yellow blossoms. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Oh, er…yes. I am fine.” She blinked, and that whispered voice was gone. A second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all.

“In that case, look, look, what do you think?” He held the flowers up to the sun. “Nice, right?”

Yasha felt her face soften. A tiny smile crept into the corners of her mou—

“Hey, where’d they go? Yasha? Mollymauk? Where are you guys?!”

“I think I see them, through there—"

“Uh-oh.” Molly turned to Yasha and grinned. “I think we’ve been made.”

She groaned, and shut her eyes.

— — —

“—you understand how important this is?! We told you what the stakes were, I can’t believe you were picking flowers!”

“Hey! Why does everyone think I don’t understand anything? And anyway, Yasha was with me the whole time—”

“Oh, right, pin it on her, you asshole—”

“Fuck you, I’m not pinning anything on anyone—”

“Hey, hey, okay, calm down,” Fjord stepped between them and raised his hands. “Whoa, déjà-vu. Anyway, let’s just relax. Please?”

“She’s accusing me for no reason,” Molly said, hackles lowered but still with a bite.

“And he’s slacking off,” Beau glared.

“Yasha did say they agreed to take the break together,” Fjord reminded her. “And it’s the first day. It’ll take time to perfect the, uh, formula, right, Yasha?”

The three of them turned to look at Yasha, who was standing back with the rest of their friends, wearing an expression of absolute discomfort.

“Er…er…yes, right,” she said clumsily. “We just got…carried away.” She gave Beau a nervous nod. “Sorry.”

This was enough to soothe Beau’s foul mood. She sighed. “I don’t blame you, Yasha, I blame that one.” She jabbed a halfhearted thumb at Molly.

“Hey!”

“Just let her have this,” Fjord said.

“It’s not your fault,” Beau continued, ignoring them. “And—ugh, I hate being the bigger person—I get it. It’ll take time. You need breaks. I’m…sorry I freaked out.”

“Thank—” Molly began.

“Not you.”

“Well, It was worth a try.”

Yasha seemed more than relieved by Beau’s words. “You do not need to be sorry either, but thank you. And I will be more, ah, better next time.”

“Next time,” Molly grumbled. “Well, as long as she isn’t there, next time.”

“That is right,” Yasha tilted her head. “Beauregard, why did you come outside?”

From the back, Jester grinned. “Oh, Yasha, it’s so exciting!”

“That’s right!” Beau’s face lit up immediately, her annoyance at Molly all but melting away. “Guess what?”

“Er…what?”

She whipped out a book, small and bound with a soft green cover.

“I found it. Your flower.”

Yasha’s eyes widened. “You—what? You did? Where is it? What is it called?”

Her grin widened as she turned the pages. “It’s the Trientalis borealis, let me show you the picture—"

“Tren…” Yasha frowned in concentration. “The…three-foot…no, one-third—”

Beau actually laughed, then flipped the book around, pointing to a small picture beneath text. “Its common name’s ‘starflower.’ Sound familiar?”

“Star…flower.” Yasha hesitated. “That sounds…I’m not sure…”

“It would be ‘ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ,’ I think—” Caduceus said.

“Yeah?” Beau asked hopefully.

Yasha nodded. Her frown had vanished, and now she was staring at the book, nearly frozen, glued to the image of a little white flower. “…starflower,” she murmured. “ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ. You found it.”

“Hell, yes!” cheered Nott from between the others.

Yasha managed to tear her gaze away and this time, it fell on Beauregard.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “You…found it. Thank you.”

Beau’s cheeks flushed. She forced herself to stay still. “Oh, well, you know, it was…it…nothing.”

She did not resist as Yasha took the book, moving it closer to get a better look. “No, it is everything,” she said. “You did it.”

“Well—fuck, I mean, you know,” she scratched her neck and looked down, “I told you I would.”

“And you did. Thank you.”

“Now that she has found the flower,” Caleb cut in, both to Beau’s relief and disappointment, “we can start narrowing down a region. In fact, we already know from this book that the starflower is endemic to the United States.”

Yasha patiently waited for him to elaborate.

“That is, it grows near us. It is common on the east and west coasts, and is usually found in the early summer.”

He stepped forward, and with Yasha’s permission, flipped the page and showed her a map. Much of the US and Canada were blue.

She traced this with a finger. “Wait, then…does that mean I might have been in Iothia this whole time? Or right next to it?”

“That remains to be seen. It depends on how big Iothia is,” Caleb said. “And of course, again, exactly where it is. But we can use this map, and the geographical features we know, to compile a list of locations that would give you the most likely areas of Iothia.”

He gave Yasha a satisfied nod. “You are well on your way to going home, Engel.”

Her gaze fell back to the book. She turned the page to look at the flower.

Its name is ‘starflower.’ Isn’t that funny?

“Wha—why is that funny?” she said out loud.

“Hm?” Caleb cocked his head. “Why is what funny?”

She frowned. “The…name of the flower, I think. Or the…stars?”

“Actually, I was thinking that too,” Nott said. “Since, you know, you fell from the sky, right? And I guess these little flowers did too!”

Beau groaned. “So, this whole time, we were looking for a pun?”

“I think that’s irony, actually—” Fjord began.

Yasha blinked.

—and that whispered voice was gone…

When she looked up again, everyone was staring at her.

“Are you okay?” Jester asked. “You…is everything alright?”

—a second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all—

She shook her head, then realized that looked like a negative and managed to produce a weird, swooping nod.

“I am very happy,” she said quickly. “I am just…it is just a lot to take in. The flower. This…memory, it was…something important.”

Caduceus smiled. “Then it gets to be important again. This time, it’ll help you find your way home.”

Seven little petals. Bright like a star. Tiny enough to fit in someone’s hand.

She passed the open book back to Beau. She noticed Beau’s hand brush the flower.

“I…you are right,” she said, half to herself. “I think it will.”

“We all will,” Beau grinned.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN!

[yikesharringrove]

I dont know if I'm the only person who does this, whenever I have a fic or a headcanon I always have very small details about things that dont make it in just cause of how obscure they are, I was wondering if you had any of these for Steve with an ED? I know you cover most of it in your ballet au (I dont know how to spell the name-) But do u have any other thoughts on it?:)

I’m gonna put it under the little cut bc it got super long and it’s just a lot about eating disorders

So, I’ll do one for La Sylphide, and another just like, headcanons abt Steve with an ED

So, for La Sylphide, I actually have a deleted scene from Christmas break where Billy and Steve run into Tommy and he starts saying shit to and about Steve and getting really mean and aggressive, I mentioned Steve being bullied in high school and I wanted to bring this in and have that trigger Steve purging. Billy was gonna fight Tommy.

In that story, a lot of Steve’s dysmorphia and dysphoria go hand in hand. Because they’re gender non conforming and later come out as nonbinary, they have trouble identifying their dysphoria. They don’t have the vocabulary for it and it translates into this desire to do anything to be perfect. I mention in the fic that they take it to extremes because they are so lost in what “perfect” would be for them, they rely on the idea of the perfect ballerina.

Growing up in ballet, I knew a lot of people with eating disorders. Like, I had three really close dance friends all growing up, two of them struggled with an ED. I have one that I refuse to admit pls don’t look at me so this was based on that. Most professional ballerinas tend not to suffer from this, because they work out so much, and usually, they are just lucky genetically, but lemme tell ya, ballerinas going through puberty? Developing hips and cellulite and breasts? That can throw everything for a loop.

I think that when Steve reached this junction, going from growth spurt lankiness to developing muscle, broadening out, thickening up, that’s when the body issues began. They were finding a more adult body, one that is naturally thicker, but also they were finding a more “masculine” body and that was a real issue for them that they didn’t realize until they further understood their gender identity.

I think the eating disorder set in with the bullying, as well as the neglect and general abuse from their parents. They aren’t getting love, and they can’t figure out why, and since they already have an issue with their own body and weight, they decide that must be the issue.

In the fic, I kinda pictured them just eating enough to not pass out during a rigorous class, and then purging after class. But their bulimia is also super reactionary. Whenever something bad happens, typically with their parents, or with the whole Alex situation, their first instinct is to purge. This is linked to where it all came from, they are trying to figure out why they’re not getting the love they so desperately want.

There’s also such a vision in ballet of the perfect body, that when you don’t fit that, it can be detrimental. Steve saw themself as not fitting that mold, but knew that ballet was it for them, that’s all they ever wanted to do, and would do anything to get it. It all kinda blend together.

-

Now for regular Steve ED headcanons:

I have something halfway written, don’t know if I’ll finish it tbh, about Steve finding diet pills in his mom’s vanity. It kind of focuses on him slowly going through different forms of EDs, and it all centers around his mother calling him beautiful and saying “all we have is our looks”, kinda projecting onto him bc a lot of moms do that :/ and people in his life telling him stuff like “well, you’re lucky you’re pretty” so he has it ingrained in him that he’s a pretty face and that’s it, so he begins to hyper analyze his body, and the more he thinks about it, the more he spirals.

It goes into him talking about his body, and how beautiful he thinks it is, like he’s reached his final form, and he's like, emaciated. He talks about how elegant his collarbone looks sticking out, like that kinda thing. So it derives from this high society, from this everything is perfect, and I’m perfect, and my life is perfect aren’t I wonderful, as well as the pressure around him to be The Best, to be King Steve, to be this shining model of everything one should want, and his dad putting high expectations on him and then, losing his shit when Steve doesn’t reach them.

In either scenario, it comes from his parents, this one it’s just mostly his mother projecting her issues onto him until he collapses under them.

Here’s a snippet of the ficlet:

Billy wouldn’t understand. “Why are you doing this?”

Because of a mother that always said our looks are all we have and Steven, must you eat like such a piglet? and a father that would say if you were a girl I’d tell you to marry well and people respect you if you’ve got money and looks. Don’t be an idiot and lose them.

“It’s what I want.”

“It’s killing you.”

[maybeimamuppet]

the game is afoot

WHATS POPPING MY LITTLE MUPPETS WERE BACK YEEHA

ok serious time. there's been a murder! if you'd like to solve it you can, you'll have all the clues you need (and a few you don't!) let me know if you got it right in the replies!! if you don't want to solve along, just read like normal and enjoy a cute little victorian gay fit with a dash of murder.

also, I DID NOT COME UP WITH THIS CASE AND I OWN NO PART OF IT. I'm a whole idiot and not clever enough to come up with a sherlock level case on my own. so, people who made sherlock holmes: crimes and punishments, please do not sue me. i am a broke college dropout with no money. also, if you know the case, please don't spoil it for anyone else!

tw for murder and associated things (blood, mild gore, etc), internalized period typical homophobia, and drug mentions. if i missed any, please let me know!

otherwise, welcome back!!

---------

“Hullo!” Cady chirps as she enters the door to 221B Baker Street, not noticing the state her dear companion is in on the sofa. She looks up after hanging her coat on the rack to find her pale and perspiring, and hears a weak groan. “Good heavens, Janis!” Cady drops her things and runs over to her partner’s side. “Whatever happened to you?”

“I feel… deathly,” Janis groans.

“And you look it,” Cady tuts, checking her dilated pupils and feeling her temperature. “Don’t tell me you’ve returned to your old habits.” Janis allows Cady to check her pulse. It’s weak, far slower than it should be. “Your pulse is weak and dropping, we-we need to get you to the hospital straight away. You are dying.”

“The antidote,” Janis moans, pointing weakly to the table nearby. “Give it to me.”

“Antidote?” Cady asks. “You mean that you have been poisoned?! Don’t tell me you did this to yourself. Here, drink it all.”

“I was compelled to.” Janis takes the small bottle and downs the whole thing in one go. Just then, Mrs. Norbury comes into the room to announce the arrival of Inspector Hubbard.

“Oh, Ms. Sarkisian is unable to see anyone at the moment, she is unwell,” Cady says apologetically.

Janis suddenly pops upright behind her, seeming in perfect health. “Ah, Inspector. What is it this time?”

“A case for you, Ms. Sarkisian,” Damian says. “We’ve brought in two young bankers from the city. Sons of lords, members of the chamber, et cetera. They were found stranded in a rowing boat drifting down the Thames.”

“A romantic escapade gone awry,” Janis says boredly, turning around to examine her nails.

“What? Well-it’s true they were both in the buff, but…” Damian stutters. Janis simply raises an eyebrow at him and gestures between the both of them. He chuckles and nods. “I have another that might be more to your liking. Sir Rodney Bentcliffe has been murdered at the Roman Baths. And there’s no sign of a weapon.”

Janis turns to him again, eyes wide with delight. “I shall meet you there shortly. Are you coming, Heron?”

“I feel I must,” Cady tuts. “But I’ll have you know I’m against you going out, as your doctor and your friend.”

Janis boldly cups her face and kisses her forehead, making Cady blush. “I am fine, Cady. Now come on, grab your hat!”

—————

Cady looks around in apparent awe at the room they find themselves in. Janis does have to admit it is beautifully extravagant, decorated with large marble statues and a rather tasteful fountain in the center. “My, how beautiful!”

“With a dreadful murder,” Inspector Hubbard pipes up, casually approaching them. “The body is still in the steam room. We haven’t touched a thing, per your usual instructions.”

“Excellent,” Janis says. There’s a gleam in her eye as she continues, “Then let us begin. Were you able to identify the men who were with him?”

“Ah, yes! Sir Gregory Pitkin, the manager of the baths; Garrow, a lad from the city council; and Blinkhorn, an archaeologist,” Damian informs her. “I am of the opinion that it’s Garrow. He doesn’t seem right in the head.”

“We shall see,” Janis hums. “You found no murder weapon?”

“No, that’s why you were sent for. The victim and all three witnesses were locked in at the time of the murder, and remained so until we arrived. We had to pick the lock to enter!”

“Was anyone else here?”

“Yes, a Mr. Phillips, at the desk there. He called the police, and will be able to give you more details.”

“My thanks, Mr. Hubbard,” Janis says jokingly. Damian tips his hat in response.

“Anytime.”

Janis makes her way over to the desk then, and Cady follows once she realizes her companion is no longer by her side.

“Good day to you, my name is Janis Sarkisian and this is my friend and colleague Doctor Heron. Would you be so kind as to answer our questions?” Janis says with what Cady knows to be faux-politeness. At least people seem to buy it.

“Ah, certainly ma’am,” the man says, a hint of anxiety in his tone. Cady watches in slight awe as Janis’ eyes track up and down the man before them and she seems to learn several key details about him in just a few seconds. It never gets old, watching her friend at work.

“Please tell us the chain of events from the start of your day,” Janis asks to start with once her observation is complete. “Anything you remember. The slightest detail may be of utmost importance.”

“Very well, miss. I came in this morning at six-thirty to prepare the baths,” Phillips says. “I did my usual tasks, preparing towels and cleaning. The brazier was still burning.”

“Pardon? There was a fire burning all night?” Cady asks in slight worry.

“Yes, Sir Gregory ordered me to light the brazier yesterday,” Phillips explains. “It takes some time until the room is fully heated.”

“Ah,” Cady says with a nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“The gentlemen had a meeting at nine o’ clock this morning. I wanted it to be perfect,” Phillips says. “They had been in the steam room for… twenty minutes, when I suddenly heard shouting. I ran to the door, but it was locked. I couldn’t open it. So I ran to the street to call for the police. One constable came, then others, and they picked the lock. Then the Inspector came and informed us nothing should be touched.”

“And did you receive any other visitors this morning?” Janis asks, bouncing once on the balls of her feet as she scans the room.

“Nobody, until these men arrived. Sir Gregory was the first,” the man says. “Then while we were discussing work details, Sir Rodney and Mr. Blinkhorn arrived together. Mr. Garrow followed.”

“And then?”

“I waited until they had all entered the steam room, then I returned to the hall. The changing room door was open, so I should hear if they needed anything.”

“You would have heard if someone had entered or left the steam room?” Janis asks.

“Certainly, ma’am. The doors make a lot of noise,” Phillips says. One of the witnesses must be the murderer, then.

“Thank you, my good man,” Janis says, leading Cady off toward the steam room.

The changing room precedes it, a large rectangular room with marble benches and shelves to hold personal items. Three sets of neatly folded clothing sit on the benches. Janis scans them quickly and apparently doesn’t notice anything of interest, apart from the fact that one set seems rather more expensive than the others.

What does catch her eye is a bottle of champagne, unopened and in a bucket of ice to keep chilled. Clearly intended to be enjoyed after the session in the baths.

They enter the actual sauna room then. A constable guards the only door, and three men stand clad only in white towels at the other end near the brazier. Janis looks delighted as she heads to inspect the body first. Cady follows quickly.

“Good lord,” Cady breathes. “How dreadful.”

Sir Rodney lies sprawled against the marble bench, arms spread as he sits in a remarkably large pool of his own blood. Cady quickly learns the source, his left eye. Thin but bright red blood tracks down his face and to the floor around him.

“Yes, a death with a particularly… Roman flair,” Janis hums interestedly.

“Like the one you almost had an hour ago?”

“Come now, let us forget about that,” Janis says.

Cady watches as her companion crouches down to examine everything she can.

“The wound should not have bled so profusely,” Janis hums to herself, dashing around on her knees so as not to leave footprints and taint the scene. Cady observes as she inspects his nails and takes an earth sample from beneath them, and looks at the ring marks on his finger.

“Death would’ve been an hour ago at most,” Cady says when she’s allowed to inspect the corpse herself, judging by the temperature of the extremities and degree of rigor mortis. “And would’ve been instantaneous. A vile act of savagery.”

“Delightful,” Janis says, sounding genuinely excited. “Wait, don’t move!”

Cady freezes as Janis calls to her loudly, and watches as she bends to remove a small gold key from the pool of blood next to the corpse. Cady stands from the body once it’s been retrieved and turns to her colleague.

“We don’t have many leads here,” Cady says.

“What concerns me is that we have yet to find the murder weapon,” Janis murmurs, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “For now, we shan’t worry. Constable!”

“Yes, Ms. Sarkisian?” The constable guarding the door asks.

“Please have the body removed without disturbing anything else in the room,” Janis asks politely. A few more constables enter and gently remove the body, leaving only the pool of blood behind as evidence of a crime. Janis takes a small sample to be studied for more clues, then stands to begin assessing the rest of the room.

“Sarkisian,” Cady murmurs quietly, pointing to the man standing closest to the brazier. There’s a large, bloody handprint on his towel. He clearly discovered the body, but did he put it there?

“Hm,” Janis hums disinterestedly, turning a switch on the wall. Steam suddenly floods the room, making it difficult to see more than a foot or so away. Janis quickly flips it back off and waits for the steam to clear. “Interesting.”

She heads to the brazier then, assessing the embers as close as she can. A pair of spectacles rests on the edge, one lens cracked from the heat. Cady can tell from the thick glass that they are for myopia, otherwise known as the wearer being nearsighted.

Janis attempts to get closer, but the heat is too much. Some melted metal rests in the center. “Heron, please remind me to find a tool to remove this metal so that I may study it.”

“Yes, Sarkisian,” Cady says quietly, marking it down in her notebook. She wishes she could do as Janis does and store all the important information in her mind. But her notebook has come in handy more than once.

Cady dashes after Janis as she exits the steam room and is quickly approached by Inspector Hubbard, who asks if she has any objections to having the suspects taken to Scotland Yard. Janis says she has none, and the Inspector moves to he steam room to gather the men.

Janis heads to speak to Mr. Phillips once more to inquire about the key she found. “Mr. Phillips, how many people have keys to the steam room?”

“We have just the one, for now,” the man replies, standing from his desk to speak with them once again. “Sir Gregory gave it to me.”

“So, you opened the steam room this morning,” Janis says rather abruptly. “What happened afterwards?”

“I put the key in my desk, but when they called it had disappeared,” Phillips says, looking to his feet. “I-I don’t know where it is.”

“Did you leave at any point, or receive any visitors?” Janis continues.

“No, miss, I did not,” Phillips says. Even Cady can tell he’s lying.

Janis points to a bit of paper sticking out of his pocket. Cady notices it to be a sent telegram upon looking closer. “You are not telling the truth. You did leave your work this morning. You went to the post office to dispatch a telegram at around seven-thirty.”

“But-how could you-“ Phillips stutters. Janis smirks slightly.

“The telegram was for someone in Manchester.”

“But it’s imposs-“ Phillips stumbles again. Janis just raises an eyebrow, and he crumbles. “I shall tell you everything. My sister wrote to me yesterday, and she needed a reply. Our mother is unwell. I left the baths at around seven-twenty to tell her to pawn my old school uniform to pay for the medication. I was away for twenty minutes, and I closed the baths on my way out.”

“Did you check to see if the key was still in your desk when you returned?” Janis asks.

“N-no, ma’am,” the man stutters. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. Sir Gregory would sack me. I need this job.”

“I see,” Janis says, slightly coldly. “Do you happen to know who left the bottle of champagne on ice in the changing room?”

“Champagne? No,” Phillips responds, seeming to come back to himself slightly. “Do you think that it’s important?”

“We shall see,” Janis hums. “Good day to you.”

Janis then heads to a door opposite the entrance to the steam room, marked ‘frigidarium’. The cold room. Just inside the door to the right is a shoddy door, with a plaque labeled ‘Sir Rodney Bentcliffe’ just outside.

“This must be his workshop,” Janis hums, pushing the door open and stepping inside. It seems rather hastily put together, temporary tables set up to hold small archaeological finds, and shelves with larger items line the far wall.

“Sarkisian, I would like to examine the blood again, if I may,” Cady asks. Janis waves her off as she takes a pair of tongs from a table and leafs through a few documents on the desk.

Janis examines a large, curved metal plate, with a carving of a bridge etched into it. A short document rests on top explaining that it is believed to be part of a larger, unknown structure. Janis leaves it for now and heads further down the corridor to the frigidarium. She’s halted in her tracks by a thunderous rumbling. She blinks and is suddenly on her behind, a large wall of rocks and debris blocking her path down. She shakes herself off and coughs a bit.

“Janis! Are you alright?!” Cady yells, barreling down towards her. She skids to a halt when she sees Janis perfectly fine, if a little dusty, sitting before her. “Oh, thank heavens!”

Janis begrudgingly allows Cady to assess her for injuries, and her eyes fly open when Cady suddenly rests a gentle hand on her cheek and locks their lips together. This is new.

Unfortunately it doesn’t last, as Cady seems to realize what she’s done and pulls back with a gasp, scrambling away and pressing her back against the far wall. “I-I-I-“

“It’s quite alright,” Janis says soothingly. She gently pulls herself back to her feet and takes a small step forward, but Cady shakes her head frantically and stops her in her tracks. “Heron, really. It’s absolutely fine.”

“I-I’ll see you back at Baker Street,” Cady says hastily. Before Janis can say anything she’s running back down the corridor and outside, coattails trailing behind her.

“What happened with her?” Damian asks. Janis just shakes her head and dusts off her coat. “Are you alright?”

“Bit dusty,” Janis tuts. “Is there another way ‘round this?”

“Not that we’ve found,” Inspector Hubbard says. “If it becomes necessary we can remove the debris for you. I’m off to the Yard, would you care to accompany me?”

“Not just yet, I’ll likely be there tomorrow afternoon,” Janis replies, following him to the exit.

“Very well. Good day to you, Sarkisian.”

“Same to you, my good man,” Janis chuckles. She grabs the metal from the brazier in the steam room with the tongs and follows him out the doors once it’s cool enough to handle.

-

Janis hops out of the cab when it arrives at Baker Street, quickly paying and pacing off to the flat. Her hand is on the doorknob before she freezes and turns around to cross the street.

“Wiggins,” she calls when she notices it’s him. A watch for her secret police division is always there, but Wiggins is her personal favorite.

“‘Ello Ms. Sarkisian,” Wiggins calls back, resting down a toy cart he seems to be repairing. “What can I do for ya?”

“There’ll be two guineas in it for you if someone can track down Heron,” Janis says. “Don’t let her see you, just make sure she’s alright and let me know where she is.”

“Easy! I won’t let you down, miss,” Wiggins says, saluting before dashing off down the road. Janis grins affectionately and heads back upstairs.

——

Janis is too busy worrying for her companion to get any real work done, so she decides to reorganize her mind palace for a while. Cady’s wing could use some decorating.

After a few hours, a great cacophony of noise suddenly echoes downstairs, followed by the calls of Mrs. Norbury. Whoever it is wipes their shoes on the mat briefly before heading upstairs. She can tell by the polite gesture and the energetic step that Wiggins has made a return.

“We found Doctor Heron, miss!” He calls.

“Excellent. How was she?” Janis asks, sitting up before heading over to him.

“She didn’t seem very well, to be truthful, Ms. Sarkisian,” Wiggins says. “She’s in the park. But she ain’t going anywhere, just pacing about and cryin’.”

“Hmm,” Janis hums sadly. “Not much I can do about that, then. Here’s your payment.”

Wiggins skillfully catches the coins she tosses his way. “At your service, miss.”

Janis is deep in thought once more by the time he leaves.

————-

Cady enters the flat several hours later, finding Janis in her usual pose. Flat on her back on the sofa, hands pressed together in the praying position just underneath her nose. Unusually, she pops an eye open and sits upright when she hears Cady enter.

“Hello,” Janis says quietly. Cady can tell she sees right through her put-together facade. Of course. When doesn’t she? “Are you well?”

“Fine,” Cady whispers in agreement. She sheepishly makes her way over and hands Janis a pile of papers. “Here.”

Janis flicks through them. “Our rent agreement?” Cady nods. “Whatever for?”

“So I can move out,” Cady murmurs. “You won’t have to see me again, I’ll-I’ll handle it all.”

Janis snaps her head up to look at her, tossing the papers aside. “Why do you wish to leave?”

“You know what I am, Janis. You know how-how I feel about you,” Cady whimpers. “It’s unnatural. Why would you want to associate with me now?”

Janis gently approaches her dear friend. “You are missing a key element of the narrative, my dear Heron.”

Cady looks both baffled and terrified as Janis gradually gets closer. “And-and what would that be?”

“How I feel for you,” Janis purrs gently, wrapping an arm around Cady’s waist and resting her forehead against the redhead’s. “I admit I’ve grown rather fond of you over the years of our companionship.”

“You have?”

Janis chuckles quietly. “I have indeed. I’ve always thought matters of the heart trivial, a weakness. Waste of valuable brain power. But you’ve managed to work your way in regardless. And I find myself not wishing to attempt to remove you.”

“Oh,” Cady hums, flushing a spectacular shade of pink. “How-how long?”

“I couldn’t say exactly,” Janis says quietly, staring into the brilliant blue of Cady’s eyes. “But a very long time. How long for you?”

Cady grins up at her slightly. “Since the day we met.”

“Really?” Janis laughs. “After all that. I’m surprised.”

——

“Kenya or Tanzania?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you from Kenya or Tanzania?” Janis repeats.

“I-Kenya,” Cady stutters. “How did you-“

Janis rolls her eyes haughtily, seemingly having been through similar conversations before. “Your skin bears a lingering tan that implies you grew up near the equator. Your accent is African, and you have a large scar along your collarbone that could only have been created by a creature with large claws, most likely a lion or a tiger. Tigers live mainly around India, not Africa, so it was most probably a lion. The largest lion populations in Africa near the equator are in Kenya and Tanzania.”

“Incredible,” Cady breathes. Janis chuckles under her breath and raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do they normally say?” Cady asks curiously.

“Piss off,” Janis laughs.

—-

“You’ve been invaluable to me,” Janis murmurs. “I daren’t imagine life without you.”

“I love you,” Cady whispers back.

“And I love you,” Janis says. “May I-“

“Kiss me,” Cady demands. Janis happily obliges, resting a gently callused hand on her jaw and brushing their lips together. Cady gives a quietly delighted sigh and threads her arms around Janis’ neck, tilting her head for a better angle. Janis marvels in how soft her lips are. Maybe Cady will let her experiment on them.

Cady gasps quietly as Janis sucks her bottom lip between her own and gives a gentle nibble, allowing Janis to deepen their kiss and brush their tongues together. The soft groan Cady allows to escape nearly makes Janis’ knees buckle.

They both look a bit dizzy and disheveled when they have to break apart for breath. Cady gives the widest smile Janis has ever seen, and squeals in surprise when Janis scoops her up in retaliation. She has remarkable upper body strength for her build.

“You have no idea how precious you are to me,” Janis whispers, carrying her over and resting her down on her experiment table so their eye levels are just about even. Cady tries desperately not to think about the jar of-are those eyeballs?!- that Janis brushes away to make room for her. “My conductor of light.”

“Your what?” Cady asks lovingly, stroking a hand through Janis’ hair and gently scratching at the base of her scalp.

“‘It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light,’” Janis recites. “I read that somewhere. Some people without possessing a spectacular amount of genius have a remarkable ability to stimulate it.”

“Cheers,” Cady grumbles.

“Not in a bad way, my darling,” Janis amends. “You give me a… lens, so to speak. To shine my light through, give it a purpose. Conduct it. A light on its own has no point. The sun would be near useless without the atmosphere.”

“Oh.” Cady says. “I suppose that does make me sound useful.”

“You’re more than useful, dearest. You’re invaluable. Irreplaceable.”

“Yours,” Cady concludes for her. “Forever.”

“Does it bother you that the world can never know of us?” Janis asks quietly, nuzzling her nose against Cady’s.

“My world already does,” Cady hums, holding Janis’ face between her hands gently and staring meaningfully into her warm brown eyes. “Nothing matters to me but you.”

“I should hope your patients matter to you,” Janis teases. “Else we may get some strongly worded letters arriving soon.”

“You know what I mean,” Cady says, rolling her eyes. “Would you stay with me tonight?”

“Always,” Janis purrs, lifting her off the table and carrying her to a bedroom. She can’t help but notice that they seem to fit together perfectly when she tips Cady down into the bed and is immediately grabbed and held close. Like a puzzle.

—-

Janis yawns and stretches when she wakes the next morning, rather shocked to find that she apparently slept for at least a few hours. She can’t remember the last time she actually drifted off so easily.

She’s sprawled on her back, with Cady pressed against her side and her face tucked into Janis’ neck. Cady snuffles discontentedly when Janis gently kisses her forehead and removes herself, tucking her in a little tighter with the warm wool blankets.

-

Cady comes padding out of the room a full half-hour after Janis finishes her small breakfast, still in her nightgown. Janis grins slightly when she sees that she’s decided to add Janis’ robe and slippers to her little morning ensemble.

“Good morning,” Janis hums when Cady presses herself to her back as Janis looks out the window over Baker Street. “You look cozy.”

Cady just gives a quiet hum, not up to speaking quite so soon after waking up. Janis turns around to hold her, and Cady sighs contently as she’s held against her love. Janis rests her chin on top of Cady’s still unbrushed hair and closes her eyes.

“Did last night truly happen?” Cady whispers, muffled by Janis’ warm skin.

“I believe so,” Janis whispers back.

“Prove to me I didn’t dream it,” Cady begs quietly. “Please.”

“Shh,” Janis calms before cupping her face and kissing her sweetly. She feels Cady’s relieved sigh puff gently against her cheek. “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning, my love,” Cady beams back.

“Mrs. Norbury made your breakfast,” Janis murmurs after a long moment. “Should still be warm.”

“Have you eaten?” Cady asks knowingly, pulling back to look into Janis’ eyes.

“Yes,” Janis chuckles. “Not enough for your tastes, I know, but I have eaten.”

“Good,” Cady chirps. “I’ll get some calories in you yet. Where are you off to today?”

“Nowhere for the morning, I have some experiments to conduct here,” Janis replies.

“Anything I can assist with?” Cady asks politely.

“It’s nothing particularly interesting, just a few analyses on some evidence,” Janis replies. “I’ll be off to interrogate the suspects this afternoon, however, you can accompany me then if you wish to.”

Cady nods, allowing Janis to start her work. She begins with the sample of earth taken from beneath one of Sir Rodney’s fingernails. She finds it to contain pyrite, selenite, and white clay particles. Based on the composition, Janis deduces it is white clay, which is found only around the city of St. Albans.

Now to the blood sample. Under the microscope, Janis is able to observe that it’s still very liquid, and has not coagulated well. She drops a few drops of hydrogen peroxide onto the sample, which allows her to see that the blood has been heavily diluted with water.

All that’s left is the metal she discovered in the brazier. Janis believes it to be silver. A simple test is all that’s needed. Cady naively provides her with a silver penny. Janis drops a small amount of acid onto both the coin and the metal sample, and observes the same reaction on both. The result is the same red stain. The metal is, indeed, silver.

—————

Janis heads to the evidence room immediately upon arriving at Scotland Yard. Four evidence drawers await her on the table. Three suspects, one victim.

She begins with the victim’s belongings. Janis finds and sneakily pockets a hand drawn map, and closely observes an ancient coin, and a gold ring etched with an Egyptian symbol, which has been repaired by an amateur with silver. All that’s left is a small notebook.

“Heron, my dear, please fetch me a pencil and prevent anyone from entering the room,” Janis says, upon observing the last pages to have been torn out.

“Er… okay,” Cady says, handing over her own pencil and turning to guard the door. Janis sneakily removes Cady’s handkerchief from her pocket as well.

Just as Janis has finished carefully rubbing the pencil over the pages and smudging them with the handkerchief, a constable enters past Cady to inform them that the autopsy has been completed.

“Ms. Sarkisian, the body has been- but, tampering with the evidence!” He says in shock.

“‘Today, I almost found it. This date will go down in history,’” Janis reads from the book. “Sir Rodney was on the brink of an incredible discovery. Simple tricks, nothing terrific. I could only save the final words, however. The rest is lost.”

“Perhaps the autopsy can give us more information,” Cady says, skimming through the coroner’s report.

“I am not sure that I can allow you to inspect the body now,” the constable says anxiously.

“And I am sure that you must,” Janis hums disinterestedly, moving to the next drawer of effects. Cady waves him along and joins her partner at the table. The next drawer is Percival Blinkhorn’s, and contains nothing but a pencil and a letter from Sir Pitkin urging him to hurry his archaeological work. Rather threatening.

Garrow’s belongings are next, and contain only the bloody towel from the steam room and a small bottle of herbs. “Do you know what this is, my darling?”

“It looks to be St. John’s wort flower,” Cady says, flushing slightly at the pet name. “We use it commonly as a treatment for melancholia, but an incorrect dosage could cause a rash, or even hallucinations if especially poorly used.”

“Hm,” Janis hums, pocketing the phial as well. The last drawer is Sir Gregory Pitkin’s, and is apparently of the least importance to her. An embroidered handkerchief, a very expensive fountain pen with solid gold trim, and a business card.

Cady follows Janis down to the morgue then, to inspect the body in more detail. Janis carefully peels back the sheet to the dead man’s waist, and looks to Cady for details.

“Er…” Cady stutters, flipping quickly to the correct page. “Ah. No issues with the heart or lungs except traces of fungus, most likely contracted during his work in Egyptian tombs. No stomach or liver disease, if we are to accept that he was sixty three years of age and an occasional drinker.”

Janis carefully flips the body over, and observes bruising in lines around his shoulders and waist, caused by a rope. “He was descending.”

“Where?”

“That remains to be seen,” Janis says, turning him back over and observing his face.

“A strange wound, resulting in instantaneous death,” Cady explains. “Inflicted by a curved knife.”

“Curved,” Janis murmurs under her breath. “Well, my dear, I think we’ve seen all we can, do you wish to interrogate the suspects with me?”

Cady carefully washes her hands in the sink next to Janis. “Are they particularly dangerous, would you say?”

“I would think not,” Janis replies. “But then again, one can never know.”

“I suppose,” Cady says nervously, following her back up the stairs. “But be careful.”

“I always am,” Janis replies, taking her hand to help her back into the corridor. The constable unlocks the metal door for them and escorts the first suspect to the interrogation room. Janis heads over to the small wooden table in the middle and sits across from Sir Gregory Pitkin. Cady leans against the cold stone wall and attempts to look tough.

“Good day to you, Sir Gregory, I am Janis Sarkisian. I am aiding the police with the investigation of the murder that took place yesterday morning. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

Even Cady can tell that Sir Gregory is on edge, looking at them with a haughty air of disdain. He slams a hand on the table and demands, “Tell me, Ms. Sarkisian, will I have to stay here much longer?”

Janis decidedly ignores him and rests her hands on the table. “You are the manager of the baths, yes?”

“Yes. I wanted to restore the ruins. My goal is to open the baths to the public,” Pitkin says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back casually in the rickety wooden chair. “Living archaeology can be very profitable. Although now, I am not so sure.”

“I see,” Janis hums interestedly. “And when did you wish to begin your restoration?”

“When the archaeological researches are over, I am free to begin, it is the usual process,” Pitkin says loudly and haughtily, looking at Janis like she’s the scum of the earth. Janis simply raises an eyebrow before continuing.

“And what was the state of your relationship with Sir Rodney?”

“I’ll say we were not particularly close. He had an unpleasant temperament. Suspicious, authoritarian, unkind.” Pitkin spits. Cady thinks it sounds rather more like he’s describing himself.

“Was he obstructive in any way?” Janis asks. Pitkin seems to deflate slightly.

“Not in the slightest,” he admits. “Everything he did led us to greater success.”

Janis tuts slightly to herself before moving the discussion along. “Had Sir Rodney shown any odd behavior recently?”

“Now, see, I’m not a particularly suspicious sort,” Pitkin says. “But I think that he had professional interests elsewhere that he did not wish for us to know.”

“Why should you think that? Where?” Janis asks interestedly. Maybe they’re finally getting somewhere.

“I have no idea,” Pitkin replies with a shrug. Janis huffs slightly. “It’s not my business, after all.”

“How was work at the baths progressing before the arrival of Sir Rodney?” Janis asks, closing another lead in her mind.

“Rather slowly, I would say,” Pitkin replies airily. Janis pulls out a copy of the letter she had found with Blinkhorn’s personal effects.

“Then would you explain this letter? You expressed a desire to call off the work being done,” Janis says coyly.

“It’s all that damned Blinkhorn,” Pitkin spits. “Digging away merrily with little care and finding nothing of any value.”

“But Sir Rodney’s arrival changed your mind?”

“His work was extremely promising, and good for publicity,” the man explains. “So yes, I changed my mind.”

“Hm,” Janis hums kindly. “Would you please explain to me the events of yesterday morning?”

“It was a test, that morning, and a success,” Pitkin replies. “The steam was working well. But then, of course, that terrible murder.”

“And what did you witness?”

“The steam was too thick to see anything,” Pitkin says. “Ask that Garrow, he found the body first.”

“Ah, Garrow. Are you aware that Mr. Garrow is under a form of medication?” Janis asks.

“No,” Pitkin replies. “But I never liked that parasite.”

“Do you believe him to be capable of murder?”

“He did have blood on him,” Pitkin says. “Does that make him a murderer?”

“I shall ask the questions here. Do you know where the silver in the steam room brazier came from?” Janis huffs.

“Silver? No,” the man says with a hint of confusion.

“Did you bring champagne to the baths with you?”

“Absolutely not. Sir Rodney did, I think,” Pitkin replies.

“That’s all I have for you for now, good day to you,” Janis says politely, asking the constable to exchange him for the next suspect.

“Well, he was a pompous arse,” Cady huffs from her spot. Janis laughs and stands from her chair to stretch her legs.

“Agreed,” Janis chuckles. “I cannot say I haven’t been worse, but he is definitely one of the more… unique specimens I’ve interrogated. What are you thinking?”

“I think it’s either him or Garrow,” Cady replies. “Pitkin seems to me to be hiding something, and if the medication is anything to go by Garrow is clearly under some sort of duress.”

“Hm,” Janis hums. “Time will tell.”

The next man is brought in then. Janis waits for him to be seated and cuffed to the table, and apparently decides to remain standing for this one. Cady returns to her position and watches Janis assess the new suspect. His eyes are clear and focused, attentive. And Cady can tell from his clothes that he is most definitely not a man of wealth.

Janis gives her usual introductions, and learns that this man is Percival Blinkhorn.

“What is your occupation, Mr. Blinkhorn?” Janis asks almost kindly, as if they’re acquaintances simply getting to know one another.

“I am an archaeologist, I specialize in the Roman period,” Blinkhorn responds eagerly. His voice is clear, and remarkably soothing.

“Hmm,” Janis hums, sounding interested. “Can you tell me more about the baths?”

“Well, we were hoping to retrieve a great many interesting artifacts from the site, and to list any items of value before their eventual restoration and exhibition.”

“And has it proven successful?” Janis asks.

“It has, thanks to Sir Rodney,” Blinkhorn says. Cady detects a hint of melancholy in his tone.

“And what was your relationship like with him?” Janis asks.

“I couldn’t say that he was a kind man,” Blinkhorn replies. “But he was a talented archaeologist. I felt a great admiration for him.”

“Was this your first collaboration with him?”

“No, I had met Sir Rodney in Egypt, briefly,” the man says. “I shared my researches with him. Surprisingly, they convinced him to come here. He arrived only a couple of months ago.”

“Surprisingly?” Janis asks, leaning casually against the table.

“Well, Sir Rodney is-was, oh god- a cold man, and very secretive,” Blinkhorn says, looking at his lap. “But I learned a great deal from him in a short time. I cannot believe that he is dead…”

“Could you tell me what you saw yesterday?”

“We all entered the steam room and went to sit down,” the man replies. “The steam was particularly dense, and I couldn’t see anything much further after that. I just heard Garrow shouting. We all ran for the door and bumped into one another. I was very alarmed by this point.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, the door was stuck, and with all the steam it was quite frightening. I was barely able to see my own feet,” Blinkhorn says anxiously. “Garrow was covered in blood.”

“Do you believe that he killed Sir Rodney?” Janis asks. She does have to admit that much evidence seems to point his way.

“Oh, no,” Blinkhorn says quickly. “Garrow could not harm a fly.”

“Hm,” Janis replies. That certainly throws a small wrench in things. “Can you recall any recent behavior from Sir Rodney that would now strike you as strange?”

“Well, we had a small argument yesterday,” Blinkhorn admits.

“Is that all?” Janis asks, leaning closer to his face. It’s almost intimidating to Cady. And she’s not even nearby.

“No,” Blinkhorn says sheepishly. “Sir Rodney informed me that he was to attend the London Archaeological Congress with me. Then he rather aggressively advised me of the opposite.”

Janis nods slightly. “And how well were your researches progressing before the arrival of Sir Rodney?”

“Quite well, I would say,” Blinkhorn replies.

“Really?” Janis asks, raising an eyebrow as she catches the man in a lie. “This letter reveals that Sir Gregory was prepared to put a stop to your work at the baths.”

“Er… yes,” Blinkhorn stumbles, realizing Janis has him. “But since the arrival of Sir Rodney he had calmed down, allowed us to work. I’m not sure what they agreed on.”

“Hmm,” Janis replies casually, sitting on the corner of the table. “And what will happen now that he is dead?”

“Oh… I haven’t thought about that,” Blinkhorn replies quietly. He suddenly perks up a bit and continues, “But if it is needed I will fight to defend Sir Rodney’s expectations.”

“How admirable,” Janis replies boredly. “We discovered some melted silver in the brazier, can you explain its presence?”

“No, silver, you say?” Blinkhorn says curiously. “No, I don’t know how it got there.”

Janis nods, appearing to file the information away. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out Sir Rodney’s ring. “Do you recognize this?”

“Why, certainly. It is the famous Assouan ring,” Blinkhorn says, seeming a bit more chipper. “Sir Rodney brought it back from his last campaign in Egypt.”

“He kept it for himself?” Janis asks. From what she’s heard so far, Sir Rodney does seem the type.

“Sir Rodney has-had- his own… particular ideals of archaeology,” Blinkhorn explains.

“Mm,” Janis hums. She folds her hands behind herself and walks to the other side of the table. “What can you tell me about Garrow?”

“He always looks so sad,” Blinkhorn says. “And… he has been acting strangely, lately. He complains of visions and voices. I will keep an eye on him, I am worried.”

“Hm. And did you place the bottle of champagne in the changing room?”

“No, I did not.”

“I thank you, my good man,” Janis says, rubbing her temples as Blinkhorn is exchanged for Garrow, the final suspect. It’s quickly obvious to both Janis and Cady that Garrow is not well.

He takes his seat in the rickety wooden chair and folds his hands beneath the table, wringing his fingers. His eyes dart around the room nervously and he’s rocking himself back and forth slightly. He doesn’t seem to notice Janis speaking as she introduces herself and asks him to answer their questions.

“Ah, uh… um-“ he stutters when he finally looks up. His eyes are sunken slightly, and he’s covered in sweat. “Good day. I-I am Tristram Garrow.”

Janis nods almost comfortingly. “And what is your occupation, Mr. Garrow?”

“I-I-I am a councilor at the district chamber,” Garrow replies, still rocking slightly.

“Then what were you doing at the baths?”

“Well… I-I follow the researches,” Garrow says. “I’m… interested in-in archaeology.”

“You ‘follow’ them?” Janis asks.

“Yes. So many things happened, and-and we need to know,” Garrow replies. “Or-or perhaps it’s better hidden.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, I-I meant nothing by that, I apologize.”

Janis hums under her breath before continuing the interrogation. “What was your experience working with Sir Rodney?”

“Oh, it was like-like working with a genius,” Garrow replies. “He was… a hard man, but then, this is a hard world. Always people who want to steal from you. And-and he trusted me… but-oh-“

“Are you feeling quite well?” Janis asks in concern as the man before her suddenly beings rocking much more violently and his volume escalates.

“I’m sorry-his eye,” Garrow says frantically. “I remember-“

“Do you need anything?” Janis asks, already preparing to reach for the phial of his medication in her pocket. She wants to get as much out of him as she can before giving it to him, but she will if it becomes necessary.

“I-I feel bad, I can hear-“ Garrow says, looking around him to either side, appearing to see something that Cady and Janis can’t. “No-no. Nothing, I feel better now. My apologies.”

Janis gives him another moment to gather himself before she continues. “Please tell me what you can recall seeing yesterday.”

“The-the room was so hot, I had to remove my glasses,” the man begins much more quietly. So the myopic spectacles are his. “I was not feeling very well in there.”

“And you found the body?”

“I saw the-the knife, you know,” Garrow says, growing frantic again. “Flying through the air! And the blood, I tried to-to-to escape, I don’t-don’t remember-“

“You saw the knife? Are you able to describe it?”

“It was as if-if in a nightmare,” Garrow shudders, hunching in on himself. “E-everything happened so fast. It-it was shining like-like gold.”

“Gold? Hm,” Janis says under her breath before she moves on. “Had you noticed any strange behavior from Sir Rodney, as of recent?”

Garrow seems to think for a moment before he gives a weak nod. “He-he had been rather secretive these past few days.”

“Can you provide me any examples?”

“Last Thursday,” Garrow says. “I saw him leave. It-it was very late when he re-returned. He showed me some-some wet coins, Roman coins, and… he started to laugh.”

Janis pulls the coin she found out of her pocket. “Something like this?”

“Oh, yes,” the man nods. “This is the coin he showed to me. It-it is from the third century!”

“It must be very rare.”

“N-no, I don’t know.”

Janis pockets the coin again before pulling out Sir Rodney’s ring. Before she can even fully remove it, Garrow recoils and starts rocking heavily again.

“His ring! It should be destroyed!”

“Why do you say that?” Janis asks calmly, removing it from sight in an attempt to alleviate some distress.

“It-it is a cursed ring,” Garrow says. “And it is after me now! I know it! I shouldn’t have worked on it, it is too late now!”

Janis won’t be able to get any more information from him in this state, and offers Garrow his phial of medication. He visibly relaxes upon the sight of it and reaches for it hesitantly. Janis nods.

“Thank you,” Garrow says as he removes the cork. “This will help me to calm down.”

“Do be careful with the dosage,” Janis says meaningfully. Garrow nods, but Janis leans against the table almost threateningly. “I mean it. Now, do you know anything about the bottle of champagne on ice in the changing room?”

“What? No.” Garrow says confusedly once he’s taken his medicine and had a moment to gather himself once again. Janis nods and clicks her tongue against her teeth slightly.

“What about the silver in the brazier, did you put it there?”

“It didn’t help, the power is too strong,” Garrow replies, seeming to grow anxious again. Janis apparently decides to end with that, and has Garrow escorted back into the cell.

“That last one didn’t seem very well, Janis,” Cady says anxiously. “He seems very disturbed.”

“That, or he is a good actor,” Janis nods, flagging down a cab to take them home.

————-

“Janis?” Cady asks from the sofa that evening. Janis turns from where she’s stoking the fire in the hearth.

“Yes?”

“Why… why did you choose to be with me?” Cady asks quietly. Janis knew she still had something on her mind. “Do I not make things more difficult?”

“Come here,” Janis coaxes, reaching out for her. Cady wraps her arms around Janis’ waist and rests her head on her shoulder. Janis holds her as well, and gently sways them around. “You know me well enough by now to know when I am lying, so I won’t say things won’t be more difficult for us.

“But you must know that you make things much better, my darling. I’m loathe to admit it, but there have been cases I would have been unable to solve without your aid. And you gave me a reason to stop my old habits, who knows where I would be if I had continued? You make me… human. Your love is my most useful detective tool.”

“Oh.” Cady says gently. “You make me better too.”

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” Janis chuckles quietly, but Cady shakes her head.

“You have. I was so uptight when I moved here, you help me slow down, ironically. You help me see things from a new perspective. Stop and appreciate the little details in things I would never have even seen otherwise. And you know how dark my world was when we first met. The things I had been through. But you brightened things up for me. Gave me a reason to stay.”

“I’m glad, then,” Janis murmurs, kissing Cady’s forehead. “Did you know I was never looking for a roommate?”

“You weren’t?” Cady asks, pulling back slightly.

“No,” Janis laughs. “I had told Aaron I found a flat in London, and he asked how I was planning on making rent. I guess he didn’t believe I could, and took it upon himself to find me a flatmate to help. He had tried a few times prior, but I refused every one until he brought you to me. I just got lucky that you could tolerate my presence as well.”

“I do more than tolerate you, my love,” Cady murmurs. “I always have. But I’m glad you took a liking to me, I would never have even gone with him if I knew you never wanted me here.”

“I did, after we first spoke. I knew you had something special to you,” Janis hums. Cady beams and cuddles back into her, following along with Janis’ slow waltz around the living room. After a second, she pipes up again.

“Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“What cases were they? That I helped you solve?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Janis teases. Cady whines in defeat. “Maybe we’ll read through some of your old case write ups and see if you can work out which ones they were.”

“Okay,” Cady whines. Janis kisses her gently to make her smile. Cady grins weakly and kisses her back.

“One moment, my dear,” Janis says, appearing to remember something. Cady pouts again but watches as Janis removes something from her coat pocket and heads to the map of London next to the door. “You’re good at mind game things, come help with this.”

Cady tilts her head in confusion, but comes up behind her. Janis is holding up the map they found among Sir Rodney’s belongings and trying to piece out where it is. “May I?”

Janis nods, so Cady gently plucks it from her fingertips and removes the framed map from the wall to carry both over to the desk. She flicks the small lamp on, which makes the paper easier to see through. She finds the matching section down near the bottom right corner.

“There.”

“Ah,” Janis says eagerly. “You up for a trip?”

“Always,” Cady says with a smile, craning her head back to look at her. Janis kisses her before running off to her room.

“Then pack a bag!”

————-

The next afternoon finds them on the site of an archaeological dig.

“Are you sure this is the right place, madams?” Their cab driver asks in concern. Janis turns around to see where they are, then to Cady, before she gives a nod.

“Certainly seems promising. I’d ask you to wait here, you’ll be paid for your time,” Janis replies as she holds out a hand to help Cady down.

“It’s rather eerie here,” Cady says, refusing to let go of Janis’ hand as they approach the gate. She shudders when a slight breeze blows through.

“We shouldn’t be terribly long,” Janis comforts. “And by the looks of things nobody is here, we’ve done far more dangerous and unsettling things.”

“Yes, that gives me so much more confidence,” Cady grumbles. “Look.”

Janis does, looking to the sign Cady is pointing to. It lists the name of the site, but has been painted over to say it’s been abandoned until further notice.

“Why would Sir Rodney come here, if it’s been abandoned?”

“Let’s find out,” Janis replies boldly, opening the gate and leading Cady in. They head to a cabin near the entrance first.

“They left the door open?” Cady asks in concern.

“They either were in great haste or rather careless,” Janis tuts, heading inside. There’s a desk directly across from the door covered in various artifacts. Janis takes a thick document from it, and skims through pages detailing the cult of Mithras. A map is tacked to the wall just above her. “We seem to be in the heart of an old Roman city, my dear.”

“I don’t particularly care for it,” Cady mumbles, arms crossed over her chest. “Why was it abandoned?”

“I’m not sure,” Janis replies. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish to, my darling. I can finish up here and meet you later.”

“No,” Cady insists. “It’s not safe here, I’m not leaving you here alone. I just wish you’d hurry.”

“I will, dearest,” Janis replies, kissing Cady’s forehead. Cady nods and enters the room further, turning to a desk just inside the door.

“What are these little cubes?”

“I have no idea,” Janis replies. “Nobody here to miss them, they could be useful.”

Cady manages to stuff all of them into her various pockets and under her skirts to take home. Janis chuckles affectionately. She takes a few more documents explaining more about Mithras, and a special curved, golden knife used in bull sacrifices.

“I think that’s everything of interest here,” Janis says, dashing back out the door and over to a series of very rickety walkways leading to various other areas of the site. She heads straight first, down a winding sort of path to a large fresco.

“Sarkisian, please be careful,” Cady calls anxiously from above. “We have no way of knowing when someone was last here, these paths could collapse at any moment.”

“I’m fine, darling,” Janis calls back from below. She points to the fresco she’s standing on. “It’s the cyclops. And Vulcan, at a forge.”

“Interesting,” Cady says, sounding as if she couldn’t care less. “Now come back.”

Janis does, heading up a slightly crumbled marble staircase back to Cady’s level. Cady walks around on solid ground to meet her and they both head over to some rigs. Janis grabs some rope resting on a crate.

“What is that for?”

“Not a clue. You never know,” Janis replies with a shrug. “Help me with this, there’s something down here.”

Cady helps tug on a rope pulley, bringing up a toolbox from the bottom of one of the rigs. Janis takes and pockets a sort of trowel, but leaves the rest of the archaeological instruments where they are.

Cady looks very relieved as Janis heads over to what remains of a building, instead of darting around some very deep holes. At least the ground is solid over here, and things are less likely to collapse on their heads.

Janis bends over a crate resting on the floor and pulls out a few construction hooks. Cady grows even more concerned than she was earlier when she pockets them as well.

“Who are these meant to be, Janis?” She asks of some nearby statues. She knows she’ll never be able to stop her partner being reckless. Janis follows her out of the building and over to them.

“That’s Neptune, god of the sea,” Janis says, pointing to the one on the far left. “And that’s Minerva.”

“And the middle two?”

“I’d guess Venus and… someone,” Janis replies. “I’ve not read up on Roman mythology in quite a while.”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Cady teases, turning back around. “The great Janis Sarkisian doesn’t know something.”

“There’s a great many things I don’t know,” Janis replies casually, examining a statue of a bull they can now see. “For example, what happened to this leg?”

“Weather, I would guess, surely?” Cady replies, heading to her side. The hind left leg of the bull is disconnected from the hip.

“Most probably, yes,” Janis agrees. “Well done, love. This way.”

“Oh, not more of these dreadful walkways,” Cady pleads as Janis steps onto yet another rickety path. She follows Janis down this one, for… safety.

“A site like this would have had a hundred people working, and they all crossed these with no issue,” Janis comforts yet again. “I have good reflexes and I know how to fall, darling. I’m fine.”

Cady nods shakily as they reach the bottom and look around. Janis dashes over to an area she observes to have been covered with mud. Intentionally, and recently. She pulls out the trowel she ‘borrowed’ earlier and scrapes it away in chunks, revealing another fresco.

“The frigidarium,” Janis pants, pointing to the label. “At the baths. Someone covered this up intentionally.”

“Why?”

“You ask a great many questions I cannot answer, my dear Heron,” Janis says. “I’ll have to investigate there. Come along back up, I want to check this other shed.”

“What is this railway for?” Cady asks once they’ve followed the wood walkways back to the surface.

“Removing excess rubble,” Janis replies, carefully crossing over to the area of the shed. Yet again, the door has been left open. She heads to some shelves directly across from the door, and finds a drafted letter to Sir Gregory Pitkin’s boss, complaining of his behavior. “Seems Sir Rodney had a remarkable amount of control over his archaeological sites.”

“So Sir Gregory has motive,” Cady says.

“He does indeed,” Janis hums concernedly. “Ooh, a crossbow.”

“No,” Cady says immediately. It’s been disassembled, thankfully for her. “You’re bad enough with a simple pistol.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Janis scoffs. “I’m an excellent shot.”

“Need I remind you how many pigs’ carcasses we had to harpoon before you got it correct?” Cady says.

“And need I remind you that I only missed four out of ten vases? Blindfolded?” Janis retaliates.

“I’m still finding bits of china in my bedsheets,” Cady grumbles. “You had to do that in our flat? You nearly shot me.”

“Nonsense, I was aiming for the vases,” Janis tuts. “Anyway, one last thing.”

“Thank heavens,” Cady huffs, following Janis to a small platform over the river. A bulletin board of sorts sits to the left, and Janis heads to observe it. Another map of the site and a schematic of a gastraphetes are tacked up.

“They used the crossbow and gastraphetes for sieges,” Janis explains.

“How lovely,” Cady says. “Have you finished?”

“Yes, my dear, we’re done,” Janis says, taking her hand to lead her off site and back to the cab.

————-

Cady refuses to let Janis go that night. Janis allows her to cling to her and cuddle close as they lie beside one another in bed.

“What are you thinking about?” Janis murmurs gently, stroking the backs of her fingers over Cady’s cheeks.

“Nothing important,” Cady whispers back, pressing her face into Janis’ neck.

“Everything about you is important to me,” Janis insists quietly, twisting a few of Cady’s long curls around her fingers. “You’ve been acting strangely lately, I just want to make sure you’re alright, my darling.”

Cady nods against her with a quiet sigh. “I am. I’m more than alright. I just… ever since we’ve been courting, I’m… realizing just how dangerous this all is. I’ve nearly lost you twice in this case alone, and we’re still nowhere near solving it. Everything we do is so risky.

“And as much as I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, you getting injured, or worse… I feel that asking you to stop would be somehow worse. Everything we do is so ingrained into who you are. If I made you retire you’d resent me forever as we lived out our boring, miserable lives. I’m simply trying to appreciate what the risk brings with it. But I’m not quite sure how yet.”

Janis blinks a few times as Cady finishes speaking, trying to process everything she’s just said. After a few moments, she takes a breath to speak. “It is a rather delicate balance. And I do have to admit the danger of it all gives me a rush like no other; the thrill of the chase is a key part of my desire. But, I’ve stepped back slightly. The cases I’m willing to take now are significantly less extreme than the ones I used to go for.

“Because I have… a purpose, now. In you. I have more than a companion. I have someone I provide for, someone I care for, and care about greatly. I have… I have a future in you, that I don’t have in my work. I have something to strive for. I have a life with you, and that’s something I value above anything. I don’t want you worrying for my safety like this, I hate seeing you so anxious. I have you to return to at the end of each day, I take great care to make sure I do. It may not seem it, but I take much time to work out any potential consequences of risks and ways I could be injured.”

“I believe you,” Cady nods. “I’m just… I don’t know. I know we’ve known one another for so many years, but I somehow feel that I’ve only just gotten you. I have what I dreamed of for so long. I’m afraid to lose it.”

“You won’t,” Janis promises. “Not for a long time. I’ll always come back to you.”

“I love you,” Cady replies, cuddling back into her spot.

“I love you too, my darling.”

Cady is silent for a long time, just breathing in her love and enjoying the moment. But she pipes up again when Janis shifts slightly and wraps an arm around her waist. “You said you want a future with me. Do you mean that you’ll retire?”

“Eventually, yes,” Janis agrees. “I’d be willing to say I’ll have to at some point. My body will eventually begin to deteriorate, along with my mind. Or maybe one day I’ll decide the lifestyle isn’t for me anymore. But I’ve been blessed with a rare opportunity for a life of excitement that I have no desire to leave any time soon.”

“I can’t imagine you retired, you’ll still be running me ragged in our old age,” Cady chuckles. “What do you think we’ll do?”

“I’ve always liked Sussex,” Janis murmurs. “The countryside. And… erm…”

“What? You’re all pink,” Cady teases, kissing Janis’ warm cheek. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“I quite like bees,” Janis says quietly, flushing a spectacular shade of scarlet. “I’d like to keep a few hives. Make honey.”

“You like bees?” Cady asks, rolling Janis onto her back and hovering over her. Janis nods with a slight pout that Cady leans down to kiss away. “Why are you so embarrassed? I think it’s sweet. I would never have expected you to enjoy something like that.”

“That’s why,” Janis replies quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m just… interested in death and the macabre. Something as cute as bees doesn’t fit my reputation.”

“I don’t want your reputation,” Cady says. “I want to know you. Who you really are. Tell me about your bees, my love.”

“Er… okay,” Janis says. Cady presses back against her as Janis starts rattling off facts she knows about her favorite species. They both drift off tangled in each other, dreaming about some lovely beehives in the countryside.

————-

Janis and Cady return to the Roman baths the next morning. Mr. Phillips greets them as they enter, and eagerly informs Janis that the rubble has been cleared from the corridor to the frigidarium, as Janis had requested. Cady seems particularly displeased that Janis wants to enter the room that very nearly collapsed on her, but she just remembers what Janis told her yesterday and tries to calm herself.

Cady follows Janis down the hall and into a rather large bathing room. It’s overgrown and dilapidated, but still very beautiful. A series of pillars outline the large bath, and Janis approaches the one closest to them when she notices a symbol etched into the base. She traces her fingers around it and pushes, revealing it to be a sort of mechanism.

“Heron, could you mark this symbol down?” She asks, upon seeing there to be a sort of key-shaped symbol drawn that was previously hidden by the button mechanism. Cady carefully copies it down in her notebook and follows as Janis moves to the other pillars.

Nearly every statue turns out to have one of the mechanisms, but only three have symbols hidden inside. Cady watches as Janis seems to align the symbols in her mind and suddenly dashes over to a bust tucked against a wall. Janis rotates it, causing a great rumbling to echo through the room as a door opens.

“Incredible,” Cady breathes. Janis grins at her slightly and takes her hand, leading her towards the door. The door leads to a small room, with an open trapdoor. “Not more of this.”

Janis takes hold of the rope hanging into the door and climbs down. Cady follows anxiously, nearly falling until Janis grabs her around the waist and helps her down.

“What is this place?”

“I am still unsure,” Janis hums, looking around at where they’ve found themselves. “But everything points to it being the last place visited by Sir Rodney. I have reason to believe we’re approaching the end of this case, my dear Heron.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Cady grumbles. She points to the corner nearest the door, where several items lay apparently forgotten. “What could those be for?”

Janis heads over to investigate, taking and lighting the lantern to use. “A broken glass negative, and… an ice maker.”

“Why would Sir Rodney have brought such a device here?”

“With any luck we shall know soon, my darling. Only one way forward,” Janis replies.

“Or we could go back,” Cady mumbles unhappily, following her companion. “Whole place apt to crumble any minute, and all. Oh, of course not.”

“Look at this,” Janis says, pointing to one of the frescos on the wall. She’s either not heard Cady or chosen to ignore her complaints. Most probably the latter. “Mithras again.”

“It is beautiful,” Cady agrees. It’s clearly ancient and faded, but she can still see the fine details. Janis has already moved on to the next fresco. “A ladder?”

“Or a hierarchy,” Janis nods. Cady carefully writes down all of the symbols in the order they go in, just in case. “Right, this way.”

“Oh god,” Cady shudders when they enter the next room. It appears to be a catacombs of sorts. The walls are lined with mummies, and several large pillars outline the center passage through it. To Cady’s horror, large sections of each pillar are constructed from human bones and skulls.

“Heron, come look at this,” Janis calls, crouched against one of the far walls to look at something. Cady heads over and finds her to be examining yet another skeleton. “See his shoe. I’d date it to be medieval at best. This man was a tomb raider.”

“But look at his eye,” Cady says with a slight shudder. “His orbit is broken. This man met a rather similar fate to Sir Rodney. How dreadful.”

“‘By the eye he was punished for he saw what he was not worthy’,” Janis recites, recalling a transcript she’d read earlier. “Hm. Well, that’s enough of that.”

Cady gratefully leaves the corpse and follows Janis as she heads to examine the large pillars. They have small gaps in them, which contain brushwood. Janis lights the three she can, which causes shadows in certain shapes to be cast on the floor. But one of the pillars has collapsed.

“There should be a plate here,” Janis says. “Someone has removed… oh! Heron, wait here!”

“Wait, I don’t-“ Cady stutters, but Janis thrusts the lantern at her and runs off. Cady crosses her arms and tries not to think about where she is. It’s not as if she’s not well acquainted with death and corpses, but she still doesn’t care to keep their company.

Luckily for her, Janis is back within five minutes. There was a deafening metallic clang and then a small series of thuds, but Janis seems fine. She re-enters the catacombs carrying the metal plate she found in Sir Rodney’s office.

“Are you alright?” Cady asks as Janis dusts herself off slightly. “I heard noises.”

“Fell off the rope this time, I’m fine,” Janis replies quietly. So Janis had fallen through the trapdoor. Of course. “Over here, my love.”

Cady follows with the lantern as Janis heads back to the collapsed pillar. Janis holds up the plate to the same height as the others and closes her eyes. After a few seconds she opens them again, and heads to the shadows on the floor.

“A trident, a bull, and a bridge. Leads to Mithras,” Janis says, pointing to each. Cady can’t see the bridge, since that’s the one missing, but she trusts her partner.

“The dig site,” Cady realizes. “The statue of Neptune, and then the bull. The bridge must be missing.”

Janis looks at her with wide eyes, cupping her face gently and smashing their lips together. Cady gasps quietly before responding in kind.

“You have much more use than I think anyone gives you credit for,” Janis murmurs. “Another case I may never have solved without you.”

Cady smiles at her and kisses her again. “Can we please leave this place now?”

Janis chuckles and nods. “Yes, come along, my dear.”

“Thank goodness.”

————-

“Darling?” Janis calls from her analysis table the next afternoon. Cady pops her head out from her bedroom.

“Yes, Honeybee?”

“Honeybee?” Janis squeaks, flushing bright red. Cady chuckles and heads over to her.

“You said you like bees, I thought it was sweet,” she murmurs, kissing just beneath Janis’ ear. “Do you not like it?”

“No!” Janis says immediately. “No, I-I like it. Just… maybe not while I’m working.”

“Understood. What do you need, my love?” Cady laughs gently.

“I’d like to work out the purpose of these cubes,” Janis says, showing off the twelve cubes they had found the last time they were at the archaeological dig. “I thought it would be rather like a jigsaw puzzle, we could work on it together.”

“It does look that way,” Cady hums, nodding and picking up a few. “Come along.”

Janis grabs the rest and follows, sitting with Cady in front of the fireplace. Cady starts sorting them into groups based on where the notches are to make it easier for them. Janis knows she could have solved it on her own, probably in much less time, but this gives her an excuse to do something almost peaceful with her partner.

So, they sit and puzzle, chatting about things Janis used to find dull. With Cady even the most aimless of conversation is suddenly exciting and new. She hopes it stays this way. About half an hour later, the object is complete.

“It’s a mould,” Janis says. “Huh.”

“What does it make?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Janis says, delicately moving it back to her analysis table. Cady watches as she makes a quick dry plaster solution and pours it into the mould. A few moments later, when it’s solidified, Janis cracks the cubes apart to reveal…

“This is very similar to the knife that killed Sir Rodney,” Cady says in concern, as Janis holds out a small knife with a curved blade.

“You should not jump to any hasty conclusions, my darling,” Janis chides gently. “I’ll need to run some more tests. You up for another puzzle?”

“Always,” Cady grins, flipping the knife around a few times before resting it on the table. Janis lays out the pieces of the broken glass negative they had found while exploring beneath the frigidarium. This goes a bit quicker, since they can see where the pieces should fit together more easily.

“Could you process this with your old equipment?”

Cady nods, and carefully transfers everything to a tray to keep it together properly. She’s able to transfer it to photo paper, and gives the product to Janis to develop. Janis carefully prepares the proper chemicals and swipes them over the photograph. Cady comes to peek at what has been revealed.

“This is Sir Rodney, and another archaeologist,” Janis says. “Eating ice-cream in front of the Pyramids of Giza, in Egypt.”

“‘Ice-cream in the desert, we are indebted to the Romans who developed the technique’,” Cady reads from a note in the corner. “So salt and ice can be used to create ice-cream. That’s quite remarkable!”

“Indeed,” Janis murmurs in concern. “Thank you for your assistance, my dear.”

“Of course! Do you have anything else you need me for at the moment?” Cady chirps. Janis looks at the photograph once again.

“Actually… yes,” she hums. “Could you go purchase some ice?”

“Ice?”

“And salt?”

“Er… okay,” Cady replies. It’s far from the strangest thing Janis has asked her to acquire. Maybe Janis wants to make ice cream too. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Thank you darling,” Janis replies, kissing Cady goodbye as she tugs on her coat and heads out the door.

In the meantime, Janis runs a different experiment. She cleans out the pot she used to make her plaster solution carefully, and prepares her gas burner. She melts the lump of silver they had found in the brazier in the sauna, and pours it into the mould. It’s a near perfect fit. Janis pulls out the silver knife and stares at it, flipping it around in her hands. One possible explanation solved.

—-

Cady comes crashing through the door roughly an hour later, brandishing a small sack of salt and a brick of ice. She drops both at her feet carefully and is panting slightly as she unbuttons her coat once more. “Ice is… heavier… than I remember.”

“Are you alright?” Janis chuckles, kissing her in greeting and picking up her materials. Cady nods and follows her back over to her work table.

“What are you planning with it?”

“Ice knife.”

“What?”

“I’m going to make an ice knife,” Janis replies. She places the brick of ice in a wooden bucket and grabs her chisel, and pours the salt into another smaller container. The mould is placed into the middle of the ice cream machine they had found in the catacombs, and filled with water. Janis uses her chisel to produce some ice chips and surrounds the mould. “Could you pour a bit of the salt in?”

Cady carefully covers the ice chips with the salt, and they repeat the process until the temperature is low and steady enough to have frozen the water solid. Janis carefully pulls the mould out and splits it open once more to reveal the weapon.

“Either way, it was rather ingenious to create a weapon that could dissolve at the scene of the crime,” Cady says, picking up the silver knife.

“Yes, quite,” Janis hums. “All that’s left is to find Mithras.”

“Must we?” Cady whines.

“Regretfully, yes,” Janis chuckles. “Remember what we spoke of, dearest. We’ve been through many a case together and come out the other side. Now we shall do so hand in hand.”

Cady grins weakly at that and cuddles into her shoulder. They don’t have to investigate until tomorrow. She’s going to take all the time to cuddle her partner she can get.

————-

Janis heads back to Scotland Yard the next morning, wanting to gather as much information about Mithras as she can from the suspects before she attempts to go searching herself. Blinkhorn goes first.

“Hello again. What are you able to tell me about Mithras?” Janis begins, standing across the table from him. Blinkhorn lights up.

“Oh, so much,” he says eagerly. “It was the focus of our work. Why do you ask?”

“Were you searching for the Golden Knife?”

“Ah, I see you are an amateur,” Blinkhorn chuckles. Janis furrows her brow but lets him talk. “Yes, the Golden Knife was our… Holy Grail, so to speak. It is said that it bears the only explanation of the ritual of the Cult of Mithras.”

“I believe I read something about immortality?” Janis questions. Blinkhorn nods.

“A simple myth. It is said that the knife would provide immortality, to only the worthy one. And yet it is cursed, and it would kill you if you were not initiated.”

“And did you expect to find the Knife at the baths?”

“Well… Sir Rodney believed it might be. Did you see the knife representations around? They are extraordinary,” Blinkhorn sighs. “Oh, it’s a tragedy that he has passed away. And taken all his secrets with him. As soon as I am released I shall continue my researches. In his memory.”

“How kind,” Janis says dryly. “Thank you for your time.”

Blinkhorn is then exchanged for Pitkin, who grumbles the whole way across the hallway to the interrogation room, and looks as if he’s ready to spit on Janis when she sits across from him once more. “I understand that the paintings at the baths are focused on Mithras?”

“Yes. They are what make the place so remarkable,” Pitkin replies angrily.

“Are they why Sir Rodney came here?”

“He believed an important ritual item, the Golden Knife, was hidden somewhere around thr area of the baths,” Pitkin says. “I admit it would be wonderful, if it were true.”

“You are not concerned by the… reputation, of this artifact?” Janis asks, leaning back in her chair as if they’re simply having a casual conversation. Pitkin chuckles sardonically.

“What, you mean the curse? Before someone is dead, it is a blessing. After they die, it becomes a curse. Ha.”

Cady raises her eyebrows at Janis as Pitkin is exchanged for Garrow. He still doesn’t seem particularly well. But Cady supposes that spending several days in a cell would have significant effects on just about anyone.

Janis sits across from him and watches as he begins rocking slightly, the way he did the first time. “Could you tell me about the Cult of Mithras?”

Garrow snaps his head up to look at her, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “No! There is nothing to say! We are not the worthy ones.”

“But Sir Rodney believed that he was?” Janis asks, leaning forwards slightly.

“He was-was wrong! I have visions,” Garrow cries. “The Golden Knife, the-the mummy! Oh, it is all my fault!”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Garrow,” Janis insists. Garrow takes his phial of medication from his pocket and swallows a portion just before he is escorted back to the cell.

Now to find Mithras themselves.

————

Cady pouts slightly as they pull up to the archaeological dig once more, but she smiles as Janis carefully takes her hand to help her out of the cab.

“Would you be so kind as to hold these, my dear?” Janis asks, picking up the ropes and hooks she had left near the gate on their last visit. Cady holds out her arms, and Janis rests them in her hold. “Thank you. This way, we shan’t be terribly long.”

“We had better not,” Cady grumbles, following Janis to the far cabin near the river. Janis rubs her hands together excitedly when she gets to use the crossbow. It has been deconstructed, but Janis pieces everything together expertly in less than five minutes.

Janis carefully ties the ropes to the hooks, and loads the first into the gastraphetes. From the platform over the water, she takes aim at a pillar about fifty feet away.

“Stand back, my love,” Janis orders. “I am not well practiced in this exercise. Yet.”

Cady stands off to the side anxiously, watching as Janis holds her breath and fires. She misses the first time, but makes contact with the leftmost ring on her second shot. She ties the other end of the rope to the platform and reloads.

Once all three of the rings have been hooked and the ropes tied, Janis carefully tests the strength of them and beckons Cady back over.

“Would you care to go first?”

“No,” Cady says anxiously. “But I will. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Not at all. Ready?” Janis asks, taking her hand and helping her onto their makeshift bridge. “Hold right to the sides and don’t look down. I’ll be right behind you.”

Cady listens, gripping the rope so tightly her knuckles turn white. She carefully inches her way across the rapid river below, until she reaches the far side. Janis follows, and accepts Cady’s hand to be pulled onto the platform. They head into the door that had been previously hidden to them, and down yet another trapdoor.

“Are we in the hidden temple?” Cady asks.

“I am not sure. We should be careful,” Janis replies, pulling out and lighting her lantern once again. She holds it in her left hand and Cady’s hand with her right, and they set off.

A staircase takes them down still further, until they enter an almost circular room, with several ways out. A symbol marks the floor and above each door. They look strangely familiar.

“Did you bring your notebook, my darling?”

“Always,” Cady replies, pulling it from her pocket. Janis takes it and flips through pages of various things until she finds the drawing Cady made of the hierarchy fresco beneath the frigidarium. The symbol of the door they just came through is one listed on the bottom level. Time to work their way up.

“Stay close to me, we should tread carefully,” Janis says. Cady nods anxiously and squeezes her hand. Janis looks back up from the book and picks a corridor, hoping desperately that her theory is correct and she doesn’t get them horrifically lost.

They head through a few tunnels, getting about a third of the way up the ladder in the drawing. One of the rooms they enter has every path blocked by a gate. A pillar sits in the middle of the room, with three columns and several stones on it.

“What do we do?”

“What we always do. Solve another puzzle,” Janis replies, carefully picking up a stone. When she rests it on a column, it sinks in slightly. Cady helps choose which stones should go where, until all three are at the same level. When they get it correct, the gates lift with a thunderous rumbling. “Back to it.”

Janis continues following the drawing, leading them through the doors with the proper symbols. Just at the end, they reach a long staircase up.

“Where are we?” Cady asks, looking around. A series of metal gates surround them, along with several small waterfalls. Directly across from them is a statue.

“The temple of Mithras,” Janis murmurs, approaching it.

“The golden knife,” Cady breathes, pointing to his hand. “But how to get it?”

“We shall find a way,” Janis answers, bending down to inspect a broken lamp. “This is not old, the oil is still fresh.”

“Perhaps Sir Rodney left it?” Cady inquires.

“No, I do not think so,” Janis says, standing once more. “He passed no further than the catacombs under the frigidarium.”

“So that means…”

“The murderer left this lamp,” Janis confirms. She heads back to the center of the room and looks around, spying a few levers on the wall inside one of the gates. “Wait here, my love, I believe this to be a two-person job.”

Cady listens, and waits for Janis to call instructions to her. Janis twists the lever in front of her, which locks her in but opens a way for Cady to go.

“What opened?” Janis calls.

“A gate, here,” Cady calls back. “Shall I go through?”

“Please,” Janis says. Cady goes through. “Have you any levers?”

“Yes, there’s one here,” Cady replies.

“Turn that,” Janis says. Cady does, holding it until she hears Janis say to let go. They continue this, calling instructions to one another and testing levers, until a way opens for Janis to escape, and Cady has a lever to open the gate in front of the statue of Mithras.

Janis approaches and carefully takes it, before she heads back to her series of levers and gates to free her partner. There’s a staircase out to the surface that has been blocked by yet another gate. They coach each other through until it’s opened, and escape into the daylight hand in hand, as Janis promised.

—-

Janis goes into her mind palace once they’re back in a cab. Cady has learned over the many years of their relationship that speaking to her in this state is effectively useless. Janis is connecting many dots in her mind, and so focused that she’s shut away all external stimulation.

Cady watches as Janis’ eyes move under her eyelids, her brain firing off rapid signals as she pieces together clues and information to conclude the case. Just as they pull back onto Baker Street, her eyes snap open and she gives a coy grin.

“Have you got it?” Cady asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“Have I indeed,” Janis replies, taking her hand and running back up to their flat.

————-

Janis carefully rests the Golden Knife on the wooden table.

Blinkhorn looks up at her in shock, gently taking it between his fingers to examine. “Is this… the Golden Knife? How did you find it?”

“I am also rather fond of digging, Mr. Blinkhorn,” Janis replies casually. “One never knows what one might find. On occasion, exceptional rarities such as this. The thrill of the chase, one’s enhanced reputation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are-are you suggesting that-“

“I am not suggesting anything, Mr. Blinkhorn. I know,” Janis replies. “You found the knife. You are an intelligent man. The ‘ghost’ knife shall remain one of the most ingenious creations I have seen in my career, I do assure you.”

“Wait, are you accusing me of the murder?” Blinkhorn says in alarm. “No! I-I deny it!”

“There is no use in denying it, Mr. Blinkhorn. I know the truth,” Janis says calmly. “You had no choice. Because it is you who discovered the Golden Knife, and therefore you who must be the murderer. Sir Rodney was prepared to take all the credit for the remarkable discovery, when in fact it was your work.

“He would have destroyed you, to ensure the truth was never revealed. But I uphold the truth. And I shall tell it.”

“What-what do you mean? That you will spare me?”

“What I mean is that everyone deserves a second chance,” Janis says. “Someone very important to me taught me that. I shall be following your career with utmost interest. Farewell.”

“Fare-farewell, Ms. Sarkisian,” Blinkhorn stutters.

————-

“Sarkisian, I am afraid I don’t understand how you’ve come to this conclusion,” Inspector Hubbard says, sitting across from her in the living room while Cady tends to the fire. She also turns around to look at her partner, curious to see how she solved the case.

“Shall I begin with the method?” Janis asks, clearly relishing in the opportunity to brag. Some things never change. Both of her companions nod, so she begins. “I had only to observe the pool of blood around the body. You surely must have noticed it to be significantly thinner than typical, and that it had not coagulated properly. A simple analysis revealed it to be heavily diluted with water. The steam in the room at the time would not have been sufficient enough to cause dilution of that degree.

“I admit, I didn’t know what the cause would be, until we discovered the ice cream maker in the catacombs. The killer produced an ice knife there, and stored it in the bucket of champagne until it was the proper time. Once they were in the steam room, he killed Sir Rodney, and the heat caused it to melt rapidly.”

“Incredible,” Damian says. “I would’ve thought it to be the silver you found.”

“I had only to speak to Mr. Garrow to dismiss that conclusion. He is a superstitious fellow, and he put the silver in the brazier for spiritual protection,” Janis explains.

“And how did you deduce it to be Blinkhorn? That’s the bit I’m missing.” Cady asks. Damian looks back and forth between his companions, noticing the way they’re looking at one another. He smiles slightly. They deserve happiness together.

“Because he is, given a significant amount of critical thought, the only suspect that would have made sense. Garrow was not of sound mind, he was too weak to have carried out such an elaborate and well planned crime. Pitkin, on the other hand, would not have served to gain anything from Sir Rodney’s death. He had no way of knowing whether the murder would have damaged the baths’ reputation, and he was not working closely with Sir Rodney to begin with. He had slight motive, but compared to Blinkhorn’s it’s vastly insignificant.

“Blinkhorn had made one of the most astounding archaeological discoveries of our era, and Sir Rodney was prepared to trample him to take the credit for it. So, he had no choice but to get rid of Sir Rodney to defend his own career. He chose a rather appropriate fate for him, I must say.”

“Well, I thank you for bringing this case to a close, and for revealing to us Sir Rodney’s true nature. We shall be keeping a close eye on Blinkhorn regardless, but he has been released,” Damian says, standing to leave. Janis follows him to see him out. “And on a personal note, my congratulations. It’s about time. I wish you all the happiness.”

“Maybe you’ll make a fine detective yet,” Janis chuckles. “My thanks, Damian. Farewell.”

Damian tips his hat and takes his leave. Janis returns to Cady and pulls her into an embrace.

“Another one for your stories,” she murmurs, looking into Cady’s blue eyes. “And one with several fond memories for me.”

“Most definitely,” Cady says, threading her arms around Janis’ neck and pressing up to kiss her. “I regret I can’t share more details of the events of this one. But I shall get to work on it immediately.”

“Maybe not immediately,” Janis coaxes. “I, for one, am quite tired.”

“Maybe not immediately,” Cady agrees with a chuckle. “Come to bed, Honeybee.”

“Always, my love.”

Until our next adventure.

----------

hope you enjoyed the adventures of... sherlockisian?? and watsheron??

anyway, back to modern day, I'm finishing up a few things for this blog (giving it a fresh coat of paint so to speak) and then ill have some exciting things coming up!! for me anyway, i hope y'all are into it too. just keep an eye out for things coming over the next few days!!

as always, thank you so much for reading, and ill see you all next week!!

lots of love,

ezzy

[seagreen-meets-grey]

The Last Slide: Ch. 2

@feeisamarshmallow here is the second chapter ♥

Read on ao3

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Chapters: 1 2 3 4

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The smell of chlorine hit Jake’s nose as soon as he stepped through the front door of the Tropic Thunder Aqua Park. Following Amy to the information desk, he envied the little groups of people striding past him to the ticket window, bags slung over their shoulders, inflatable crocodiles and donuts and flamingos under their arms. Once this case was closed, he needed to find a free day for Amy, Mac and him to come back here. Or maybe to a different water park, one with less murder history.

Amy greeted the teenager behind the desk, flashing her badge and ID. The boy’s brows scrunched in momentary confusion, then he paled a few subtle shades. But when Amy mentioned his boss calling because of the case, his shoulders relaxed. Jake wondered if the boy had done something to assume they were here because of him, or if he was just nervous. The name tag on his orange t-shirt read Julius.

He picked up a desk phone and pressed a few buttons, relaying the information of their arrival. Then he fumbled with his hands and bounced on his heels. “Can I get you anything? A water? Dolphin-shaped cookies?”

Jake opened his mouth to ask for those, but Amy spoke before he could.

“No, thank you, Julius.” She offered him a sympathetic smile. “It must feel awful to be working right now.” The boy nodded, relaxing further and dropping down into his chair.

“It’s weird,” he admitted. “When I came to start my shift, there were crime techs everywhere. And they wheeled out a gurney with a black body bag. I thought this only happened on TV.” He shuddered, glancing off into his memories.

“Did you notice anything unusual lately, Julius?” While still smiling motherly, her tone was ever-professional. The kid was easy to trust her. A wave of pride welled up inside Jake. This was his wife.

Julius shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, Francesca said she saw the dead guy argue with Darius last week, but she also believes in yetis, so.”

“Who’s Francesca and Darius?” Jake asked.

“Francesca Roberts and Darius are lifeguards; they work here as pool attendants. I don’t know Darius’ last name, I’m sorry.”

“Did Francesca hear what the argument was about?”

Julius shook his head as behind him, a door opened and a tall middle-aged man with sandy hair and the body of a swimmer stepped through. He wore the same white shorts as Julius but his shirt was baby-blue, without a name tag.

With a polite smile, he reached out his hand over the desk. “Sam Kirkwell, I’m the head of Tropic Thunder. I spoke to your colleague on the phone this morning.”

Amy shook his hand. “Lieutenant Santiago of the 99th precinct, this is Detective Peralta. Is there anywhere we can talk more privately?”

“Of course.” Kirkwell waved them behind the desk and through the door he had just entered through. They walked through a small break room, then down a narrow, cream-painted hallway and into an office. Kirkwell sat behind the desk and gestured at the chairs on the other side, waiting for them to sit before leaning forward and folding his hands on the desk.

“Now how can I help you?”

They went over the details of the case, Amy taking notes rigorously while Jake painted a picture in his imagination, forming the scene, adding everything he’d already read in the file and everything Kirkwell told them. So far, the details added up.

The water park had opened at 9 in the morning. At 9:53, a man – Lars Pearson, 43 years old, Caucasian, warehouse worker – came out of the Disco, a popular water slide, with a poisoned dart in his neck. The first cops on the scene assumed he was hit before going down the slide, but security footage showed him happy, healthy, alive at the top. In the middle of the ride, he came through the funnel, but with the disco lights dancing around and no extra light source, the camera in there didn’t show enough to see the dart. No one followed him down in immediate succession, the next person started the ride once the victim had already been at the end.

Everyone leaving the water park since then had left their contact information. Witnesses could only describe that nothing had been out of the ordinary when Pearson had waited in line for the slide. Nobody had seen anyone with a blowpipe or dart gun. Pool attendants as well as camera footage didn’t deliver them any more information, either.

The victim had no family except for a bedridden father and a brother. Had come to the water park with two co-workers who could also not report anything unusual. No fingerprints had been found on the dart.

“I reopened the park, including the slide, about an hour ago,” Kirkwell continued. “Your people were already gone and the officers said there was no more evidence that had to be saved.”

Jake and Amy both huffed in annoyance. It was one thing to move the body if it otherwise floated around the pool. Any possible evidence left in the water slide, however, they could forget. Kirkwell didn’t seem to have thought that far ahead and whoever had given him clearance to reopen hadn’t either. But they would go and see what they could make of it.

“One more thing,” Jake said when Kirkwell was about to show them the slide, “Julius mentioned two pool attendants we’d like to talk to. Francesca Roberts and another one named Darius.”

“Darius Erickson, yes.” Kirkwell looked at his watch. “Francesca should still be around here somewhere and Darius is about to end his shift in a few minutes. I’ll have them wait in here.”

“Actually,” Amy held up a hand, “we’d like to see them before we inspect the slide.”

That didn’t seem to fit into Kirkwell’s plans, but he schooled his expression into a polite smile and nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Amy groaned. “How careless can you be?!” she grumbled. “Now we’ll have to investigate in-between a horde of civilians!”

Jake smirked. “You mean we’ll have to ride the slide to search for clues?”

“Seems like it.” She sighed in defeat but Jake was having none of it.

“Admit it, you want to. Otherwise, you’d just order Kirkwell to close the place until we’re done with the investigation.”

“We don’t even have our swimming gear and– You packed it, didn’t you.” He didn’t have to say anything, the grin on his face confirmed her assumption.

The door opened again a few minutes later and Kirkwell pushed a man and a woman inside. Before he could close the door behind himself, Amy turned to him. “We’d like to speak to them alone, please. Mr. Erickson, if you could also please wait outside while we talk to Ms. Roberts.”

“This is stupid, I already talked to the cops this morning, my shift is over! I want to leave, right now,” Erickson ranted but Jake just sternly gestured at the door. It was something he’d practiced a lot on Mac whenever he’d come out of his room before his tantrum-induced time-out had ended. Erickson reacted similarly while leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Ms. Roberts, please sit,” Amy told the woman. She looked in her mid-fifties, had bleached hair with a gray hairline and her orange t-shirt looked a size too small. “We’ve been told you witnessed an argument between Mr. Erickson and Mr. Pearson last week. Can you tell us more about that?”

Roberts shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. When I left the building last Thursday after my shift, I saw Darius in a heated conversation with someone. I didn’t care because he’s been moody ever since his wife left him a few months ago. I only remembered about it when I saw the body…” She gulped. “It was the guy Darius argued with, I’m sure.”

Darius Erickson confirmed that not much later. “Fine, yes. I knew Lars. That son of a bitch is the reason my wife left me.” He was sitting on the edge of his seat, arms crossed in front of him. The light from the ceiling was shining on his balding head and the crease between his brows was thicker than Terry’s biceps. (So to speak. Jake wouldn’t want anyone to actually hold him to that.)

“I know what you’re thinking,” Erickson continued, “but I already told your colleagues this morning, I didn’t do it! I was late to work, my car’s in the shop, my brother drove me. When I arrived, cops were already here.”

Amy neatly wrote everything down on her notepad. “We’ll need your brother’s contact information, Mr. Erickson.” The man threw his arms up in the air with a huff. “We need to check your alibi in order to drop you as a suspect. We ask you to not leave the city and to be ready for more questions.”

For now, they couldn’t actually bring him in for anything yet. Jake hoped they didn’t need to. Not just because that would solve and end the case way too soon, but also because Erickson would be out and about as long as they didn’t have actual evidence to link him to anything.

After the pool attendant had left, Jake relayed the information to Charles, and by the time they were following Kirkwell through the water park, barefoot and pant legs rolled up, Erickson’s alibi had checked out.

The air inside was warm and humid, tropical, with no breeze to provide a little cooling. Kirkwell showed them where the body was found. The Disco slide ended into a small pool area which in turn was connected to a large non-swimmer’s pool. If the body had been left in here, it really would have been floating around the park by now.

People were coming out of the tube and splashing into the tiny pool every thirty seconds or so. The chlorine in the water should have tainted every bit of evidence so far. And since the murder must have happened somewhere between Pearson’s start and end of the slide ride, Jake absolutely saw no other way than to don swim trunks and bikini and start the investigation. For the sake of work.

Amy grumbled a bit about feeling unprofessional in her own bikini while at a crime scene, but Jake could tell she was looking forward to this. She’d been way too overworked lately. And even though they were basically going to enjoy themselves at the water park, they were still going to do their jobs. It was a win-win situation.

The first three rides, though, brought no new revelations.

(That’s probably because Jake didn’t exactly go to great effort. Amy said she wanted to first get a feel for the slide so she could concentrate on the important things. So same thing, basically.)

(She couldn’t fool him.)

The slide wasn’t bustling with people anymore, so a race up the stairs to the top – so they wouldn’t lose precious investigating time, of course – made absolute sense.

“Ha!” Amy exclaimed as she hit the wall first. Jake made sure not to slip on the tiles as he came around the corner not a second later, out of breath and beaming. “I get to ride first this time.”

She got ready in front of the slide, the water gurgling down the dark tube. The light was green, so she put her hands on the pole over the entrance, leaned back for momentum, and flung herself down the tube. She disappeared behind the first turn, her adorable cry of “wheee” echoing back up to Jake.

He positioned himself, head turned to the side to get a good look at the light. As soon as the red would turn green, he’d use all his strength to propel himself down the slide. But the light didn’t change.

A handful of people gathered behind him during the next minutes, waiting in line and growing increasingly impatient. Was the signal broken? Was Amy stuck somewhere down the slide? Did she somehow manage to hit her head in the funnel and now she was lying there, unconscious, and whatever motion sensor was waiting for her at the end of the slide was going to leave the light red for all eternity?

Okay, maybe he was being a tad bit dramatic. But when it came to his wife, he wouldn’t take any chances. (Plus, he was so eager to go again, and he would be careful not to crash into her and everything, right?) She was probably waiting for him downstairs and he was still up here, contemplating ignoring a red light.

He had to admit, it felt slightly weird to do just that, but then he was already gone. Gravity took him down the black tube, around several corners, water splashing in his face constantly. He wasn’t able to see much until he took a sharp turn and found himself in the funnel. Strobe lights and LED cones in plenty of different colors were dancing across the walls, highlighting the path to where the slide continued.

As Jake let the centrifugal force carry him through the funnel, he almost bumped into a pair of legs.

“Ames!” he called out in surprise, his voice carrying around the funnel. “There you are!” With his feet, he decelerated, coming to a stop. It was harder than he’d imagined to climb to Amy at the side of the funnel, the stream of water constantly tugging at his feet. Not to mention the slippery ground in general. “I thought you broke the slide when the light didn’t turn green.”

“I just don’t understand,” she mumbled, narrowed eyes inspecting every inch of the funnel. “How could Pearson get hit with a dart in here? The whole slide is a closed space.”

Jake had an idea. “Maybe the killer waited for him in here. And when Pearson thought he’d waited for the green light long enough, he went in, and when he came here, all the killer had to do was shoot the dart, wait a bit and follow him out at a safe distance.”

Amy shook her head. “That’s what I thought as well, but remember what Kirkwell said? The cameras didn’t show any unusual patterns right before and after Pearson came out. The intervals in which people went on the slide and came out on the other side were all on par with the usual 30 seconds, give or take. And anyone waiting in here would have been filmed, anyway.”

“When did you even have time to look at the camera feed?”

“While you took forever to change into your trunks.”

“There was a long line by the changing rooms!” he exclaimed and gesticulated, which was a mistake. He almost lost his balance, teetering on the spot, one hand against the wall, the other hovering near Amy to use her as a support pillar if necessary.

“Careful, babe.” She took a step, one foot slipping, but she caught herself.

“Let’s try this,” he said, grabbing her hand and bracing himself against the wall with the other. She did the same and, using the wall and each other for balance, they walked through the funnel to wherever Amy wanted to go.

When she reached her destination, she pointed upwards, to one of the light machines. “This one’s not visible from any angle the camera can take. Do you see a dart pistol attached or is the light playing tricks on my eyes?”

Jake carefully stood on his tiptoes, narrowing his eyes at the small black device above. It wasn’t easy seeing clearly with the multi-colored strobes darting around. “Nah, there’s nothing. And I squinted pretty hard.”

Amy let her arms fall against her sides. “Then I don’t get it.”

“He could have brought the dart himself. Maybe he rode the slide one too many times and went crazy from the strobe lights.”

“Then he went home to prepare a poisoned dart arrow, returned, rode the slide, and impaled himself while the lights were watching.”

“Exactly– no, wait, you’re mocking me.”

She nodded with a glint in her eyes. “I am. I am mocking you.”

“Well, I feel very insulted, now I have to go to the wave pool to treat myself. Maybe some fries after?”

And there was the eye-roll he’d been waiting for. “Jake, we’re still working – okay, now you’re mocking me.”

He grinned and leaned over to kiss her, staggering a little but catching himself in time.

“Very professional, Peralta.”

“Hmm, I don’t hear you complaining when–”

Suddenly, a torrent of water flushed into the funnel, followed by a pair of feet, then legs, then the rest of a young teenage girl with dark pigtails and a red-and-black swimsuit. She eyed the pair confused while the pair stared at her, until she disappeared in the tube again, one single eyebrow raised at them.

Jake realized they made quite the sight, poising on the high side of the funnel in the middle of a dark water slide, one arm each around the other’s back while standing half a foot apart for balance, faces close, eyes wide, and Jake was sure his swim trunks were hanging a little low on his butt. He reached down to pull them up.

“Maybe we should–” Amy started, but that was when he lost his footing, and the fall was inevitable. They went down together, the water carrying them out of the funnel, Jake with his head first. The tube was too narrow, the ride too fast for him to change his position as he and Amy were flushed down the drain. All he could do was splutter and turn his face so that less water got into his nose and mouth and eyes, the tunnel’s change of lighting all but a blur of colors, like a disco lightning storm.

What could only have been about ten seconds until they landed in the pool felt more like a small eternity spent preparing for the end. Shaking his head like a dog, he wiped his hands over his face and accepted Amy’s hand helping him up.

“That was an unexpected ride,” she commented.

“Title of your sex tape.”

“Again, very professional.” But she was grinning, half the hair from her bun hanging into her face, tousled from the sudden wild journey.

He was about to retort with another “Title of your sex tape!” when he spotted something. “What if he wasn’t dead yet when he came out here?”

Amy followed his eyes, latching onto the same thing. “Oh my god!”

Simultaneously, they turned to each other and exclaimed, “The vents!”

They went to find Kirkwell who confirmed that, indeed, the vents were big enough for a person to fit into. Someone could have fired the deadly poisoned dart from up there as soon as Pearson exited the slide. Kirkwell promised to have every employee who had access to the vents at the precinct by the next day.

Jake tried to convince Amy to stay at Tropic Thunder a little longer, but she threw one look at him and he knew he didn’t stand a chance against the Amy Santiago Stern Mommy Look. It always worked on Mac, and it never failed to make Jake at least a little bit horny.

That night, Amy left a little late to Rosa’s as Jake hurried to meet the landlord.

He can’t remember if he ever arrived.

[wheresmynaya]

Lopez’s 8 Ch.8 | Brittana

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

It’s the first Monday of May and the sun is just barely peeking up over the horizon when Brittany slips back into the loft after a morning run and a quick stop at the corner café. Everyone’s still sound asleep aside from Emma who is preparing to spend the day with Rachel Berry. She’s nothing but nerves as she packs her things and she’s so focused on her task that she doesn’t even notice Brittany approach her.

“Morning,” Brittany greets.

Despite Brittany’s softness, Emma jumps at the unexpected sound.

“Sorry,” Brittany smiles apologetically, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Emma laughs nervously and goes back to packing, “That’s alright. Just got caught up in my thoughts, I suppose. You’re up early, didn’t think I’d see anyone before I left.”

“Running helps me focus,” Brittany shrugs before extending her hand. She has been holding two takeaway cups and offers one of them to Emma, “Here. I got this for you.”

“Oh, that’s very thoughtful but I don’t drink coffee,” Emma declines politely, “It gives me the jitters.”

Brittany smiles, “It’s tea. Lemongrass and ginger, I saw you drinking some the other day.”

Emma’s shoulders ease and she gives Brittany a genuine smile as she accepts the drink, “That’s perfect, thank you.”

“It’s cool,” Brittany returns the smile, “I figured you could use it. It’s going to be a big day.”

“So…I see you and Santana have fixed things,” Emma comments as she takes a sip of her tea, “Or rather, I hear you and Santana have fixed things.”

Brittany blushes, “Yeah, we have.”

Emma smiles proudly, “I’m glad. I didn’t really care for how dicey it was getting there for a second.”

“Neither,” Brittany nods, “We’re working on it though. Sorry if we made things awkward.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just happy you two are figuring it out,” Emma winks before letting out a sigh, “Well, I should get going. Rachel has a pretty rigorous morning routine and she insists that I am there for it all.”

“Of course,” Brittany chuckles, “I’ll see you later then. Good luck!”

Emma bows her head before wheeling away her belongings.

\\

When Brittany pokes her head into her room, she’s pleased to see Santana’s still sound asleep. The brunette has gravitated towards Brittany’s side of the bed and she hugs Brittany’s pillow to her chest. It makes Brittany smile as she tiptoes in, closing the door gently behind her, and settles on the edge of the bed.

When it dips, Santana let’s out a hum and stretches a hand for Brittany. The blonde takes it and places a gentle kiss atop it once she sinks down a little lower. She manages to pull her pillow away from Santana’s hold with one hand – the other is still holding onto a takeaway cup – and let’s the sleepy con artist cuddle into her side instead.

“Mornin’ San,” Brittany whispers as she caresses Santana’s bare shoulder. Her fingers trail down between Santana’s shoulder blades, tracing the smooth skin there.

Santana lets out a mumble and snuggles in closer.

“You gonna wake up?” Brittany whispers again, coaxing Santana from her slumber. She can tell by the subtle movements and sleepy sounds that Santana’s starting to awaken.

“Do I have to?” Santana asks groggily.

Brittany chuckles lightly at the question. This version of Santana is probably one of her favorites – all soft and sleepy, with her voice doing that sexy raspy thing. God, she’s so in love with this woman. If it wasn’t Game Day for them, Brittany would totally strip down and lie in bed with her all day.

“Yeah, you have to,” Brittany says and trails her fingers up over Santana’s hipbone, “Come on, I brought you a coffee. Don’t want it to get cold, do you?”

“You brought me coffee?” Santana asks and she sounds a little more awake now. She rolls a little and looks up at Brittany for the first time that morning.

Brittany can’t help but give her a goofy grin. To think they almost didn’t make it, look at them now. It’s almost like those past few days didn’t even happen. It obviously did because they’re more aware now, but they have so easily fallen right back into their rhythm as if no time had passed.

“I did,” Brittany answers and holds the cup in front of her.

Santana lights up even more and slowly pushes to sit up so that she can take the cup in her hands. She can already smell the roasted goodness and hums at the scent.

“You’re the best,” Santana says before taking a sip. Once she finishes, she leans in to kiss Brittany’s soft lips, “Thank you.”

“Big day today, thought we’d start it off right,” Brittany replies coolly.

Santana just smiles as she settles into Brittany’s side and sips her coffee slow. She has missed starting off her mornings like this and she’s so happy that she gets to do it all over again tomorrow. She never considered herself a morning person, but with Brittany? She might just change her mind.

A few minutes go by of them just sitting comfortably in each other’s silence when Brittany speaks up again.

“You ready for today?” She asks.

Santana smirks and downs the rest of her coffee, “I was born ready. What about you?”

“Totally,” Brittany mirrors her with a cocky grin, “We’ll be just fine.”

\\

Noon;

“We are not fine!” Brittany says as she briskly crosses the common area to where Santana and Quinn are standing. There’s an edge to her voice and it instantly raises a couple red flags for Santana.

“What?” Quinn questions, “What’s wrong?”

“Look,” Brittany holds out her phone and swipes to play a video she received from Emma minutes ago.

Santana and Quinn lean in and watch as a guard uses some type of key to unlock the Toussaint’s clasp. When the video finishes, the three of them exchange looks of surprise: they had no idea the necklace needed a key.

“Mercedes,” Santana calls out as she walks towards the hacker, “Can you bring this video up on your computer? We’re going to need a better look at this thing.”

The four of them watch as Mercedes plays the video over and over again trying to figure out how they can fix this in time. The more time that passes without finding a solution, the more frustrated Santana becomes.

“Fuck,” Santana mutters as she begins to pace, “A fucking key? Who does that? Who unlocks a necklace with a damn key? It’s ridiculous.”

“Must be a thing when the necklace is worth millions,” Quinn replies. She’s still studying the video along with Mercedes while Brittany tries to get Santana to quit pacing.

“You’re making me nervous,” Brittany chastises Santana lightly. She takes a hold of Santana’s shoulders and runs her palms down the woman’s arms, “Relax. We’re professionals, we can come up with something.”

“I’ve got it!” Mercedes blurts out suddenly. Santana and Brittany rush to her sides as she begins to explain, “I’ve got a friend that messes with this kind of stuff. I can give her a call and see what she can do?”

Santana relaxes, “Make the call.”

\\

Within ten minutes, Mercedes manages to enlist a friend who can confidently replicate the mechanism and have it finished within an hour. Santana’s so damn happy she nearly hugs the woman with all her strength.

“Okay great,” Santana nods, “That gives Tina just enough time to make her adjustments. Thank you, Mercedes.”

Mercedes just lifts her shoulder casually, “That’s nothin’. Someone will need to meet up with her though.”

“I can do it,” Brittany answers, “I have to pick up the catering van anyway.”

“And the food truck?” Santana questions.

Brittany shakes her head, “That one’s already organized. They’re going to park it so Mercedes and I will be set for later.”

Santana lets out a sigh of relief. She didn’t need this kind of scare so early in the day, but maybe now that it’s out of the way it’ll be smooth sailing from here.

\\

Brittany’s out in the garage preparing to head off when Santana enters. She’s hugging her arms to her chest in that special way that let’s Brittany know she’s nervous about something.

“What are you doing out here?” Brittany asks. She’s straddling her bike and has got her helmet in her hands, “I thought you and Quinn were working on something?”

“She’ll be fine without me for a few minutes,” Santana shrugs as she closes the distance, “I just wanted to speak with you, just us.”

Brittany smirks and looks around the room, “You know, we don’t always have to talk in the garage. There are other places too.”

Santana relaxes a little at the joke, “Yeah, I know. You’re just always out here when I want you.”

Brittany softens and watches how Santana lingers just a few feet away.

“Come over here,” Brittany nods until Santana’s close enough to pull in, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing crazy,” Santana replies as she wraps her arms around Brittany’s shoulders. The leather of Brittany’s jacket is cool against Santana’s skin, “I wanted to say good luck. I’ve been trying to think of something that’s more profound than that, but I’m not really getting anywhere.”

“I’m just going to pick something up,” Brittany chuckles, “I’ll be back.”

“I’m meaning for tonight,” Santana explains with a timid smile, “By the time you get back, we’ll be starting and I might not have the chance to say it. You know, with it just being us, and I wanted to have a moment before everything happens.”

Brittany swoons and her cheeks feel hot all of a sudden. This is Santana trying to open herself up to Brittany, to put her heart out there even if it’s only something small. It makes Brittany’s heart feel so full to see Santana already putting in the effort she always knew the brunette was capable of.

“I love you,” Brittany sighs because she can’t really think of any other words she wants to say right now, “Like so much.”

It’s Santana’s turn to swoon, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she leans in for a kiss. It’s slow and she can feel Brittany’s tongue running against her bottom lip while her arm wraps around Santana’s waist as they press even closer together.

It starts to heat up even more, but thankfully Brittany’s helmet acts as a barrier between them before they could get entirely distracted. When they finally pull away, Santana’s lips are swollen and Brittany’s got a dazed look in her eye.

Santana takes in a breath and pats Brittany’s thigh, “Good luck, Britt.”

“Short and sweet,” Brittany smirks, “Just like you.”

“Hey,” Santana fakes a glare.

“It was a compliment,” Brittany teases.

“Right,” Santana says with her eyes narrowed, “Well good luck. I love you.”

Brittany only winks as she slips into her helmet, “Thanks, but you don’t need luck when you’re this good.”

Santana shakes her head although she can’t help but smile at how suave Brittany can be.

“You be careful on that thing,” Santana warns as Brittany starts up the motorcycle.

“You got it, babe!” Brittany calls out before slapping down her visor and riding off.

Santana just watches until she’s out of view, never growing weary of how hot Brittany looks in that leather jacket. It’s just what she needs to get her through the next hour.

\\

Mid-afternoon;

The crew – consisting of everyone minus Emma – is dressed in blank pants and tops with black beanies snug on most of their heads.

“Why are we all dressed like cat burglars?” Tina points out as she lugs a heavy case across the garage to store in the catering van Brittany returned with.

Sugar sits atop one of the cases and inspects her nails, “For the aesthetic, obviously. Everyone looks good in black.”

Tina just rolls her eyes as she fails to lift the case she’s pulling into the van, “Are you going to help or would you rather watch me struggle?”

Sugar quirks a brow and smiles mischievously, “You really want me to answer that?”

Santana walks by with Brittany and slaps at the back of her head, “Go help her, Sugar.”

The pickpocket let’s out a dramatic sigh and kicks off of the case to do as she’s told. Brittany just chuckles at the two while they walk over to Mercedes and Quinn.

“Got everything?” Santana asks Mercedes. The hacker has a few cases of her own ready to load into the van resting by her feet.

She nods, “Yeah. Should be easy enough to get set up. Got the other cases you asked for over here too.”

“Great,” Santana smiles and looks to Brittany, “Can you help them? I’ll trying wrangle those two over there so we can get a move on.”

“You got it, boss!” Brittany replies eagerly and gets to work with Quinn and Mercedes.

\\

A moment later, they’re all piling into the van and Brittany hops into the driver seat. It’s a tight fit to get five women seated in the back, but they manage to squeeze in. Soon Quinn is passing out earpieces for everyone and once they’re is situated, Quinn runs through a sound check.

“Mercedes?”

“Check.”

“Santana?”

“Check.”

“Sugar?”

“Hey girl hey!”

“Tina?”

“Check.”

“Britt?”

“Check.”

“Okay, great!” Quinn nods before she leans forward a little so that she can see Santana. They exchange satisfied smiles before sitting back in their spots to continue on with the drive in silence.

Santana can feel the buzz of excitement and anticipation as they get closer to their first destination. It’s one of Santana’s favorite feelings when it comes to a heist. The feeling just rattles her bones and fills her entire being up with pure adrenaline. She might’ve had a few moments here and there so far when the nerves almost took over, but that’s what keeps her focused.

She was made for this.

\\

“Alright kiddos, first stop,” Brittany calls out from the front seat as she parks just around the corner from the Met entrance.

Sugar, Tina and Quinn slowly make their way out of the van with Tina’s case of tools. They also have their own bags slung over their shoulders concealing their uniforms and a change of clothes for later.

“Let us know how you go,” Santana says to Quinn as Tina and Sugar begin to make their way to the staff entrance.

Quinn nods, “See you guys soon.”

Santana only nods too before Quinn’s shutting the door behind her.

\\

The next stop is Santana’s and Brittany’s a little worried about the choice as she pulls up to the destination.

“A public restroom?” Brittany questions then she’s twisting around in her seat to spot Santana, “In a park no less? I can get you a hotel room instead?”

Santana chuckles as she prepares to exit the van, “You know everything’s fully booked. Besides, it’s only a short walk to the Met from here.”

“You’re going to walk there too?” Mercedes asks out of disbelief.

“Can I just do me? Damn,” Santana huffs.

Brittany only laughs, “This area looks sketchy. Can I drop you off somewhere else?”

Santana brushes her off, “I’ll be fine, Britt. Remember, I’ve done time. I wish someone would try me out here.”

“San…”

“Britt…” Santana mimics before she softens, “I’ll be fine. I promise.”  

“Alright,” Brittany relents with a sigh.

Happy with her response, Santana makes her way out of the van with her bag. She comes around to the driver’s side window and waits for Brittany to roll it down.

“Can I get a kiss before I go?” Santana asks super sweetly.

“You think you have to ask?” Brittany giggles and leans down so they can share a quick one through the window.

“Okay, get going. I’ll see you in a bit,” Santana waves.

Brittany just winks, “See ya.”

\\

Dusk;

Everyone’s had enough time now to get changed and into position. Quinn and Sugar are just finishing up with the service briefing for the staff working tonight’s dinner. Tina’s set up her work station in the staff bathroom off of the kitchen. Brittany and Mercedes are on stand by in the food truck with Mercedes’ equipment all up and running.

And Santana’s applying her final coat of lipstick.

Everything has led up to this moment and she’s anxious to see how it all will play out, because no matter how prepared you are, anything can happen. She takes one more steadying breath before she taps at her ear piece.

“Countdown’s on,” Santana points out first with one last check of the time.

It’s just after six so Emma should be arriving soon to the Met with Rachel and Dani. With everyone else deep in their covers now, Santana doesn’t hear a response but she knows they’re listening.

“So we made it, almost. I just want to start off by saying the nerves are normal. If they weren’t there, I’d be worried because these jobs don’t work without them. The nerves remind us that we really fucking want to pull this off and we will,” Santana starts off.

She’s watching her reflection as she finishes her make up and it’s almost like she’s talking to herself if it weren’t for the others’ in her ear. This pep talk is for everyone, including herself. She caps her lipstick and goes for her mascara next.

“Don’t worry about getting locked up either. It’s not so bad and I’ve still got a few connections on the inside so if all else fails, you’ll all be taken care of,” She pauses for a moment and shakes her head at her own honesty, “But no one’s getting locked up because we’re professionals and we’re ready for anything.”

From the food truck, Brittany smirks at Santana’s slip up. She can hear in her words that Santana’s trying her best to be professional. Afterall, this is her job and she has been the mastermind behind the entire thing so far.

Brittany’s proud of her though, she loves to see this kind of growth in Santana.

Santana clears her throat and continues, “These last three weeks have been one hell of a ride, huh? We were on such a tight schedule and you all really uprooted yourselves to be here. I want to thank all of you for sticking around long enough to see this through. You’ve all worked very hard for this so whatever happens tonight, I just want everyone to remember why we’re doing this.”

With her clipboard in hand, Quinn stares down at her list and nods. She’s not reading what it says but instead she’s listening to Santana’s words and thinks about her daughter, her family.

Tina too, thinks about her family and their business and what this money can mean for them.

“It’s not for me and it’s not even for you,” Santana adds, “It’s for all the little kids out there that dream one day of becoming a badass criminal.”

Surrounded by a bunch of nerds in waiter uniforms, Sugar grins proudly. She’s the youngest of Lopez’s crew so Santana’s words really resonate with her. She’s been a pickpocket for as long as she can remember and she fills with pride that she’s living out this dream.

“We’re doing this for them,” Santana says earnestly, “We’re doing this for the children.”

\\

Mercedes quirks her brow and turns to Brittany, “Did she just say this is for the children?”

Brittany chuckles, “Yeah, she did.”

Mercedes shakes her head and swivels back to her screens, “That was not what I was expecting her to say.”

“Santana’s full of surprises,” Brittany replies through her smile, “You get used to it.”

\\

The entrance of the Met is cluttered with the chatter of celebrities being interviewed by news outlets and the bright flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras. Santana hangs back a little when she catches sight of Emma, Rachel and Dani just ahead of her followed by the two guards looking after the Toussaint.

Santana can see that Dani’s changed her hair color once again – a deep brunette – while Emma fusses over Rachel’s train as they ascend the steps. She keeps her facial expression neutral as she follows at a safe distance until she’s stopped to be checked in. She gains entrance easily thanks to Quinn and continues to keep her eye on the three as they head towards the exhibits.

\\

Inside the dining area, Quinn’s as cool as a cucumber. She’s flipping through the pages of her clipboard and double checking all the seating arrangements so that everything’s perfect. Oddly enough, her job at Vogue is sort of a perfect fit for someone as organized as her.  

She glances up in Santana’s direction as she walks by the corridor and gives her a subtle nod before tapping at her earpiece.

“We can begin seating the guests,” She says so that those around her and the team in her ear can hear.

“I’m about to see so many famous people,” Sugar responds and they can just hear her chaotic excitement.

“Please don’t break character,” Quinn warns as she walks towards the dining room entrance.

“I’m not making any promises,” Sugar replies.

“Sugar!” Santana whisper scolds.

“Chill, I was joking. Lighten up people, you’re stressing me out,” Sugar groans and soon she’s entering the dining area as poised as ever.

Quinn catches sight of the pickpocket too and gives her a subtle nod, “Okay, bring them in.”  

\\

“Okay thank you. Enjoy!” Brittany says a bit too sweetly to another customer. She’s dressed in her chef whites with her hair tied up in a neat bun and she’s using the tongs she’s holding to wave goodbye.

From the other end of the food truck, Mercedes chuckles, “Why don’t you just put up the closed sign?”

Brittany just shrugs and goes to prep a plate of tots for them to share, “I’ve always wanted a food truck. Actually, I’ve always wanted an ice cream truck. Ice cream truck owners just seem so happy all the time.”

“Well I know what you’re using your share of the money for,” Mercedes jokes before turning back to watch the screens. She’s got eyes on everyone, but nothing too crazy is going down just yet.

Emma, Rachel Berry and Dani are slowly moving through the exhibits while Santana tails them. Across the venue, Quinn lingers around the host desk as guests begin to file in. Sugar’s there too with a bottle of sparkling wine, she wanders around the space filling glasses and offering top-ups.

“How’s it looking?” Brittany asks a moment later and slides a plate of tots between them.

Mercedes swipes one and pops it into her mouth, “Fancy as hell, but we’re good. Some of the guests are starting to be seated.”

“Sweet,” Brittany smiles and starts to untie her apron, “I’m going to head in then and check on Tina. Starters will probably go out in the next thirty.”

“Cool,” Mercedes nods, “See you in a bit.”

Brittany nods too and goes to fist bump Mercedes before she makes her way out of the truck.

\\

Near the exit of the exhibit Emma, Rachel and Dani were just in, Santana lingers by the archway that leads into the dining area. She doesn’t actually have a place setting, so she hangs out near the bar and keeps her champagne flute close to her mouth to conceal her moving lips.

“They just left the exhibit,” Santana alerts the group with a subtle press to her earpiece.

Quinn looks up from her task and spots the three being guided to their table by another hostess. She begins to make her way over, “I’ve got eyes on her. She’s being seated now.”

“I’m coming by for arrival drinks,” Sugar says next and soon the pickpocket appears. There’s a quickness to her step as she approaches and begins to fill everyone’s glass.

“Britt, you can go on Rachel’s appetizer in fifteen,” Quinn instructs.

\\

In the kitchen, it’s a mad house and there are bodies everywhere rushing to get dishes plated in time. Tina’s hidden away where all the other kitchen hands stay washing up and doing prep work. She keeps her head down though and waits for her signal.

Brittany stands off to the side too in her own section of the kitchen dedicated to special dietary requirements, watching everyone’s movements like a hawk while she listens to the others talk about what’s happening in the dining room. When she hears Quinn call her out, Brittany nods and checks her pocket for the bottle she’s meant to use on Rachel’s appetizer.

“Heard,” Brittany mutters before stepping up to the pass and calling out, “Ready on the vegan for table four!”

“Yes chef,” The line calls out in return.

Brittany smirks at the robotic response; one of the perks about this job is that she can be so many different things: a chef, a small business owner, a con artist. The possibilities are endless!

Minutes later, several dishes are brought to the pass. Brittany inspects them all and it really looks like she knows what she’s doing as she wipes away the chefs’ fingerprints left on the sides of the plates. There are a couple more finishing touches here and there including a few drops from the bottle Brittany had in her pocket into Rachel Berry’s vegan butternut squash soup.

She feels a little bad for what the star is about to go through, but it’s only a fleeting thought before she’s calling out, “Service please!”

Soon waitstaff enter and the dishes are on their way. Once they’re out of sight and Brittany’s sure no one’s looking, she presses at her earpiece, “Alright ladies, soup’s on.”

\\

Emma sits rigidly next to Rachel Berry as she goes on and on about the projects she’s currently working on. The designer’s close to running off and hiding by the bar for the rest of the evening when an elegant bowl of soup is placed in front of Rachel.

Without an earpiece of her own, Emma has been pretty out of the loop so she can only guess where they are in the heist. But when the plate of soup is set down, Emma knows they’re deep in this now. She watches with bated breath as Rachel dips her spoon in and takes a huge mouthful. It’s a little disgusting to watch, especially paired with the obscene noises she’s making at the taste.

She could’ve gone her whole life without hearing Rachel Berry moan.

“God, this is incredibly delicious!” Rachel commends dramatically.

The rest of the guests at the table – including Dani – look somewhat uncomfortable as Rachel’s the only one with an appetizer for the moment. She takes another spoonful and hums in delight.

“I haven’t eaten anything all day,” Rachel sighs with her mouth full, “I must’ve forgotten, you know how long it takes to get prepared for these kind of events.”

Dani forces a smile, “Right.”

Rachel sees Dani’s failed attempt to mask her discomfort and pauses, “I’d offer you some, but I know you aren’t vegan as well and not everyone is accustomed to the taste of vegan food.”

“It’s just squash soup,” Emma says with the shake of her head before she realizes she said those words aloud instead of keeping them to herself.

Rachel shoots her a glare, “It isn’t just anything. Substitutes were used, sacrifices had to be made in order to preserve the lives of many. I’m a hero for what I do.”

Emma blushes, “Of course. I apologize.”

“Well,” Dani starts off with a flirty smile, “I happen to think your veganism is sexy.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You know what else I think is sexy?”

Rachel’s attention is swiftly stolen as Dani starts to whisper more. Emma tries to focus on anything else but them while Rachel laughs like a giddy school girl between bites of soup.

\\

From offsides, Quinn catches Emma’s eye before closing the distance to the table to see how far Rachel is into her soup. She can just barely see the bottom of the dish and smirks.

“She’s nearly finished with the soup,” Quinn tells the crew, “T-Minus fifteen minutes.”

Sugar nods upon hearing the update and sets down her wine bottle in order to make her way towards the restrooms.

She moves quickly, only momentarily distracted by famous people twice, before she’s entering the bathroom. She’s surprised to see so many celebrities huddled in there taking mirror selfies and wonders if Santana would be mad if she happened to photobomb a couple of these. She decides against though, she’s on the job.

With everyone so distracted with themselves, Sugar starts to lock each stall door from the inside…only allowing to far stall to be left unlocked.

\\

Fifteen Minutes Later;

“And I completely choked!” Rachel shrieks.

“No!” The guest next to Dani gasps.

“It’s true. It never happened to me before,” Rachel tells the table. She’s mid story about some audition she went for early on in her career when her stomach gurgles.

Emma actually hears it and goes to touch Rachel’s shoulder, “You okay?”

Rachel forces a smile and brushes off the feeling, “Of course, it’s nothing. Anyway, where was I? Oh, I managed to – “

This time Rachel burps and everyone at the table looks to Rachel half out of disgust, half out of worry. Emma subtly scoots her chair further away because the sounds coming out of Rachel do not sound pretty.

Dani’s probably the only one genuinely concerned as she leans in, “You sure you’re alr – “

This time Rachel gags and shoots up from her seat. She’s looking a shade of pale green but before anyone can tend to her, she gags again and takes off towards the restrooms.

\\

Santana waits at the bar for a refill when the sound of Mercedes’ voice fills her ear.

“And she’s on the move, ladies!” Mercedes alerts them from the food truck, “Sugar, she’s coming to you.”

Santana looks towards the entrance that leads into the dining room just as Rachel rushes out. Just behind her, Santana can see the two guards running to her aid.

Or rather, to keep their eyes on the Toussaint. She doubts they care about wearer of the actual necklace.

“I see her,” Santana notes as she takes her newly filled glasses and heads towards the restrooms too. She gets there just as Rachel is slamming against the door and pushing her way inside before she hurls.

Two steps behind her are the broad-shouldered guards, but Santana cuts their path and begins pointing up at the sign hanging over the door.

“No way! I’m not letting you pervs in there,” Santana huffs, “This is the ladies’ room, yours is just there.”

“Miss, please. Move!” One guard demands but Santana is stuck in her spot.

“You’re going to have to carry me off, you’re not getting by. Trying to sneak a peek at the women in there, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Santana argues, shoving the men back with her free hand while she tries hard to not spill her champagne.

The guards eventually give up and instead stay posted just a few feet away from the restroom doors to wait for Rachel’s exit. Santana stays there too, careful to stand just outside of the blind spot’s edge so that she’s conveniently on camera for all to see.

Every so often the two guards glare her way and she gives it right back.

\\

Inside the bathroom, Rachel stumbles into the last stall and drops to her knees before the toilet. Everything’s a blur; all she manages to focus on is aiming for the bowl. She feels so incredibly sick, she’s never felt anything like it before. Rachel’s skin feels clammy, her stomach is all in a twist and the nauseous feeling just won’t let up. The only thing that makes her feel any better is hurling.

Sugar appears out of the stall next to Rachel. Her nose is scrunched at the sounds the star is making, “This is so gross.”

“Quickly Sugar,” Mercedes warns, “Santana, you’re right on the edge of the blind spot. Stay right there. Quinn, ten seconds.”

Sugar nods and goes in after Rachel, “Oh no, you’re really barfing your guts out. You good?”

Rachel can vaguely hear someone come in the stall after her and soon a hand is rubbing gently at her back. It feels kind of nice and for a moment, she wonders if it’s Dani coming to check on her. She’s too preoccupied with throwing up to turn around and check though.

“You’re doing great,” Sugar prompts and just as Rachel heaves one more time, she’s able to unlock the necklace and quickly stuff it in her pocket.

Once she has it in her possession, Sugar makes her way out of the restroom.

\\

From her spot by the restroom door, Santana sees the busboy Quinn got moving approaching with his tray. She begins counting down in her head and glancing towards the door for Sugar’s exit.

3…2…1

Just as the door opens, Santana accidentally bumps into the incoming busboy who then swivels around just in time for Sugar to smoothly plant the necklace on his tray. It happens quick and the two guards are none the wiser.

“And he’s out of here! Everyone’s still in the dark,” Mercedes cheers as the busboy heads off to the kitchen.

Santana and Sugar share a smirk before Sugar slips into the men’s restroom to hide. Santana just takes a slow sip of her champagne, loving how the evening is progressing according to plan.

\\

In the kitchen, Brittany smiles proudly to herself then looks over to Tina who’s smiling back. They both look expectantly to the door, anxiously awaiting the busboy’s arrival. It’s meant to only take thirty seconds at the max for him to arrive, but it’s now verging on four minutes and he’s still nowhere to be found.

It puts Brittany on edge and she quickly presses at her earpiece, “Yo, where is this guy?”

From her spot by the bar, Santana straightens, “What do you mean?”

“No one’s come in yet,” Brittany explains. She keeps staring at the double doors as if she’s willing it to open and for this guy to come strolling through already.

In the food truck, Mercedes checks the cameras and instantly spots the busboy with another staff member chatting in the hall. She rolls her eyes at his behavior and goes to alert the team, “He’s in the hallway with some other kid.”

Santana tightens her grip on her glass, “Quinn, go kick his ass. He’s wasting time.”

From the dining room, Quinn nods and begins to quickly walk towards the hallway. When she gets near, she can already hear their voices from behind the door. She steels herself and slips on her bitch-face before slamming the door open.

“What the hell is going on here?” She snaps and the two busboys instantly look mortified, “Your job is to clear, not stand back here and chat. What’s the matter with you two? Move it! Let’s go.”

The two boys quicken their paces and get back to work with a renewed urgency while Quinn let’s out a relieved sigh.

“Good work,” Santana compliments, “Glad your mom-voice could be of some use.”

“Poor Beth,” Brittany teases too.

Quinn rolls her eyes at them both, “Shut up.” Then she glances up at the camera she knows Mercedes is bound to be watching and gives it a little wave before heading back to the dining area.

\\

Soon the busboy enters the kitchen and heads towards the dishwashing area to unload his tray.

“Hi, can you bring that tray here?” Tina asks before the guy can start to unload. He looks at her oddly before shrugging and bringing the tray over, “Thank you. I just love washing dishes by hand.”

“Sure,” He says dismissively before heading back out to the floor.

Tina dumps everything into the sink of soapy water and then feels around for the necklace. Although the sink is full of other dishes and utensils, the feel of the Toussaint is hard to miss. She lifts the weighty necklace from the soapy water and goes to rinse it off. It sparkles beautifully, even under the fluorescent bulbs of the kitchen.

“Oh my God, I’m holding 150 million dollars worth of diamonds,” Tina gasps.

“Stay focused,” Santana warns.

“Sorry, okay,” Tina takes a steadying breath before slipping the necklace in her pocket. She looks around at the other kitchen hands, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

No one even gives her a second look before Tina rushes to the staff bathroom. Inside the small stall, Tina pulls out her tools she concealed earlier and sets off in dividing the necklace.

\\

Back by the restroom Santana has been watching, she finally spots Rachel exit.

“Wow, that was such an experience,” Rachel sighs. She’s looking like a sweaty, disheveled mess but there is something noticeably different about her appearance: her neck is completely bare.

The two guards turn to her and gape.

“What?” Rachel frowns, “Why are you looking at me like that? Is it my make up? I tried to – “

“Move!” The guards demand and rush for the ladies’ restroom.

Rachel’s looking scandalized, as if a 150 million dollar necklace is more important than her well-being? It’s unheard of and she can’t wait to tell Cartier about their guards’ lack of empathy and compassion.

Fortunately for Rachel, Dani has been waiting off to the side for her to return. Dani approaches her looking rather worried and for a moment there, Rachel wonders if she had been waiting there all this time. Rachel hasn’t known Dani long, but she’s charming and attractive and the tabloids just love spouting rumors about their relationship. If Dani’s lucky, Rachel might just keep her around.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dani asks and Rachel is so relieved that someone finally cares that she almost died in there.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Rachel smiles appreciatively.

Dani smirks, “Oh course. You had me worried. What’s going on with the guards?”

Rachel rolls her eyes at their mention, “Apparently the necklace is missing.”

Dani’s eyes drift down to Rachel’s neck and back up to meet her eyes, “Oh yeah, so it is.”

Suddenly the guards are exiting the restroom. Their facial features are harder than before while they talk amongst each other in a hushed tone It’s not looking good at all.

“Did you find it?” Rachel questions when the guards still haven’t gone over for an update.

They shake their heads and one of the guards steps forward, “We’re going to have to shut this place down so we can do a proper search.”

“What?” Rachel gasps, “Over a necklace? Is it really that serious?”

“Yes, it is extremely serious,” The guard nods.

Dani scoffs, “Well, I didn’t take it so can we just get back to dinner?”

Rachel and the guards look at Dani like she has two heads before the guards are waving her off.

“No. We can’t,” One guard replies and taps at his earpiece, “We’re going to seal the exits.”

“Oh my God,” Rachel groans, “This is unbelievable.”

The guards don’t really pay her any attention as they begin to herd the guests towards the front of the Met.

\\

From the food truck, Mercedes watches on with a careful eye as zones of the Met begin to filter out. At each exit, several guards are posted in order to check everyone individually for the Toussaint.

“Okay, everyone’s being moved to the entrance. Exits are being sealed now,” Mercedes alerts the team.

From the staff bathroom, Tina let’s out a shaky breath. She’s working diligently to break up the necklace but it’s probably her sloppiest work yet considering the time restraint. Regardless, she keeps her head down and stays focused as she keeps an ear out for Mercedes’ updates.

Within minutes, police and news vans are pulling up outside of the Met. It’s a flurry of police officers and camera crews wanting to get the first crack at this breaking story. Mercedes becomes giddy at watching all the chaos unfold from the safety of the food truck.

“Oh hell, it’s really going down out here! News vans and police have rolled up,” Mercedes adds.

\\

Santana is blending into the crowd as it starts to move towards the exit, but she tries her best to hang back and wait for her signal.

“How’s it looking on your side, Q?” She asks.

From the dining room, Quinn scans the area and looks over to the exit where guards are scanning everyone.

“They’re about halfway through in here,” Quinn says then glances over to Rachel’s table where the star sits with Dani and two guards, “Rachel’s still getting questioned too.”

At the table, the guard asking the questions sits stiffly before Rachel and asks, “You didn’t talk to anyone once you were headed for the bathroom?”

Rachel lets out an aggravated huff. She doesn’t know how many times she has to repeat herself. She’s recounted her journey several times already and it wasn’t anything special. She felt sick, she got up from the table, power-walked to the restroom and put her head in a toilet.

“Miss Berry, please. This information is very important,” The guard presses further.

Not one to mask her annoyance, Rachel rolls her eyes and says, “Like I said, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to converse with anyone. In case you didn’t notice, I was rather ill. I went from this table straight to the bathroom.”

\\

Back in the kitchen, Brittany anxiously awaits her signal. The guards have yet to come and clear out the kitchen and it’s important that Brittany’s out of there before that happens. When she checks the time again, she grimaces.

Time is running out!

There’s this energy and excitement coursing through Brittany’ body and she’s just itching to get the ball rolling already, but as time ticks away worry starts to chip away at her excitement. It’s becoming harder to keep her cool – usually she’s the most level-headed during a job – the longer she waits, but then suddenly there’s some static in her ear.

“Test. Test. You two hear me?” Mercedes asks.

Brittany’s never been so relieved to hear her voice and quickly replies, “Check.”

“Check,” Santana replies too. She has been evading the guards while she also waited for Mercedes.

“Okay. We’re secure. I’ve got eyes on the others so you’re free to move into position,” Mercedes instructs. This next part of the job only takes a select few to complete, so Mercedes patches them through to a private channel for the time being.

“Ready, Britt?” Santana asks.

Brittany beams with her infamous Pierce smile, “Whenever you are.”

“I’ll get into position,” Santana tells her.

Brittany nods and whips off her apron before tossing it on the counter. She heads over to area where Tina was once washing dishes and finds a slender man humming to himself in the corner while he scrubs at a pan. He’s tapping his foot to the rhythm as Brittany approaches.

She chuckles and goes to pat his shoulder, “Let’s go, Chang, it’s showtime.”

Mike Chang, former Olympic gymnast and personal friend of Brittany’s, spins on the spot and his bright smile matches the blonde’s. They’ve been in contact ever since Santana clued her in on this particular part of the job. When she had asked Brittany if she knew of anyone who was super flexible and down for a little thievery, Mike was Brittany’s first pick.

Mike quickly dries his hands on his apron before whipping it off as well, “Man, I’m relieved. My fingers were getting all pruney.”

Brittany scrunches her nose at the look of his hands, “Washing dishes is the worst.”

“Seriously,” Mike agrees before following Brittany as she retrieves their special cart.

With Mike at Brittany’s side, the two begin to make their way towards their destination. Most were too concerned with complaining about the evening’s interruption and making their ways towards the checkpoint to notice them sneak by the dining room. They kept up with their swift pace until they spotted Santana lingering by the entrance of their intended target.

“Wow Santana, you look…” Brittany couldn’t find a word worthy enough to describe the woman who stood before her. The hair, the makeup, the dress…everything about Santana was jaw dropping. It made Brittany’s outfit of chef whites seem so inadequate next to her.

Santana blushed at the compliment and tried to hide her coy smile behind her champagne flute. She knows she looks good and she has received compliments all night from strangers, but it does something different to her when they come from Brittany. With Brittany, she’s heard it all but the blonde’s flirty words never seem to lose its effect.

“No time for sweet talking, Britt,” Santana chastises lightly.

Brittany smirks, “There’s always time, especially when you look like that.”

From behind them, Mike looks at the two fondly. Like Quinn, he has also worked with Santana and Brittany on and off throughout the years. He’s also well aware of their little…dance.

“Hey Chang,” Santana finally tears her eyes away long enough to spot the gymnast lingering behind Brittany.

He bows his head politely, “Miss Lopez. You’re looking sharp.”

“Thank you. Well you two better get in there,” Santana replies with a nod to the exhibit.

Mike and Brittany give her a resolute nod and head inside, but not before Brittany steals a quick kiss from Santana.

\\

Once Brittany and Mike are in, everything becomes way more real for them. They’re surrounded by the crown jewels of eight different royal families and they’re going to nab them all.

Brittany’s quick to set up their cover. She pulls out a twenty foot selfie stick from the cart then attaches her phone to it before positioning it in before the exhibit’s camera. Mike’s already shedding his baggy chef pants and grey t-shirt covered in patches of drying dishwater to reveal the all black leotard he’s been wearing underneath. While Brittany moves on to unload the suspension system from the cart, Mike clips into his harness and shrugs on a backpack.

They both finish up around the same time and when Brittany spots his outfit, she smiles.

“You look like Catwoman,” Brittany points out then pauses to wonder, “Or Catman? Is there a Catman?”

Mike shrugs and adjusts his night vision goggles, “I have no idea, but I’m about to feel very Catwoman-like.”

Brittany nods and turns him around to load the suspension system into his backpack. Once everything is secure, she gives him a pat on the shoulder and he’s off. All Brittany can do is watch as Mike uses his height and agility to make it up onto the rafters. Brittany’s never not impressed by Mike’s fluid movements, he makes the most difficult of tasks look so easy!

Mike continues to stay focused as he moves along, careful to avoid the sensors as he goes and pray that he doesn’t make a wrong move and plummet into the moat below. Once he gets into position, he removes the suspension system from his backpack and begins to set it up. Brittany watches from below for a moment until she’s confident that he has everything under control up there.

When she’s satisfied, she heads back over to their cart and starts unloading waterproof bags containing replicas Tina made before. Brittany also unloads the small toy submarine she picked up the night before and sets it in the water. She attaches the first bag of replica jewelry and uses the toy sub’s remote controls to tow it in Mike’s direction.

It’s perfect time because Mike gets the suspension system online and begins his descent just as the bag of jewels arrives below. From there, it’s a simple switcheroo that they just have to repeat until they’ve wiped the entire exhibit.  

\\

Outside the exhibit, Santana has already had to redirect a guard’s attention. Luckily, she was able to smooth talk her way around it but she doubts she’ll be able to do that again. She keeps an eye on the time and tries to refrain from pestering Brittany and Mike.

“How we looking out there, Mercedes?” Santana asks instead. She hasn’t heard an update since this part of the job began, but she supposes that’s a good sign.

“Still on the hunt. We’re all good,” Mercedes replies almost instantly.

It’s a relief and she waits a few more minutes before she checks in with Brittany, “What about you, Britt?”

“Making great time. So glad Mike was free to do this. I’m flexible but not like this,” Brittany says and it makes Santana smirk.

“I beg to differ,” Santana flirts.

“Gross,” Mercedes feigns a gag.

Santana’s in mid laugh when another guard comes appears. Her smile quickly drops, “Fuck. Someone’s coming. Stand by.”

\\

The sound of slight panic in Santana’s voice has Brittany rushing to store the stolen jewels. Mike’s too far away for her to talk to, so she can only hope that he can feel the sudden tension and pick up the pace. They’re on the last display now which happens to be one large piece instead of several smaller ones so that’s at least a little good news.

In a matter of minutes, Brittany’s packing away the final bag and Mike’s ascending to the rafters to get packed up.

“Okay, we’re wrapping up now,” Brittany says.

Mike joins her a moment later and wipes the sweat from his brow, “That was fun.”

“Looked like it,” Brittany replies as she shuts the doors to the cart, “Now let’s bounce.”

\\

While Mike and Brittany retreat with the cart to the catering van and Santana hides herself away in a janitor’s closet to avoid the guards, Mercedes patches everyone back through to the main channel as she scans the cameras.

Santana’s safe. Quinn, Sugar and Emma are safe. Brittany and Mike are safe. Tina’s –

“Oh shit,” Mercedes gasps then presses to her earpiece, “Someone’s in the kitchen.”

From the staff restroom Tina whisper-yells, “What?! I’m not finished yet.”

Mercedes watches the man inspect the recently cleared kitchen. His movements are slow and methodical, “Tina, he’s right there.”

Tina shakes her head. Her hands remain steady although her heart rate spikes, “Just a few more minutes.”

From the janitor’s closest, Santana hangs on every word between the two but she knows when they’re pressing their luck.

“You’re out of time, Tina,” Santana warns.

Mercedes watches the guard cross the room. It looks like he has his eyes on the restroom door, “Guys…he’s close, just by the door.”

“Fuck,” Santana curses and she’s quick to think, “Q? Where are you now?”

Quinn lingers by the water in the dining room and replies, “The moat. What’s happening?”

“You have to pull it out of the water,” Santana instructs.

Quinn pauses, “What? That wasn’t the plan.”

“It doesn’t matter! Just do it, pull it out of the water. Hurry!” Santana urges.

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” Quinn replies and hastily lifts her dress to reveal the replica Toussaint hanging off of her thing by a garter. She makes a show of retrieving from the water and lifts it high as she calls out to the guards, “I found it!”

Guards rush to her in an instant to inspect it with Rachel and Dani close behind. With a once over, the guard radios in to the rest of his team, “We’ve found it.”

Mercedes watches the guard in the kitchen retreat without another look, “You’re good, Tina. He’s gone.”

From the Janitor’s closet, Santana slumps against the wall in relief, “Fuck. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“You and me both,” Mercedes replies with a light chuckle.

\\

Soon after the guards retrieve the necklace, the lockdown on the venue is lifted.

“Alright Sugar, you can move,” Mercedes instructs, “The lockdown is lifted.”

Sugar slips out from the men’s room and adjusts her blazer before heading towards the kitchen to meet with Tina. Santana exits the closet too and rejoins the rest of the guests while Mercedes goes to get changed into her evening dress.

\\

Sugar’s one of the first people to return to the kitchen and she beelines it for the staff restroom where Tina is just finishing up on the Toussaint pieces.

“Wow, that’s a lot of bling,” Sugar gasps and she’s almost star-struck as she reaches out to touch.

“Careful of the glue,” Tina warns before she takes it upon herself to load Sugar’s pockets with the new pieces of jewelry.

Sugar’s pockets are heavy and it makes her feel a little giddy that she’s basically wearing 150 million dollars worth of jewels, like she’s allowed to do it this time without fear of Santana scolding her. She thinks back to her leader’s pep talk from before about little kids dreaming about being criminals and she straightens up a little taller, because what she’s doing…it’s history in the making.

Once Sugar heads off, Tina leaves to get changed into her evening dress too now that her part of the job is over.

\\

Out around the venue, Sugar begins to distribute the jewelry amongst the team. First its Quinn then Mercedes – now all glammed up in a beautiful red dress – followed by a drop off to Emma and ending with Santana. All smooth handovers and nothing is suspected. Once Sugar has distributed everything, she slips away to get changed too.

Meanwhile out in a parking garage, Brittany has just finished stowing the catering van and the cart of jewels. Now she slips into her helmet and mounts her motorcycle, heading for a place to get gussied up like the others.

\\

Back inside, Santana lets the weight of the jewelry weight heavily in her palm while she keeps her eye on Dani who returns to the bar for another drink. Santana takes the brief moment to reflect on the past, their past. It wasn’t very long and it might’ve been a little bit of whirlwind, but she supposes it’s time to really look her pain in the eye and acknowledge it. Like Brittany said before, she doesn’t always have to pretend to be so tough. She can take a moment to honor her pain and how Dani hurt her.

And Santana does. She watches as Dani flirts with the bartender and smiles that same smug, shit-eating grin that once hooked her too. She takes in the expensive, designer suit Dani wears and wonders if it was the money they acquired together that paid for it. She remembers being in that interrogation room, remaining tight-lipped and loyal until she got word that Dani had cracked. She remembers feeling heartbroken. Not because she was in love with Dani, but because her trust was obliterated by Dani’s betrayal.

When Santana looks at Dani now, she just shakes her head. To think that she could ever get away with hurting Santana like that and not pay a price? She must’ve not known Santana at all to begin with. What Santana’s about to do now, it’s more than just payback. It’s more than just being petty or cruel.

This is for her.

So Santana makes her move. With a well-timed bump and avoidance of Dani’s eye, Santana manages to slip her piece of the Toussaint into Dani’s blazer pocket. When she feels it fall to the bottom of Dani’s pocket, it’s like the final piece of a puzzle sinking into place. It’s a great feeling and she disappears into the crowd of guests with the most proudest of smirks on her face.

Now, all there is left to do is enjoy the rest of their night. The entire team looks drop dead gorgeous, especially donning their new, custom-made jewelry.

\\

With spending most of her night amongst the guests and their pretentious attitudes, Santana doesn’t really want to hang around any longer than she has to. Instead, she slips away and heads out into the night. She might have just a slight buzz going – an open bar can do that – but she’s coherent enough to read a watch. When she checks hers, she frowns at the time.

She glances down the street then looks the other way and her frown deepens: Brittany’s late.

Or so Santana thought.

Brittany steps out from behind the food truck parked across the street and her eyes instantly find Santana’s. She’s dressed in a shimmering green suit and there’s this swagger to her step as she crosses that Santana can only sum up to being completely Brittany. There’s this lopsided grin filling her face too and Santana can’t help but mirror it as she nears.  

“Wow,” Santana breathes out once Brittany stands before her. Brown eyes rake up Brittany’s frame and it’s like Santana’s words fumble to land with grace, “You look…”

“Better than your ex?” Brittany supplies with a smirk. She can spot the telltale signs of Santana beginning to short circuit and she supposes it’s only fair considering Santana also left her kind of speechless earlier by the exhibit.

Santana chuckles and tugs Brittany in by her waist, “Way better.”

Brittany molds into Santana’s embrace easily and glances at the woman’s hairline, “The blonde surprised me. You really committed to the part.”

“Thought I’d switch it up,” Santana shrugs, “You like it?”

“I do,” Brittany beams before glancing down Santana’s cleavage, “I like this dress even better.”

“Yeah?” Santana asks, her tone growing husky at the hungry look in Brittany’s eye.

“Mhmm..” Brittany hums, “But I think I rather see you out of – “

“Dear Lord, Sweet Baby Jesus. Don’t finish that sentence,” Mercedes’ voice rings out startling the woman, “Take out your damn earpieces!”

Santana and Brittany laugh as they pull apart and send off their apologies before taking them out. While Santana stores them in her purse, she looks to Brittany and asks, “What took you so long before? I thought something happened.”

Brittany quirks a brow and goes to tease her with a poke to Santana’s side, “Were you worried about me? That’s cute.”

“No,” Santana blushes as she bats away Brittany’s hand, “I was just wondering. You’re never late.”

Brittany teasing grin turns mischievous as she lowers her voice enough to send a shiver down Santana’s spine, “You really wanna know?”

“Uh-huh,” Santana hums almost entranced. She watches Brittany lick her lips and she’s suddenly so aware of how long its been since she’s felt them on her skin.

“I slashed Dani’s tires after I parked the van,” Brittany admits slyly, “At least, I think it was Dani’s tires. I’m not one hundred percent sure but it still felt good.”

Santana bites her lip, “That’s so hot.”

“You think so? I thought about just taking it for a joyride and maybe parking it on a different level so she’d never be able to find it but that would be too time consuming,” Brittany explains before setting her hand on Santana’s hip, “I didn’t want to keep my girl waiting too long.”

Santana swoons and she can’t tell whether it’s because of Brittany’s suave ways or the fact that she was out slashing her ex’s tires in her honor or maybe it’s because they just finished up a huge part of the heist and everything went so smoothly. Her body is all a buzz, but she becomes more aware of the familiar throb.

“God,” Santana just about moans, “I’m so turned on right now.”

Brittany knows. She knew it the instant she uttered the words slashed Dani’s tires that Santana would become all hot and bothered.

“You and this thing with crime,” Brittany jokes, “It really gets you going, huh?”

Santana can only smirk, “Sex after a successful job is kind of tradition, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t take long before Santana’s pushing Brittany up against a streetlight and kissing her way along Brittany’s jawline. It’s about as public as they’ve ever been – not that it’s an issue – but it’s something new and that excites them both even more so.  

“But what about the Gala?” Brittany pouts half-heartedly, “Don’t you want to go inside?”

“I can think of somewhere else I’d rather be,” Santana replies smoothly.

Really, that’s all Brittany needs to hear before she’s relenting. She can scam her way into some other famous party another time, because right now all she wants to do is fulfill every dirty little tradition she and Santana has.

“You’re right,” Brittany mumbles against Santana’s lips. She places one last kiss there before nudging her away, “Let’s grab some champagne and churros while we’re at it!”

“Really go all out,” Santana jokes.

“Hell yeah!” Brittany beams and then the two of them are sauntering down the block hand in hand just coasting on that euphoric high of a job well done.

[doing-all-write]

act two, scene two

Pairing: College!Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe is in your Acting 101 class and you’re never quite sure if your flirty relationship is just pretend or the real thing. Then, you’re given the scene you’ll have to present during your final...

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: SMUT (don’t interact if you’re under 18 please!), swearing, drinking and me fantasizing about how adorable and dorky college!Joe would be. 

A/N: Between working from home and social distancing myself, your girl has SO MUCH free time so GET READY FOR LOTS OF WRITING!!! I hope everyone is doing okay during these Weird Fucking Times but here’s some soft and smutty Joe to get you through! 

Thanks to @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @mrhoemazzello​, and @diasimar​ for the inspiration and for being the best dang #LizardLadies around 💖

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

“Room 102...room 102...room 102...there you are.” Realizing she’d been mumbling to herself underneath her breath, her (Y/E/C) eyes flitted over the hall, making sure no one had heard her talking to herself. 

Heaving a sigh, she gave a little shimmy, shaking off the nervous energy that was buzzing under her skin like bees and opened the door to the classroom. 

Well, not a real classroom. It was a blackbox. When she had chosen her major for college, she couldn’t completely get rid of the dream where she majored in theatre and got to spend her life doing something that she loved. So, when her counselor had asked her, she’d given a double major. Something “practical” and theatre. She knew if she didn’t have that creative outlet, her world would become drab and gray. 

Walking into the room, the sounds of murmured conversations flooded her eardrums, the old wood floors sending shock waves up her calves with every “clunk” of her heeled boots. She knew the next few moments would be crucial. 

Choosing a seat. 

She knew that wherever she sat today would be her seat for the rest of the semester. With the pivotal task hanging over her, she scanned the bodies that were already crammed into seats. The first row was filled with girls with bouncy curls, long legs, cute sundresses, all of them loudly clamoring to get information from the girl in the middle holding court with her story of how she had met the cast of Mean Girls by the stage door over the summer. 

In the last row were a few kids dressed all in black, heads down, beanies firmly planted as they scribbled into moleskine notebooks. 

In the middle, random pockets of students, mostly keeping to themselves, one or two had struck up conversations asking the basic questions, “What’s your major” “What did you do over the summer” “How embarrassing do you think this class will be” etc. 

Her eyes lit upon a boy sitting toward the end of a row in the middle of the desks.  All she could make out was his ginger hair as he rooted around in his backpack. It was sticking up in several directions, like he constantly ran his fingers through it. She couldn’t help thinking she’d like to run her fingers through it one day. Taking a deep breath, she decided the middle, end of the row was the best spot for her. Hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder, she started climbing the stairs, keeping an eye on him as he was now elbow deep in his backpack, muttering to himself. 

Sliding into the seat one down from him, she swung her hair over her shoulder, aiming a small smile at him as he paused in his actions to stare at her with wide eyes. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she ducked her head to pull out her own notebook, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide the blush climbing from her neck up into her cheeks. 

Stupid. Joe scolded himself as he shook himself from his dazed state. Why he didn’t just smile back at her was beyond him. He chalked it up to being stunned by her beauty and being slightly confused why someone so beautiful was paying any attention to him. 

That, and he was pretty hungover. 

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he realized that he must have forgotten a pencil, the most basic school instrument, in his haste to get out the door and make it to class on time. 

“Do you, um, do you need to borrow a pencil?” His eyes darted up to meet her (Y/E/C) ones and let a smile grow over his face (finally, she thought) as he nodded. Smiling back, she quickly darted a hand into her backpack only to pull out a pencil pouch covered in cacti. He felt his smile grow bigger at how cute it was. 

“Here you go.” She handed him a mechanical pencil and he accepted it with a thanks, “I’ll give it back at the end of class, promise.” 

She waved him off, “No, no. Don’t worry about it, I accidentally bought a pack of 500 pencils so you’re doing me a favor by taking one off my hands.” 

Joe cocked his head, “How do you end up with 500 pencils?” She opened her mouth but before she could defend herself, the door swung open and a woman draped in what looked like the whole curtain section of a home goods store came striding into the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“Thespians! Thespians! Thespians! Listen up! Your start to a long and lucrative career in the arts begins...immediately.” She proclaimed as she swanned onto the stage in front of them, hands waving, the many rings she wore reflecting the stage lights all over the room, creating a make-shift disco ball. 

“Either she has a lisp and called us all lesbians or I signed up for the wrong class.” Joe whispered as he leaned over to her. Her mouth quirked up in a smirk as she finished dating the page she was writing on in her notebook. Joe glanced down to see she had written the date and the name of the class in pink pen and felt a surge of adoration at her adorable actions. 

As class continued, (Y/N) thanked her lucky stars at her chosen seat. This boy next to her was cute and funny, which was a lethal combination for her, but part of her was worried that she may have something on her face, considering the way he had just stared at her with no reaction for a long time when she initially sat next to him. 

For the rest of class, they kept stealing glances at each other, eyes sometimes meeting, smiles exchanged when it happened, as Professor Lily waxed poetic on the arts and why theatre is the best thing one can do to “expand the mind, the body and most importantly, the heart.” 

She had let her mind wander to what it would be like to run her fingers through her seat mate's hair but was snapped back to the present when Lily started talking about their final. 

“Now. For the final, I will be assigning you and a partner a scene to perform for us at the end of the semester. This will be completely random but I’d like to get it done now so you and your scene partner can start thinking about it and preparing. Acting is all about the nuance, the tiny details you can make a whole meal out of.” She fluttered down from the stage, pairing people at random. 

(Y/N) suddenly found herself desperately wishing that she and the boy next to her would be made partners. 

Joe clenched his hands into fists as he jiggled his leg up and down, hoping beyond hope that he and the girl next to him would be paired up. 

As Professor Lily came to them, her eyes softened, gesturing a hand grandly to Joe she proclaimed, “Mister…” letting it trail off so he could fill in the blank. 

“Mazzello. Joe Mazzello.” she nodded sagely as she gestured to the girl next to him, “and Miss…”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” she promptly filled in. 

“You two shall be working together.” As she floated down the stairs she couldn’t help but indulge a tiny smile as she considered the scene she would give them to perform. 

Turning to Joe, (Y/N) smiled, “Hey partner.” 

“Hey partner.” Joe returned in a bad southern accent as he pretended to hitch up suspenders. 

“I don’t know why you’re in this class, it seems like you don’t need a lot of acting help.” she laughed as she closed her notebook, twisting in her seat to face Joe head on. Smirking, he draped an arm over the back of his chair, “I’m just here to show everyone else how it’s done. I’m very generous like that.” 

“You’re too good to us peons. How can we ever repay you?” 

“By not making me look like an ass during the final.”

“No promises on that front.” she deadpanned as she closed her notebook, tucking it back into her bag that was covered in patches and pins.

“You think you have enough hardware on your bag?” 

Pushing her hair behind her ear, her eyes flicked up to meet his as a smile grew over her face, “Honestly? No. I have a problem.”  She shrugged as she straightened up. 

Joe smiled back as he scooted his chair closer to her, “The first step is admitting you have a problem so I’m proud of you for taking that first step.” 

Rolling her eyes, she contemplated the boy before her. His eyes were bright as he stared boldly back at her. He never sat still, even now, his leg was bouncing up and down like a maniac. It made her want to reach a hand out and settle it on his thigh, hoping to translate some calm from her body to his just through her touch but knew that would be a step too forward at this stage. 

“Well listen, I think this partnership is going to work but like you said, I don’t want to look like an ass, when are you free?”

~~~

Weeks had passed. The glow of those first few easy classes had passed into rigorous studying, hours filled with homework and group projects with everyone trying to figure out when they could fit in sleep and socializing. 

With finals looming closer, the semester had started taking its toll on (Y/N). Her classes all bled together, as did the piles of reading she had every night. But even when she started googling how much people would pay for feet pictures, she never dreaded her acting class. It was her favorite part of the week. For 50 minutes, three times a week, she got to do what she loved most. Even Professor Lily’s eccentricity had become a balm and reminded her to stop taking everything so seriously.

 As Lily had put it once “you all need to stop being so serious, no one likes an actor who takes their work too seriously. Look at Jared Leto!” 

That had snapped them out of their melancholy. 

As (Y/N) walked into the Black Box, fidgeting with the strap of her backpack, she cursed the fact that she had chosen to wear a dress, considering how chilly it was in the classroom but as she climbed the stairs to her seat next to Joe, it was worth it to see his eyes light up when they fell on her form. As the weeks had passed, they had struck up an easy reparatie. A lot of times, (Y/N) had no idea if they were really flirting or just play-flirting. It was easy to get swept up in believing that the sparks between them were real enough to explode into something more but then Joe would look away or she’d get too in her head and the moment would be lost and they’d go back to their usual friendly banter. 

The scene Lily had given them definitely didn’t help her confusion.

~~~

“Act two, scene two.” Joe wiggled his eyebrows at her as she walked down the row of chairs at the start of their third class together. 

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she slowly lowered into her chair, “Okay?” 

Leaning forward, Joe raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end, adding an even crazier level of insanity to his look as he strained forward, trying to make her understand, “Act two, scene two.” he hissed again. 

“Mazzello, did you have a stroke? Those words mean nothing to me…” her voice drifted off as Lily’s ethereal form materialized in front of her, “I believe Mr. Mazzello is referring to the scene I assigned you for your final.” Pulling a stack of papers from within the folds of her scarfs, she grandly laid them on (Y/N)’s desk and floated back to the front of the room, where she began lecturing. 

Cutting her eyes over to Joe’s she was surprised to see some hesitancy in them as he nodded at her to flip through their pages. Shrugging, she leaned forward and felt her breath catch in her throat as she recognized the lines. 

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Her head whipped up and met Joe’s. 

Joe hadn’t realized how nervous he had been to see her reaction to the scene they had been given until he saw a spark in her eyes and her lips curled into a smile as he held her gaze, letting a wink drop at her. Giggling, she turned to rustle through her backpack and Joe almost dropped the highlighter she tossed at his chest.  

“Well? Get highlighting Romeo, we have some romantic tension to work on.” she whispered as she popped the cap off her own highlighter. 

~~~

As Lily dismissed them all for the day, Joe groaned and let his forehead bang on his desk as she calmly continued packing up her things. 

“What’s wrong, Joey?” her only reply as Joe continued to huff out sigh after sigh to get a reaction from her. 

“I can’t do it anymore, (Y/N). The pressure, it’s getting to me. It’s all too much.”

“What? The pressure of being Lily’s favorite student? Or just the weight of having to carry every scene we do in class?”

“Yes.” He moaned as he rolled his head to the side, only one eye visible as he stared at her trying to hold back a smirk at his dramatics. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m distraught.”

“Too distraught to rehearse tonight?” 

“Yes.” came the muffled reply as he buried his head in his arms.

“I have a new bottle of wine, a fresh bag of goldfish and I booked the auditorium.”

“Okay, not as distraught anymore. I think I can make it.” 

“Thought so.” she said as she patted him on the shoulder. 

~~~

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet,” her voice flowed over Joe like the first breeze of spring. He was sure that if anyone was to watch them rehearsing, the only note they’d give Joe was to “tone down” the mooning he felt himself doing as he watched (Y/N) act.  

His eyes couldn’t radiate anymore love than they already were. He almost felt embarrassed for himself but figured if they really wanted to pass this class then, maybe over the top was better. 

As (Y/N) finished up the last part of her lines, she felt her cheeks heat up as Joe locked her in place with his ardent gaze. She felt a smile tug at her lips as his own grew wider as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her crossed arms on the top of the ladder she was standing on. 

Clasping the ladder with both hands, Joe pushed his own body forward as he delivered his next few lines, knowing the smile growing across his face was getting out of hand but not being able to stop it. Her eyes were dancing with mirth as her smile blossomed. 

They had set up their stuff in the middle of the stage, (Y/N) pulling out a bottle of wine with two red solo cups (“You couldn’t find anything classier than Red Solo cups?” “Do you want some cheap wine or not?” “I never said I didn’t want it (Y/N).”) and Joe flinging his body onto the ground, complaining about everything he had due until she’d threatened to spill the whole bottle on his face. With that threat looming large, Joe had scoured backstage to find something they could use as a balcony. 

She’d almost jumped out of her skin when Joe had pulled the ladder to the middle of the stage with enough noise to wake the dead, as was his M.O. 

They’d been rehearsing their scene for the past hour. They had their lines word perfect, they knew their blocking but every time they got to the end, they both felt the urge to kiss each other; but as their characters or as themselves was still up in the air. Each time they spoke their last lines, the silence would hang, the air crackling between them until one, or both of them, would pull away and ask if they should “run it one more time?” 

Their argument being that maybe running it “one more time” would unlock something MORE in their words and their actions. 

They both agreed that Lily would really approve of that decision. 

“Parting is such sweet sorrow! That I shall say good night till it be morrow…” (Y/N) breathed out as their eyes locked together, both of them moving forward infinitesimally.

 It’s finally going to happen. Her heart leaped into her throat as Joe glanced down at her lips but then, he blushed and cleared his throat. Turning away, he asked if there was more wine. 

Blinking herself from the haze, she nodded numbly, stepping down from the ladder only to be stopped by Joe’s hand by her side, “May I help you down from your balcony, fair Juliet?” 

Giggling, she slipped her hand into Joe’s, marveling at how well they fit together as she stepped down from the ladder, turning only to be face to face with Joe again.

Looking down at her, Joe smirked, “Hello there.” 

“Hi” she whispered, looking up at Joe through her eyelashes. It made Joe want to fall to his knees and promise her anything she wanted if she just always looked at him like that. 

This time, she was the one to break away first, grabbing his cup from the ground as she sauntered over to the bottle, sweating underneath the stage lights.  

Handing it back to him they both took a long sip. Bringing his cup down, Joe scrunched his face, “Jesus, this wine is awful.” 

“Grow up Mazzello, it’s good for you. Plus it was only $5, what did you expect?” 

Shrugging his shoulders in defeat, he finished the last gulp of wine, cocking an eyebrow at (Y/N), “Want to run it again?���

Throwing her head back she dramatically finished her wine, Joe taking the opportunity to admire her throat and thinking how it would look covered in hickies he left. Shaking himself, he realized the wine must have loosened him up more than he thought. 

“Let’s do this one more time, I’m going to be the best damn Juliet this school has ever seen.” she proclaimed as she scrambled up the ladder again, looking back over her shoulder at Joe, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. 

Joe chuckled as he got into place underneath her. By the time he nodded at her to start the scene he felt his heart expand as he looked up at her, her hair glowing underneath the lights, her eyes dreamily looking out over the horizon, talking about how in love she was with him.

Well, not me me, but my character. She’s a good actress, it’s easy to get swept up in the drama of it all, he reasoned with himself. 

As the scene got closer and closer to the end, he made herself promise he wouldn’t wimp out of kissing her. The wine they’d consumed left him feeling a little braver. So, as she breathed out her last line, bidding Joe farewell, and they locked eyes it was the wine that helped push the words past Joe’s lips. 

“We should probably practice kissing, huh?” 

Before the last word had passed his lips, (Y/N) reached out, grasping the collar of the worn gray t-shirt he was wearing and pulled him to her, crashing her lips against his. 

His arms reached up, wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him as their lips fit together perfectly. Winding a hand through her hair, he felt like if he were to be struck dead in the next moment, he would die happy. 

As her hands interlocked behind Joe’s neck, she got the feeling she had done this a million times before and would do it a million more times. 

When they finally pulled away, they both were breathing heavily, her forehead leaning against Joe’s as they looked at each and giggled, “I think if we bring that kind of heat to the performance they’ll fail us for being too graphic.” Joe breathed out as she laughed, planting another quick kiss to his lips. “Yeah but, it’s worth it.” she murmured as she blinked up at Joe through her eyelashes. Joe groaned as he pressed his lips against hers again, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that right?” Her only response was to deepen the kiss as Joe growled against her mouth. 

“You know, we’re the only ones in this auditorium, and we’ll be the only ones in here for the next three hours…” Joe let his voice trail off as he searched (Y/N)’s face to see if she was into this idea. Her widening eyes and the way she scrambled down the ladder, pulling Joe down with her, was the only indication he needed. 

As she hit the ground, her head swiveled, trying to find the best place for them to have a private moment together. Tugging her towards the other side of the stage, she turned her head, only to be met with a large couch that had been pushed backstage after the last play. It was hidden by the curtains so if someone were to walk in, they wouldn’t immediately be seen but it was still fairly exposed which sent a shiver up her spine. 

As Joe took a seat on the couch, he pulled her down to his lap, shooting a smile at her, “C’mere,” he whispered as he pulled her down to his lips, pushing her hair over her shoulders as he nipped at her earlobe before he pressed a line of kisses down her neck. Moaning softly, she started grinding into Joe’s lap, feeling the outline of his cock through his jeans, causing both of them to moan. 

Joe halfheartedly tried to shush her, “Shhh, we need to be quiet...even though you moaning is probably the hottest thing I’ll ever hear in my whole life.” 

Those words only made her throw her head back and moan louder. Grabbing the back of her neck, Joe craned his neck up to mash his lips against hers in a desperate effort to quiet her. His hands moved from their grip on her waist to travel up to grasp her tits, letting his own moan slip out as he gently rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. 

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” she whispered as he moaned again, leaning forward to suck on the peak of her nipple through the fabric of her dress. Grinding her hips harder into Joe’s cock practically had her seeing stars, she hadn’t realized how wound up she was or how long she’d wanted this to happen. 

Joe’s mouth continued working on her chest as his hands travelled to her ass, grabbing it, giving it a light smack, then a harder one when she gasped and whispered, “harder” against his lips which almost had Joe cumming in his jeans like a twelve year old. 

Feeling Joe’s hand slip from her ass to her thigh, his fingers dancing up and under the hem of the skirt of her dress, caused her breath to hitch as his fingers ran along the edge of her panties. 

“These feel very hot.” he looked up at her with glazed over eyes. 

Leaning forward, pressing her chest into Joe’s she whispered, “They are, but I was considering not wearing panties at all which I think would have been much hotter.” 

Joe gulped audibly as he bobbed his head up and down, his fingers hooking into her panties, pulling them to the side as he ghosted a knuckle up and down her folds. He stared at her with wide eyes, “Damn, are you really that wet for me, sweetheart?” Nodding, she bit her lip, rocking her hips over Joe’s knuckle, relishing how it produced that familiar tugging sensation in her gut.  

Joe smirked when he saw how much she wanted him. Slowly, he inserted a finger inside her, marveling how easily it slipped in and how it made her fling her head back and groan in a way that would have caused them considerable trouble if anyone was near the auditorium. 

“I’m almost scared to insert another finger just in case you start screaming.” Joe laughed as he made a come hither motion with his finger, causing her body to go limp as she babbled about how badly she needed a second finger to cum. 

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want,” he smirked as he leaned up to whisper in her ear, “besides, I want to see what you look like when you cum for me anyway.” she groaned as Joe slowly slipped a second finger into her folds. 

The heat that was building in her core was licking up her sides, rising through her, causing her hips to jerk over Joe’s fingers as they managed to find every sensitive spot in her cunt, hurling her closer and closer to an orgasm. Joe was still moving his fingers inside her, mouth open as he watched her eyes flutter close, hair falling over her shoulders as she pushed herself to her orgasm. He was in complete awe of her. 

“That’s it baby, let go. Let go for me. Want you to cum all over my fingers, I want to taste you so badly…” he murmured into her ear as she bent forward, resting her hands on the back of the couch as she rode Joe’s fingers into oblivion.

Joe felt her walls clench around his fingers and wished it was his cock they were closing around but damn if this wasn’t still one of the best feelings in the world. Moaning, she choked out, “Joe…’m close.” Bringing his lips to her ear and his other hand to her ass, he gave it a sharp smack, pulling another moan out of her as he growled, “Then cum for me, baby girl.” 

With those last two words and one more stroke of Joe’s fingers, she squeezed her eyes closed as her orgasm pulsed through her body, first in intense waves then a gentle lapping at her consciousness, pulling her back into the present. Feeling Joe’s arms wrapped around her as he whispered how amazing she was in her ear. Pulling back, she felt the dumb smile grow over her face and Joe’s own face lit up with how blissed out she looked. 

“That good, huh?” She could only nod. Laughing, Joe brought up the two fingers that had been inside her. She saw how slick they were and gulped as Joe brought them up to his mouth. Wrapping his perfect lips around them and savoring the taste of her as he brought them out of his mouth with a pop. 

“I can’t wait to do that with your cock.” She found herself blurting out. Joe’s eyes widened as hers lowered into a provocative stare. 

“If you were that loud with just my fingers, I don’t think my cock is going to make you any quieter, want to get out of here?” 

(Y/N) hopped off his lap, practically pulling him out of the auditorium to her apartment. 

~~~

They ended up getting a 95% on their final and would have gotten a 100% but their kiss was “a little too long and lingering. And Mr. Mozzallo, I distinctly saw you slip Ms. (Y/L/N) some tongue. Other than that, wonderful performance. Truly, the sparks were flying!” 

It had a place of honor on their fridge in their shared apartment.

[lydia-bell]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Happy TBTP Holidays, @mysugarglidersrox​! I wrote you a bit of AU Stragan fluff (mostly). I hope you enjoy it!

[Edit: now with AO3 link!]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Alex finally made it to the front of the line for signings. She'd let everyone else go ahead of her because she wanted to have a bit of fun without worrying that she was holding anyone else up. Handing the hardcover to the author, she said "I'm really looking forward to reading this. The chapter you read was pretty compelling."

"Thank you," he said, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. He was even prettier up close, those bright blue eyes catching and holding her attention. 

"So, to whom shall I make this out?"

"Alex Reagan." She waited to see if he would make the connection.

"Is that spelled with..." his voice trailed off. He looked up at her, his brow slightly furrowed. "Alex Reagan. Have we met?"

"No, we never did quite manage it," she replied lightly. Maybe if I'd called a twelfth time."

He actually looked abashed. It was a good look on him. "Of course. The reporter." Then his eyes narrowed a bit and he said, "I hope you aren't still trying to get me to agree to an interview."

"Nope. We wrapped on that story months ago. I just thought it would be fun."

He relaxed then and started to sign her book. "Is 'Reagan' spelled with or without an 'a'?"

"With. It used to be pronounced like the president but I guess my dad's family decided they didn't want the association. It was easier to change the pronunciation than the spelling."

He laughed, signed the book, and handed it back to her. 

"I hope you didn't take it personally when I didn't call back, Ms. Reagan. But at the time, I was very much focused on finishing this book, and in any event I'm afraid I've never enjoyed talking with the press."

"It's OK, lots of people don't."

"I presume you were able to find someone else to talk to."

"Oh, sure. Though the whole 'paranormal investigator' well ran a little dry after that. Maybe if you'd returned my calls, we could have done a whole series on it," she teased. 

"I'm sure I'm not that fascinating," he demurred.

"Oh, I don't know."

He chuckled. "You have a way with flattery, Ms. Reagan."

"Alex."

"Alex. I haven't had dinner yet. Would you be interested in joining me?"

"I think I'd like that a lot, yeah."

***

Strand—he'd said to call him Richard but she was struggling a bit to adjust—wanted some good, fresh seafood because "it's not the same in Chicago." That was fine with Alex, so they found an oyster bar a couple of blocks from the bookstore. Once they'd placed their orders, and thus run out of obvious small-talk fodder, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She was feeling oddly nervous, like this was a date with stakes instead of a spur-of-the-moment meal with a (granted, hot) former prospective interview subject.

She decided to ease into the conversation by asking about something she knew he would want to talk about.

"So, what inspired you to write your book?"

"I'm trying to do my part to encourage rational thinking in the world, against the tide of all of the forces that seem to be pushing in the opposite direction."

It was really unreasonable, Alex reflected, to be attracted to someone who talked like that all the time. But here she was. "Sure, but I meant more like, why this particular book, and why you?"

"Let's just say that I have experience with," he paused, "family members who have turned to the occult in times of crisis. It didn't provide the answers they were looking for, and it probably prevented them from doing something more useful."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

They both fell quiet for a moment as the waiter brought their food. When he'd gone, Richard continued as if he'd never stopped.

"The impulse to turn to paranormal explanations is understandable in some ways. Especially for people who have suffered trauma, or who lack a proper understanding of science and statistics. Other people have a psychological need to feel that they're special, that they have secret knowledge of some hidden aspect of the world. Some people are just looking for a break from the mundane. Of course there are other outlets that for these impulses—things like conspiracy theories or radical political movements, for instance. Either way, if people aren't careful about how they get their needs met, they can become targets. They can delude themselves. I want to prevent that, as much as I can."

"Wow," Alex said. "I guess that's...I don't know, deeper than I expected it to be?" Off his raised eyebrow she added, "That may have come out wrong. I guess I just expected something more along the lines of the videos I've seen you in."

"Ah, yes. Less human nature, more ripping apart the claims of charlatans."

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well," he admitted, "there's some of that too."

Alex laughed.

"Speaking of charlatans," Richard continued, "I certainly hope you found someone to represent the rational point of view on your show."

"We couldn't really find another person with your particular profile, but we did talk to a couple of skeptics. And a woman named Arianna Asadi called me..."

Richard groaned softly.

Alex laughed. "What? She said she heard I'd been calling around to paranormal researchers, and she wanted to make sure I didn't get the wrong idea. She warned me off of them!"

Richard huffed. "Ms. Asadi is an odd case. She purports to be a serious researcher. She even offers very well-founded debunkings of the ghost hunters and so-called psychics who prey on people looking for answers and meaning. And then she publishes books about 'historical hauntings'. I believe she's actually sincere, but it's all very frustrating."

"Well, she thinks highly of you."

"And what makes you say that?"

"That she said she admires your body of work." He actually blushed a little. Alex grinned and continued. "Anyway, you're right about the debunking. She asked who I'd talked to so far, and when I told her, she immediately listed off all these tricks they do to make it seem like lights are going out on their own and things like that. It was amazing, she basically described everything that happened with Emily Dumont and the old psych hospital. I think Dumont must do the same stuff a lot."

"Oh, I assure you, she does."

"See, it could have been you, explaining all this to our listeners," she teased.

"It could. But to be honest, knowing that you'd been talking to people like Dumont and Abruzzi, I wasn't sure what kind of show you were making or whether I wanted to be part of it. And anyway, I needed to focus on my book. I'm trying to reach as wide an audience as possible."

"Well, that episode was only downloaded 100,000 times, so I can see how that might not be a big enough audience."

His eyes widened. "I apologize. To be honest, I have no idea how many people listen to shows like yours. I'm not really familiar with the podcasting medium."

"I'd noticed."

"I shouldn't have assumed."

It was fun having him a bit on on defensive, a bit flustered. "It wasn't very intellectually rigorous of you."

"It wasn't," he agreed.

"It did help that we got a big boost from the mothership—from Pacific Northwest Stories," she admitted. "But yeah, the show's doing pretty well, and we have enough sponsors these days to keep us in plane tickets and free socks, so I have no complaints. Well. I might want to do something a little more substantial at some point. But this is fun."

"So if you were to do something a little more substantial, as you say, what would it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe people who are working on climate change mitigation. Like, we still have to think about reducing emissions, but there are lots of people who've just basically decided that's not going to work or it's not going to be enough and are figuring out how they're going to live in the new climate. It's kind of depressing? But also kind of hopeful. There's a lot of people doing that work around Seattle. A lot of Indigenous people, in particular. I don't think it would be hard to at least get a mini-series out of it."

"That's a big departure from interviewing Emily Dumont."

She laughed. "It is! Don't get me wrong, I definitely think there's room for both kinds of stories in the world. All kinds of stories. But I just feel like I want to branch out a little."

"Well, I hope you get a chance to do that show sometime soon," he said. "It sounds like a subject worthy of your talents."

OK, wow. And he'd said she had a way with flattery. "Thanks. So, um. What about you, what's next for you?" she asked.

"I had to basically put the functions of the Strand Institute on hiatus while I finished the book, so I'll work on getting that running again," he said. "Also, as it happens, I'll probably be back in Seattle a few times in the next few months."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my father lived here before his death. No condolences necessary," he said, pre-empting her, "it was almost 20 years ago now. But there are still some aspects of his estate that need to be dealt with, including the sale of his house."

"Oh, well. I can show you around, if you'd like. When you come back."

"I would like that very much."

The waiter came with the check. Alex started to say something about paying her share but Richard said "Please, allow me. I did invite you to dinner, after all." She had to admit to herself, as she watched the waiter show Richard how to settle the bill on his iPad, it was something of a relief; the prices had been frankly terrifying on a journalist's salary.

As they were walking back to her parking spot, they passed a quiet-looking bar. Richard stopped in front of it.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked.

Yes. She took a deep breath. "It sounds nice, but, I don't think that's a good idea. I had that beer with dinner, and it was a while ago so I should be OK, but I have to drive."

"Of course." He hesitated for a moment. "Although, if you don't want to drive home...you don't have to."

"Ah." It wasn't a complete surprise, but—OK, yes, maybe she was stereotyping because of his age and his manner, but he hadn't struck her as a sex-on-the-first-date kind of guy.

She must have come across as pretty unenthusiastic, because he added, "That's not why I paid for dinner."

"I know." And she did. He wasn't really smooth enough to be a manipulator...unless, of course, he was such a good manipulator that he was only faking the bluntness and questionable social graces in order to lure her into a false sense of security.

It didn't seem likely.

Did she want to have sex with him? (Well, yeah.) Did she even like him? Everybody had said he was kind of a prick, and they weren't wrong. But he wasn't just that, either. Maybe it was his obvious passion for his work, or maybe it was just that she'd seldom known anyone quite so confidently, exasperatingly himself—even if that self might be, well, a little stuffy and self-important. He wasn't even a little bit charming but he was somehow still endearing. (He'd also been very respectful to the waitstaff, and that was always a good sign.)

She was pretty sure she liked him. He was a challenge, no doubt—but Alex was never deterred by a challenge. But she had a stupidly early morning tomorrow and also, God, she hadn't worn her pretty underwear or shaved or anything, and it was silly, yes, but she liked to make a good first impression.

And then she imagined saying that out loud and how ridiculous he would find it. "The male libido," she imagined him saying sternly, "isn't deterred by those things. Women are far more concerned about their body hair than men are."

God help her, the thought made her giggle. She suppressed it, though—it didn't seem polite to start laughing right after someone asked you to sleep with them. "I'm very, very tempted," she said. "But it's late, and I have an 8am meeting for some ungodly reason."

"I understand."

"But," she continued, poking him gently in the chest, "I'm going to hold you to that promise to look me up the next time you're in Seattle."

He smiled, probably the warmest smile she'd seen on him all night. He really was very attractive, damn it. "Good."

In a couple of minutes they were back at her car. Neither one of them seemed to be sure what to do next, so she unlocked it, but didn't make a move to get in.

"Do you want me to drive you back to your hotel?" 

"What? Oh. No, thank you. I'll be fine." He seemed very distracted all of a sudden, like he was looking past her, or just a bit over her head. She turned around, but there was nothing there. Just deep shadows.

"Everything OK?"

"Of course. I just thought I saw something." 

"OK. Well. Good night?"

"Good night." A bit hesitantly, he bent toward her.

He was so tall, she had to almost get on tiptoes to kiss him. It started out light, but they both lingered and it quickly became intense. Not sloppy, do-me-right-here-right-now intense, more like... like there was a lot of feeling under that buttoned-down exterior. They stepped further into each other's space; he was so much bigger than her that his embrace was like being wrapped up in a cloak, and it could have been intimidating but it wasn't, it was warm, it was hot. He ran one hand through her hair and gently cupped the back of her head to pull her closer. Fuck, it was good.

To hell with 8am meetings, she thought. To hell with next time. She deserved some fun.

She pulled away, not far, but far enough to look him in the eye and say, "I think...I think I'd like to take you up on your offer after all."

His hand was still in her hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They got into the car to drive back to his hotel. She fumbled her keys a bit, making them both chuckle in that high-strung way of people who know something's about to happen. As they pulled away, she noticed that Richard was looking back at that same spot.

It was weird—all she could see were shadows.