#will try to be smart ab managing my time and squeeze in some hours to play bc it has been too long (for me)

[plumdale]

hii thinking of you!

Of meeee you say???

but in all seriousness this was v sweet to see in my inbox I appreciate you tysm 💞💞

[enchantedblackrose]

Like I Love You

Jay Halstead/Plus sized Reader

Summary: Jay arrives at your apartment to pick you up for a date, but you're filled with self doubt.

¡Warnings! This potentially could be triggering. Poor body image, possible body dysmorphia, specific mentions of feelings of not being enough because of physical appearance

<Please, please lmk if I need to add any warnings.>

Loosely inspired by One Direction's Little Things

Like I Love You 

Your head throbs as hot tears of frustration continue to fall from your eyes. 

It was absolutely ridiculous to be this upset trying to pick out a decent outfit. After all, you've been successfully dressing yourself since age three.

But you don't have the mindset of a toddler. You're a jaded young woman with society's disgusting definition of beauty constantly shoved in your face. 

Deep down you know better. You know that the numbers on the scale give no indication of your beauty nor do they dictate your worth.

Sighing and trying to remind yourself that you are pretty, you again glance in the full length mirror. Standing there in nothing more than a top and underwear, fresh tears immediately fill your eyes. You only see flaws. Resisting the urge to poke at the cellulite near your thighs, you focus on your shirt. But the sleeves are cutting into your arms making them look weird. No, not weird. Fat. The too tight sleeves cause your arms to bulge. And the material clings to your soft tummy. You pinch the excess belly fat between your thumbs and index fingers, wishing you could squeeze it away.

You feel so ugly and gross. Angrily you pull the shirt off and throw it clear across your bedroom, where it joins a pair of jeans you couldn't breathe in and numerous other offending articles of clothing. None of which you look good in either.

You find an oversize t-shirt and slip it on before you just collapse on that very spot of plush carpeting.

Tears still roll down your face. All you wanted was something cute to wear. To be pretty. And go out with your boyfriend for a date night. He's a detective for the Chicago police department. The hours are already long and sometimes abnormal, but this week he, and the rest of the special unit he's a part of,  were logging extra hours on a particular difficult case. You haven't seen much of each other recently so you were especially giddy when you received his text earlier in the day saying there had been a break in the case which meant he could swing by your place and take you out on a proper date. Your reply had been almost immediate, telling him how wonderful that sounded.

You were surprised to hear from him again, still promising to take you out, but proposing you both meet up with his coworkers after dinner for some drinks. He included "begging" and "puppy dog eyes" in the message. 

Though you wanted to, you couldn't exactly say no for several reasons. You had already agreed to the date, so he knew you were free. Part of you suspected that he had done it on purpose. You'd accuse your favorite detective of entrapment later. 

You also were fully aware how much Jay wanted to introduce you to the coworkers he considered friends, having been invited to go out with them several times before. You kept putting it off.

Not because you had no interest in meeting everyone. Rather, the idea fed your worst insecurities.

What if they don't think I'm good enough? They're going to wonder what he sees in me. Then Jay will start wondering too. 

Wanting to do this solely for Jay's benefit, believing he deserved this after the hellish week at work, you went to your bedroom to plan your outfit. That's how you ended up in this nightmare. You only want to look your best, like you belong with Jay.

Nothing in your closet said that though. The truth of the matter was no one like him should be with someone who looks like you.

Cries turn to sobs. You draw your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You hear the door to your apartment unlock, Jay using his copy of your key to let himself in. Hastily, you wipe at your face, not wanting him to see you like this; yet you can't find the will to stand. A loud, nasally sniff escapes you.

"Babe?" His still unaware voice calls out from the hallway. "I got us reservations." You don't answer back right away and you hear his footsteps approach. 

Having found you, he stops in the doorway. "Whoa. What kind of nuclear clothing explosion happened here?" He indicates to the mounds of clothes which surround you and cover the better part of the carpet and bed. His laughter dies as soon as he sees your tear-streaked, puffy face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" his worry evident in both his voice and light eyes. He looks you up and down, frantically searching for any sign of what has you like this.

You mumble incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"The floor begs to differ," he teases. You glare back, in no mood for jokes no matter how well intended. He holds up his hands signaling he meant no harm before he pulls you to your feet. "What's going on?" You huff a heavy sigh in reply. His hand caresses your cheek and softly "hmms?" at you encouragingly.

"Nothing fits right," you confess. He hesitates unsure how to respond, so you continue. "I look extra fat in everything."

Jay frowns. "I doubt that very much. You always look good. I love how you look dolled up when we go out and I love when you're in an old tee and sweats."

"That's nice of you to say-"

"Well I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true," he cuts you off.

You give a tiny, weak smile. "I hate how I look." Your voice cracks. New tears sting your eyes.

He brushes the few teardrops that manage to escape with his thumb. "Baby, what are you talking about? You're beautiful." His voice is soft with a hint of sadness hearing you talk this way.

"This is not beautiful." You pat your flabby stomach, then your thighs. 

Carefully stepping to avoid the clothes which litter the floor, Jay makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge, still mindful of the garments piled there as well. He opens his arms, indicating for you to sit on his lap.

"My huge ass will probably crush you," you mutter.

"Baby-"

 

Exasperated you throw your arms up, "I look nothing like you!"

"Well I'm a guy and you're not so…"

"Stop. I mean you look like a freaking model. That face and those abs for days." You catch him looking smug, no doubt a witty remark is at his lips, but one glance at you and he leaves it unsaid. You continue. Your voice hushed, "I'm afraid of what people might think or say when they see us together. It's why I've been so reluctant to meet your friends."

His eyes sadden. He reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but stern, almost begging you to believe his words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I honestly had no idea, but listen to me, please. The only people who get a say about our relationship are in this room right now, okay? So our opinions are the only ones that matter. You. Are. Beautiful." He pauses only to shush you when he sees your mouth open. "The way your mind works fascinates me. Your sense of humor is amazing. You continuously show compassion for others, which in this world is not always easy. I swear your goodness is innate. Your laugh is intoxicating. When you smile...I wish you could see how your face lights up and your body turns me on exactly how it is. I have never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to you. I love you."

Jay's words move you, but they're not enough to silence your insecurities. "Even though I don't have a thigh gap?"

His brows furrow. "I...don't know what that means."

"It means my thighs touch each other. They're not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"...society."

"Society's ugly, not you or your thighs." His fingers trace nondescript patterns on the bare skin in question. "Besides, thick thighs save lives."

"Jay!" You laugh despite yourself. He smiles in return and presses his lips to your temple.

"I love you too. You know that, right?" You ask, realizing you hadn't said it back and he nods. A hand intertwines with his as you look in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're not. We all have insecurities or things we don't like about ourselves. I just wish you weren't so hard on yourself. I'm sorry too if you felt I was putting pressure on you to meet everyone."

"Not at all," you shake your head. "That's just me being me."

"Still, if my friends have a problem with us being together for any reason, they're not the people I think they are. Truly though, they'd love you. Hell, if we didn't show up together I could see one of them hitting on you," Jay pauses if imagining it.  "But seriously. They'd adore you. First, because they're going to see firsthand how good you are for me. Then because you're you. Funny, smart-"

"But I want to be pretty, Jay. And look like we belong together."

Jay sighs, but not out of frustration with you. He's only concerned."You are. And we do. I know nothing I say is going to magically change how you see yourself...I get that. You have to be the one to work this out. I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes and love yourself like I love you. Maybe then you'd understand you're so worthy of self-love. I promise, I'm right here and I'm going to keep reminding you how beautiful you are in hopes you'll start to see it."

Your hand caresses his cheek as you fight the urge to cry again. He leans into your touch. "You do help," you tell him because it's true and to reassure him. "I'm so lucky to have you. I'm really going to try to not be so down on myself. Besides. I  really don't want to ruin any more of our nights."

He waves you off. "A night trying to get you to see your beauty is not ruined. And the night's still young. We'll do whatever you're up for. Go out for a bit. Stay in and order food. Whatever."

A small smile appears on your face. You quickly peck his lips with yours. "I just want to wash my face before we do anything." Jay nods. You slide off his lap and head to your bathroom across the hall.

The light flickers for a second as soon as you hit the switch. You go to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run to get to the perfect temperature. Standing there, you glance into the vanity mirror. Your face is still slightly puffy with a few soft pink splotches across your cheeks from all your crying. You splash the water on your face and repeat the action several more times before using a fluffy towel to pat dry your face. You stare back into the mirror. And smile. It reaches your eyes and illuminates your face. You reach a realization. However fleeting or permanent, you don't know. But right now in this moment, you feel it. 

You're pretty.

-

[internalsealpanic]

Radio Silence

Summary: You take Tim with you to a family reunion hoping to monopolize his time. You may have forgotten to tell him a few things. For example, the haunted radio.

masterlist

a/n: I’m sorry for the wait. I forgot that I am no longer used to describing atmosphere. This isn’t my best work but I hope you like it. This was based on my family’s tradition of sitting in the dark on Halloween listening to scary stories on the radio. This is mainly Tim Drake x Filipino!Reader because I realley wanted to try my hand at a bilingual character. You will see misspelling of words in the dialogue. That’s intentional on my part. There will be translations.

“Yes, Nay, he’s the one in the picture,”

“No! It’s the guy with-” You blow out an exasperated breath. You hear Tim snicker behind you and you dedicate half your brain cells to coming up with the best way to kick his ass.  “Yung mukhang Koreano. Yeah. Yeah. Dat one.”

“Yes, he looks more like a white boy. Mistiso.” You explain curtly.

“Yes, he’s smart. I hab standards,” Tim raises a disbelieving brow at you. You stick your tongue out at him but nearly bite it off when your grandmother speaks again.

“What do you mean doubtful?!” Tim looks absolutely delighted. A cheshire smile curling on his lips as he leans back into your couch. You glare at him then at your phone then at the ceiling then past that to glare at whatever god was up there.

“THAT WAS ONE TIME! Justine was an-” You mutter trying to remember the word.  “- an anomaly and you know it!”

“…..”

“Ok der were 2 anomalies!”

“3”

“Ok maybe Tim is the anomaly, but seriously, Nay, he’s fine,” You snarl, the jaggedness of your Gotham accent rearing its head. You wince but do not apologize. This will bite you in the ass later but you didn’t say it. You don’t like the taste of the word.

“No. I mean if you don’t want us to embarrass you at the church social then- Yes, I have been going to church,” You can see Tim rolling his eyes and mouthing liar with a twitch of his lip in the corner of your vision. “No, he’s not the showy type. Nay, I gotta go. The food’s burning,”

“Yes, Nay, I lab you bery mach,” You sigh into the phone letting your grandmother’s lather your tongue cutting into the briskness of your consonants. It held the same euphoria as taking off your shoes after a particularly long day.

“Unless you’re Dick, you can’t burn cereal,” Tim cut in carting you away from your reverie.

“Watch me, Drake,” You huff throwing a pillow at Tim almost making him drop his cereal bowl.

“So, can Gotham survive without Red Robin for a weekend?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me this before telling your grandma that you’re taking me?”

“I’m just double-checking,”

“How considerate,”

“To be fair, your schedule is already volatile as is,"  You huff snuggling up to him on the couch. It was too cold in Tim’s apartment. You think a rich kid like him could afford to turn up the heat. Though, you aren’t exactly going to complain about an excuse to cuddle him.

Tim doesn’t make a move to push you away. Instead, he wraps his arm around you pulling you closer. This was the type of easy affection you two had become accustomed to. This was also the thing that will make your Schrade even more convincing. "True, but I asked Cass and the others to cover for me. Plus, your grandma sounds like she likes me,”

“Considering you don’t have a criminal record and aren’t currently being investigated, you immediately rocketed to the top of her list,” You answer absentmindedly stirring your cereal and taking a bite.

Tim whips his head to you and gives you a concerned look which you return with a smile full of cereal. He blanches at you, shaking his head and grabbing the remote to unpause the Star Trek episode you two were watching. You both prop your feet up and chew your cereal slowly, not feeling any reason to hurry.

How long has it been since you started? You’re pretty sure it was 1 AM when you started.

As if reading your mind, Tim looks at his phone, winces then turns back to the screen without another word.  You quirk your brow at him but decide that there is some truth to the saying ignorance is bliss.

You were gonna hate yourselves come noon.

 It’s noon, the sun has the audacity to show itself,  and you hate yourself.

You definitely, unequivocally hate yourself.

You groan in the passenger seat, head pressed against the cool window. The faint warmth of the sun glancing off your skin makes the tinges of nausea circling the periphery of your senses come to life. Your stomach does a cartwheel and you think- you’re sure you’re going to throw up but you aren’t gonna do that.

No way in hell are you gonna do that. Not when you’ve finally conned your way into monopolizing Tim’s attention for the weekend.

Ok, yeah, sure it was the result of some miscommunication between you and your cousin who then passed on the miscommunication to the whole goddamn family but that’s just what you call a happy accident.

You blow out a breath, greedily taking in all the coolness of the glass pressed against your skin calling your mind back to your body. You weren’t really good with handling the not sleeping thing.

“You ok?” Tim asked his eyes flickering between you and the alarmingly empty road. There was worry in his eyes whether it was the fact that you looked like shit or the fact that the road you were on looked like the opening to a terrible 80s slasher flick. It was Halloween after all. It would be pretty perfect. Dread licks at your stomach at the thought.

You let the silence lapse. In the corner of your eye, you see Tim’s hand tighten on the steering wheel. You stare at the expanse of farmland stretching to the horizon debating whether to humor his question or to let him stew.

“I’m fine,” You picked the third option.

“You don’t look fine,” Tim deadpans, turning to you.

“Stop looking then-” Tim scowls at you his pouty lips pulling into an angle. You sneer. “-You don’t look too good yourself, Kirk,”

Tim makes an offended noise. You look at Tim, really look at him, for the first time in hours. Tim, as per usual, looked obnoxiously handsome even though he was running on at most 30 minutes of sleep and had eye bags running down his face. Somewhere lost in his contemplative expression was the blindingly obvious hint of self doubt. You’ve seen it tons of times.

You peel yourself away from the cool glass to look Tim in the eyes. Dread swims in the pools of teal looking straight back at you. Tim’s mouth edges between a pout and a frown. You soften, shifting in your seat angling until your body is facing his.

“Whatever it is you’re overthinking it,”

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking!”

“Ay,” You chuckle and shake your head. “Tim, it’s you. You overthink everything. I don’t need to be a mind reader to see that,”

 Tim huffs. Maybe he was overthinking things.

“ ‘sides, I don’t see why you would be nervous 'bout meeting my family,”

Has it occurred to you I want to date you for real at some point? Tim thought a little frustrated.

You laugh when he frowns but instead of teasing him any further. You flick the radio on. Your hackles rise as it crackles to life. A smile flickers on your face when ‘All-star’ comes on. You cry out, a noise of shrill joy filling the air.

“Oh my god” Tim breathes, running his long fingers through his dark hair. “You absolute dork,”

“Kettle. Pot.” You grin.

Tim snorts as you loudly sing along with the radio. Unfortunately for him, your enthusiasm for the song was infectious. Somehow you both managed to miss every beat of the song.

You somehow felt like you were definitely forgetting something.

6 cans of monster and 5 things of 5-hour-energy drink later, you arrived. Tim’s nice-looking car pulls into the dusty gravel driveway of a rather large and old colonial looking house. Seeing the robust form of the large house looming in the distance injected your veins with a stifling source of dread. 

You love your family to bits but sometimes their presence weighed so much. You can feel their words already pecking at you, drawing pit and pieces of your self into frayed fibers. All you can think about were the comments hushed behind palms and the dissecting gaze of dark eyes. Your mouth feels dry and you can already feel your feet pivoting back towards the car.

Tim reaches for your hand, lacing his slender fingers between yours.  He smiles at you squeezing your hand. You can feel him rattling from his own anxiety but his effort steadies you. You grin at him and squeeze back.  

Your teeth click the entire walk up to the large oak doors. Tim squeezes your hand again, his teal eyes sweeping over you with a concerned glint. You furrow your brow and somehow he understands and raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open. Music and laughter wash over you as hands hurry you into the front hall.

“Nay! Dito na sya! May dalang gwapo!” (Mom, y/n’s here and they brought someone handsome.)

About 20 heads turn to look at you. Tim feels some embarrassment from the attention but that doesn’t last too long as in the space of about 5 seconds, those 20 heads were swarming you both, pulling you into hugs, shaking your hands, and ruffling your hair in varying degrees of force and order.

“Beh, you’ve grown so big” Your aunt coos squishing your face.

“Nena, look at this guy,”

“Tita, he doesn’t have any tattoos,” Your little cousin marveled looking bug-eyed as she lifted Tim’s shirt. You swat her away but take a quick second to subtly admire Tim’s sculpted abs. Your aunt scolds him and your uncle drags you to the main room where more guests were sitting chattering or screaming at a foreign horror movie.   

All the apprehension bundled into your stiff shoulders dissolves like seafoam against the overwhelming warmth of the festivities. The raucous laughter drags the roughness of Gotham away from your tongue. In place of your slow, careful syllables are quick clattering consonants and concise vowels. Your vowels were still elongated and angled to a sharp point unlike the nearly musical words of your cousins but as you said before ‘Gotham has its way of burying itself in your bones’. Tim just never thought about how saliently it showed itself in words. He wonders how his accent (folded, neat, and sterilized) sounds to you. He wonders how dull he sounds to you.

You have teased him about it. You’ve teased him endlessly about the way upper-class Manhattan just rolls off his tongue, how Alfred’s British affectations worm their way into his syllables. What you don’t tell him is how the smooth velvet of his words lull you into a hypnotic state that steals every bit of oxygen from your lungs.  What you can’t make yourself tell him is that you would gladly spend your whole life listening to him read a fucking phone book. 

The festivities were lively and informal. Jokes flying every which way. All alternating between your native tongue. You laugh into your drink, hiding the hesitant curve blunting your infectious smile. Tim nudges you to ask what’s wrong but you simply nudge him back and shake your head as if he had said something funny. Your relatives didn’t seem to notice your demeanor or if they did they left it alone.

Tim decides to leave it alone for now. Instead, he leaned into the flow of conversation. His years of speaking at galas working their magic on your aunts. They bombarded him with questions. Most of which sounded like screening questions at the embassy. You snarled at them more than once to knock it off but Tim shook it off. He knows they’re just worried about you the same way he worried for you. Well, not the same way but it was their way of showing they cared. He lets himself be immersed in the conversation.  It’s more like he tuned into the sweet sound of your laughter but made sure to dedicate enough restraint to not look like a love-sick puppy.

“Tanga!” (MORON!)

“Baliw!” (Crazy!)

“E gago ka pala, di ba halata yun?” (No shit sherlock, isn’t it obvious?)

Tim is at best confused as he watches the volley of words between you and your cousin. Your voices rising above the blaring karaoke. Anthony (?) clamps a hand on his shoulder and laughs as he watches you and Martin (?) hurl insults at each other. In the corner of your eye, you watch his reactions checking if he understood a word. He isn’t fluent but he understood bits and pieces. He’s heard you mutter angrily about customers enough times to distinguish an insult. 

“Dun worry about 'em. They won’t fight. They’re stupid but they’re not that stupid. ‘Sides, they’re too afraid of Nay for that,”

Tim gives Anthony a doubtful look. Anthony chuckles at him, clapping him on the back urging him to keep watching. He does if only to make sure you’ll be alright. When he does, he tunes into your words. Tim marvels at how musical you sound as you trade another round of rapid-fire jabs with Martin, how at ease you seem. Tim makes a mental note to get you to teach him. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would justify it.  Admittedly, part of it was just wanting to spend more time with you.

He can probably swing it.

A surge of protectiveness crowds his veins when Martin grabs at you but his hand is swatted by a cane. The air crackles with a sharp snap. The room plunges into silence.  A small woman with silver hair stands tall and imperious at the other end of the cane. You and your cousins stiffen.

“Hi Nay,” You trail off with a distinct lack of grace. You swallow the lump forming your throat, robbed of any coherent thought by the stinging look in her eyes. You felt bare under her gaze. Layers and layers of skin peeling beneath the weight of her attention. Fury flickers like firelight across her dark eyes. Your skin suddenly felt like lint and you were sure you would catch fire.

A pause.

A bated breath held for what felt like an eternity.

“Iha(Iho), It’s been so long,” She says, softening. Her wrinkled face stretches into a kind smile that made you think of freshly cooked vegetables.  Her cane folding to her side as she loops her arm over your shoulders. “It’s nays to see you,”

A choked sound comes out of you and you feel something shake loose. “Missed you too, Nay,” You breathed. Tim feels awkward, fidgeting in his place.  

The soft smile on your grandmother fades a little. Her sharp eyes appraising Tim. The look wasn’t particularly venomous, but it left Tim feeling like he’d been cut open and analyzed. He wasn’t entirely sure of why you were all so scared of her before but now he fully understood.

She relinquishes her grip on you and urges you to go back to Tim. You frown a little, giving her a suspicious look which she returns innocently.  You let out a little breath before walking back to Tim’s side. She gives him another long once over before silently strolling away. His stomach churned but eased at your touch. You still look uneasy but you don’t fuss over it. Not when Martin decides that he wasn’t quite done with bickering.

 The festivities went on as normal. Maybe with a little less cussing going around. But Tim barely noticed when your laugh, free of any hesitance, echoed sonorously in his ear as he held you close. 

Roz presses a drink into his hand. “Congrats, you’ve survived round one of Nay’s hazing,”

“Round one?” Tim hiccups into his drink. He coughed. The beer was strong. A strangely potent amount of alcohol that made his throat burn.

“Yeah, Roz, that was more like round 2.” You mutter sullenly, distinctly taking no sips of the drink Roz had also handed you. The paranoid Bat-part of his brain screams that he’s been poisoned. He’s struggling not to let it win over but your conversation wasn’t helping.

“Nay will eat him alive,”

“I mean. She’ll do it nicely,”

“Pfffft, right! Ok, Tony, name one time she’s been nice.”

“How about-”

“The thing with Y/n earlier doesn’t count,”

“Why not?”

“There was a hidden agenda,”

“Oh shit! The bitch is right- Ow! You are!”

You look at Tim apologetically and squeeze his hand. Somehow this does not calm his nerves, but he tries his best to ease into his touch.

 On the trip here, you warned him that it was going to be exhausting. He assumed, incorrectly, that you were exaggerating. After all, he’s survived snobby rich people and his family. Your family seemed nice. He can survive a nice family dinner.

But what you neglected to tell him was that it would be sheer chaos.  He definitely wasn’t prepared for the sensory overload.  The house was almost unbearably loud compared to the manor. Every corner was filled with people chattering, playing games,  eating, and doing anything to entertain themselves. Sure, Tim was used to chaos but he was more accustomed to short bursts. He wasn’t quite as prepared for the seemingly endless stream of conversations and liquor.

You had definitely not prepared his poor unassuming introverted ass well enough. Not even halfway through the night, Tim was ready to crash. The 20 minutes of sleep he got beforehand had not helped. 

You, the angel that you are, guide him away from the party. You drag yourselves down the wide yawning corridor to the grand staircase.

Lit only by the thin veil of moonlight, the house showed its age. Walking up the stairs and walking through its hallways was like falling through time. The halls were lined with paintings, all landscapes and still-lifes. He’s thankful for that small mercy. His head swimming in liquor, he is reminded of the portraits at Wayne Manor and how their eyes burned at you as you passed.

The lack of portraits doesn’t make the house any less creepy mind you. Religious fixtures line the halls, crucifixes affixed to every arch-like mistletoes. There were doll-like statues of hollow-eyed saints at every corner table. It might have been the dancing moonlight but Tim swore he saw one of them move. Tim suddenly wishes he hadn’t ingested so much liquor.

Before long, you make your way to a bedroom. How the hell you knew which one to put him in was anyone’s guess. You lead him into the room. Touch gentle and careful as you coaxed him in. Soft jazzy music echoing hauntingly. The dancing moonlight and the solid shadows of the room highlighting your gorgeous features, drawing his attention to your plush lips. You lean over him to make sure he was indeed still part of the living. Liquid courage surging in his face, he presses his lips to yours. It’s cautious. He gently runs his hand through your hair, pulling you towards him with a push. The press of his lips is restrained, more of a question than a demand. Slightly chapped lips press against your sweet and searching.

Tim remembers the warm press of your lips, the way the pads of fingers trail against the soft fabric of his shirt, your warm breath fanning against his cool skin, then nothing.

Knock

Knock

KNOCK

Tim grouses into his pillow. Tim was having an absolutely wonderful dream. He could still feel your warm lips against his.  Tim squeezes his eyes trying to go back to sleep.

Knock

KNOCK

KNOCK

‘1 AM’ the antique analog clock at the nightstand reads.

“I’m up!” He lies burying himself further into the thick sheets.

His brothers really needed to stop breaking into his apartment at 1-

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

Tim nearly falls out of bed when he remembers where he is. He jams a shirt over his head and some sweatpants before stumbling to the door.

“Hey Tim, you coming?” Anthony asks through the crack of the door.

Tim opens the door a little wider. “Where?”

“Outside,” Roz shrugs vaguely.

 “Whe-”

You step out of your room, extremely hesitant. Your knuckles were turning white from apprehension. You look at Tim, surprise plain in your eyes. You flinch heat rising to your cheeks. Tim remembers the texture of your soft lips. He wishes that wasn’t a dream. You glare at your cousins who give you a confused look. 

“Roz, he-”

“Awwww, ‘insan, you’re actually coming?” Martin mocks clapping you on the shoulder drawing, what Tim considers, an adorable squeak from you. His heart almost leaps from his chest when your warm body presses further into Tim’s side. You can’t hear it but Tim’s breath stutters in his chest.  He loops his arm around you protectively. Martin gives both of you a sly conspiratorial look.

You scowl at Martin. Glaring with as much intensity and intimidation your burning cheeks would allow. Roz swats him over the head making him almost topple down the steps before Anthony even gets a chance to rebuke him. Instead, Anthony turns to you, brows furrowed. “You sure you want to come? Nay said-”

“La a!” Martin protested. Roz rolls her eyes and swats him again. “Dipshit’s right. Nay didn’t say jack,”

“Then why did you swat me?”

“E, I felt like it e,”

“Bish, whose side are you on?!” He snarls but before he can lunge at Roz, Anthony is already dragging him by the scruff of his neck.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Not so loud. The kids will hear us,”

“I for one will not help you wrangle tita’s crotch gremlins,”

“We’re going to be late and Nay is going to unleash hell upon us,”

Anxiously, you tug at Tim urging him to follow your cousins as they filed out through the back door.

 “Where are we going?” Tim hisses.

All four of you share a look.

“We’ll explain,” You promise.

 The journey was eerie. Punctuated by the fact that none of you explain jack. The walk was entirely silent, devoid of bickering or any sort of conversation. He can see the silence driving both Roz and Anthony mad. You honestly look like you’re going to keel over. The odd thing was that even the birds were silent. Not a single sound penetrated the thick canopy of juniper trees.

You wonder the woods guided only by the thin ribbons of silver light peaking through the thick clouds of leaves. Tim can feel your pulse as it thundered in your chest. No matter what was going on he would keep you safe.

You arrive in front of a rusted gate half a foot shorter than Tim. It was small, easily climbable with plenty of spiraling pieces to stick your foot into for purchase if needed. Your eyes cut to Roz who fished out a key he’d seen perched on one of the coat racks.  Hesitantly, you held your hand out for the key. Roz, on the other hand, all but slammed it into your hand, grinning in a mix of absolute glee and relief. Your teeth click as you worked the lock. He wants to suggest just going over it but you seem quite adamant and he wasn’t about to push your nerves.

Finally, the lock gives in.

You all file in one at a time in a sort of practiced motion. Beyond the gates was a path with its stones polished from a shine from use. The scarce light coming from the canopy of trees rippling against them. It lit the rest of the way still keeping the surroundings in deep shadow.

The path ended in front of a small dilapidated stone structure that seemed too small to house anything.

“Age before beauty,” Martin jeers, bending down dramatically urging Roz to go in. She, in turn, shoves him in with a swift kick. The dark interior of the structure swallows him whole. Her dark eyes cut to you. You swallow but ultimately you shrug off Tim’s hold and relinquish your death grip on Tim’s arm. You let out a shaky breath as you step over the threshold. Just like Martin before you, the shadows leave no trace of you.

Tim reaches for the last bit of your swaying blanket. Roz taking the chance shoves Tim over the threshold, his vision goes pitch black.

“See you there, lover boy~”

The darkness is all-encompassing making his eyes completely useless as much as he tries to adjust them. Instead, he strains all of his other senses. He feels the press of moss-covered walls closing in on him. The staircase only seemed wide enough to let one person pass at a time. The stairs wind in shallow predictable patterns. The scent of moss and burning firewood grew heavy as he made his descent. Distantly, he could hear the soft padding of your shoes against the stone but he also heard the crackle of jazzy music. It was the kind he only heard from the old black and white movies Bruce and Alfred watched. It was oddly familiar but he couldn’t place it. The smooth baritone of the singer rattles in his head. A shiver of mild discomfort travels up his spine.

After what feels like an eternity, Tim emerges. His eyes slamming shut from the sudden brightness of his surroundings. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the light. His eyes take in his surroundings.

He was in a clearing. It was man-made, constructed using the same stones that lined the path you’d taken. The stone walls were covered in moss and ivy, but the stone that did peak out reflected the moonlight freely raining drown from the clear autumn sky. In the center of the space, sit 9 people including yourself. All cast in the warm glow of the crackling bonfire. It is a living thing, raging and casting shadows sharpening and obscuring features.

“I’m so glad you could join us, Timothy,” Your grandmother calls out as she fiddles with the nobs of the old radio perched in her lap. It crackles uncooperatively despite her efforts. He can’t pry his eyes away from it even as he takes his seat next to your shivering form.

Without much thought, Tim pulls you close. You tremble, teeth still clicking eyes wild and fixed on the radio. The radio is a curious thing. It’s an old model. It’s sleek but dotted with various nobs and switches. If he had to guess, it was something out of the 1960s. In the periphery of his senses, he hears Roz and Anthony step out of the staircase and take their places in the circle with Roz sitting right next to your grandmother.

Your grandmother stops fiddling with the radio then turns to Roz who is now comfortably seated. Your teeth chatter and your shoulder hitch as they silently converse. Roz inhales then exhales. Her dark eyes sweep over all of you making sure she had your attention. Based on the silence and the still forms, she did. She sits a little straighter, her shoulders rolling back.

She throws herself into a tale. It was a story she’d heard long ago about a man, a house, and a secret. Her calm voice carries over the soft roaring of the bonfire. It wasn’t the scariest tale Tim had heard but Roz told it well. Well enough to draw squeaks from several people including yourself.

Tim relaxes catching on to the turn of events. He lets you press into his side as you make your feeble attempt to get away from the story. Tim chuckles at the amount of theatrics you’ve all put into building up to this little gathering. However, all his smug skepticism vanishes when Roz finishes her story.

The static from the radio vanishes. Its various nobs move without assistance and its switches click into place.  The same baritone voice carries from the radio. Tim doesn’t hear what it says as his mind reels. He turns to you and opens his mouth to ask but Anthony begins his tale before Tim can even formulate his question. Beside him, you fidget with his sleeve shaking hands clenching and unclenching on the fabric.

Tim remembers how much you hate ghost stories. You’d once gotten sick with a fever just from watching horror movies. At this point, you were on the verge of tears. Your breathing slowed abnormally as Martin finished his story. The radio predictably did not whirr to life after his story. Through your chattering teeth, you give your cousin a vicious smile which he volleys by sticking his tongue out petulantly.

It’s your turn.

You squeeze Tim’s hand twice before worming out of his grasp. You flutter your long lashes, lightcatching in them looking golden as the fire flickered urging you to delve into your story. You roll your shoulders and let your blanket and apprehension slide away in one smooth action.

You tell your story.

 Your countenance still and grave as you tell a story of crossroads and terrible choices.

The radio huffs, seemingly amused by your effort.

“Well, y/n,” The radio coos. Your name drips like molasses from its speakers. It’s unsettling how crisp it sounds. Its voice absent of static as it addresses you. “You sure do know about bad choices. I believe so does that young thing- Pardon me. Young things swimming in the harbor. They’re just a tinsy bit cut up about it.” The radio teases almost sounding gleeful. You nod gravely, stomach reaching the floor.

Harbor?

You settle back down into your seat. Tim nudges you, cocking his head to the side to question you. Your fist clenches and unclenches in your lap before you look him in the eyes again.

“Case,” You mouth silently.

It clicks.

The harbor.

 The bodies.

That’s what the radio meant.

Someone clears their throat urging Tim to tell a story. He stumbles through a half-remembered urban legend he heard from Steph awhile ago. His mind far too preoccupied with the new information to really devote to any theatrics.

 His turn passes.

And the stories continue as he mulls over the information.

It’s your grandmother’s turn. Your hand grips Tim’s arms white-knuckled. You attempt to swallow down the fear but it catches in your throat constricting your airway. The flames dance casting her face in sinister shadows that bring out all the sharp angles in her features. Her smile curls cruel. Her bony fingers trace the seems and delicate patterns embossed on the old radio. Static erupts loud then dies down just as quickly. Her smokey voice fills the air. Heavy and commanding. The story spills from her lips smooth and velvety slick with gore and unspoken horrors. None of you dare to speak. Some don’t even breathe. Your hands scrabble for purchase on Tim’s shirt as you bury your face in his chest. You feel him wrap himself around you shielding you the best he can. Ear pressed to his chest, you can hear Tim’s pulse hammering. The terror soaking through to his bones. He remains steady. Unflinching even as the story reaches its climax.

The flames flash, fade, then flicker.  

The radio crackles.

The smooth baritone of its voice distorting into something undeniably inhuman.

Shadows dance.

Their hands reaching out as the flames did. A hard yank from one of them nearly topples you out of Tim’s arms.  He shifts you both away from their grasp. He glares fiercely at them making sure you’re safe.

Sorrowful moans fill the air but your grandmother is undeterred.

With a shrill cry from the radio, everything dies down.

The shadows retreat.

The fire simmers down now small and tame.

Everyone lets out a breath. Both of you could feel everyone unfurl. Tense muscles, locked jaws, tight chests all loosen with the end of the story.

For a long moment, the entire circle is still. Then your grandmother stands up. The rest follow her in a mostly quiet procession up the steps.

“Roddy was harsh this year,” Martin whines.

“Nope, you’re just terrible at it. I mean hell even y/n got an answer. It was creepy as all shit but they got an answer,”

“Uh- Is it a good time to ask what just happened?”

Your cousins turn to you.

“You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“How do you propose I bring up the demonic radio?”

“Pffft,”

“Pirst, it isn’t demonic. Do you really think Nay would have kept it if it was?”

“She lets Martin hang around,”

“…….”

“Dis is a good point,”

“HEY”

Tim clears his throat.

“Raaayt, Ok so… once a year we tell the spooky radio stories so we can get answers or our future told,”

“Was the whole creepy walk necessary?”

“Nope,” You answer in chorus.

“It’s just our way of psyching up for it,”

“It’s your guy’s way. Tita at least let’s me hum songs,”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to listen to you sing,”

“Is there anything else you guys want to tell me?”

“Aside from y/n really not wanting to tell-”

You snarl at your cousins, red-faced and bearing your teeth. Martin and Roz cackle as they run. Anthony has the decency to at least look slightly apologetic as he runs.

“Y/n… What aren’t you telling me?”

“Tim, I- I’m- Damn it- I-” You put your hands on your face. You try to calm your breaths. “Look Tim, I-”You take another breath. “I’m sorry. I kissed you but you were drunk-”

“Wait that wasn’t a dream?” There’s a flicker in Tim’s chest.

You look at him mortified. You want the ground to swallow you whole. “Yeah, I- Tim, I know it’s- I’m sorry.”

He remains silent.

Your stomach feels like it’s going to burn up.

“I-”

“I want a redo,”

“A what?”

“A redo,” 

a/n: I will rework the ending at some point but thank you for reading! 

 taglist:   @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[dddsfics]

New update for “Opposites Attract”

“I still can’t believe you ordered a cheeseburger,” Charlie said with a laugh.

Ellen‘s go-to lunch order was a Caesar salad, but the stress of the morning had her craving some guilty pleasure food. “Yeah, I’m feeling extra hungry today for some reason.”

She swore she saw his eyes squint at her, as if he were trying to see past the facade she was putting on. Surely he had to know something was going on. Charlie wasn’t exactly the book smart type, but he was extremely attentive, curious and great at solving problems. It made him not only a fantastic mechanic, but a desirable partner as well.

“Well, if you’re still hungry after that, you’re more than welcome to help yourself to my rack of ribs,” he said with a sly grin. “Guess you really worked up an appetite after last night, eh?”

Ellen nearly choked on her water. “Charlie!” she whispered, playfully scolding him.

He shrugged then took a sip of his Coke. “So why were you really in the neighborhood, babe?”

Before she had a chance to answer, their enthusiastic waitress walked up to the table, plates in hand. “Cheeseburger and fries for you, m’am, and our BBQ ribs and onion rings for you, sir. Enjoy!”

Ellen was hoping Charlie would drop the subject with their steaming hot plates now in front of them. Somehow, as if he read her mind, he said, “Go ahead and eat, babe. I haven’t seen you look so hungry since...well last night I guess.” There’s that sexy smirk again, she thought.

Once the two of them began to dive into their meals, Charlie took the opportunity to toss his question back to her. “So were you out of the office to meet with a client?”

Ellen began to mindlessly poke at the ketchup on her plate with the fry she had gripped tightly between her fingers. “Not...not exactly.” Her heart rate began to speed up. She hated lying to him. But she couldn’t be honest about what happened. Not here. “Can... we talk about it home later?”

“Of course,” he replied casually, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze her hand.

“So how has the morning been at the shop?”

Her attempt to change the subject worked. Charlie’s eyes lit up and he began describing his encounter with the less-than-personal Andy Dockett. Ellen’s breathing returned to normal and the tension in her muscles began to ease. As long as he was talking, she could forget about her own troubles.

It had always been that way in their relationship. Charlie, despite his extremely masculine demeanor, had always been open with sharing his feelings. He was also a fantastic listener, unlike Ellen’s previous partners. Her strict upbringing, competitive nature and corporate mindset had the opposite effect on her, however. She often saw emotional vulnerability, at least in herself, as a sign of weakness. Charlie was the only person able to help her break down those walls she had built in her head, but it wasn’t easy. And look at her now. Nearly three years together and she still felt she needed to keep it together around him. Around him.

As they finished their meals and took care of the check, the pair walked out to their car, hand in hand. But when Charlie tried to break away to head to the proper door, Ellen kept her hand locked in his.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been fired,” she mumbled nearly under her breath.

He looked down, hoping to make eye contact but only managing to get the top of her head. “You’ve what?”

“I’ve been fired!” she sobbed. And like that, the tears came bursting out of her eyes like waterfalls and she felt herself starting to hyperventilate. Surely everyone in the vicinity had been staring by now, but for the first time in her life... she didn’t care.

And Charlie didn’t even say a word. He pulled Ellen towards him until she was sobbing into his shirt, then wrapped his arms around as if to shield her from the cruelties of the world.

————-

“Hot chocolate with two marshmallows and a bit of bourbon, just the way you like it.”

Ellen carefully grabbed the mug and held it close to her while Charlie sat down next to her on the sofa. It had been a tough day for both of them once she confessed the news, and she felt heavy with exhaustion. Charlie hadn’t hesitated to take the afternoon off work, so the two quickly returned home after he phoned his employees at the shop to report that he needed a personal day. Then, once they had settled into their cozy country house, it took a distressing hour of tears and Charlie quietly comforting her before Ellen was able to calm down. Only then was she able to explain what had happened that morning, what led to her dismissal and the guilt she felt over the entire lawsuit. Charlie, being the saint that he was, listened intently while she rambled away, only interjecting to offer words of support.

The one thing they hadn’t discussed? What their back-up plan was. But that could wait until tomorrow. Ellen needed another one of those nights where time stood still. So she happily sipped at her hot cocoa until she was feeling warm from more than just the crackling fire. Charlie had been silently enjoying his beer next to her but she suddenly began to notice the way the muscles in his arm flexed every time he took a sip of the bottle. God bless those tight t-shirts.

As if she had been thinking out loud, Charlie set his beer down on the coffee table and turned to her. “What?” he asked with a chuckle.

Without muttering a word, Ellen set her mug next to his bottle on the table and immediately pulled his head in for a kiss. She could still taste the malt from the beer on his lips and it gave her an extra buzz. The mix of his beer, her bourbon and creamy chocolate resulted in an intoxicating taste as their mouths eagerly welcomed one another.

Ellen was usually more than happy to let Charlie take the lead when things got heated, but there were plenty of times—like tonight—where she wasn’t afraid to go for what she wanted. And based on Charlie’s immediate physical reaction, he certainly wasn’t complaining. She quickly found herself straddling his lap then pulling off his snug t-shirt to reveal his deliciously sculpted abs. Unable to control herself, she licked, then bit, her bottom lip.

Yes, this night was sure to be exactly what she needed—and Charlie would undoubtedly make sure it had everything she wanted too.

———

With Charlie back at work the next morning, Ellen found herself enjoying her cup of coffee out on the front porch with a crisp autumn breeze blowing through the air. She couldn’t remember the last time she really stopped to notice the beauty of the season. The leaves on the road were just beginning to turn their vibrant colors, something she took for granted when locked up in the office all day. When she first left behind her city apartment to move in with Charlie, she admittedly had a hard time adjusting to life in the outskirts. Sure, they were still only 20 minutes from the busiest part of town and only 80 minutes from her former employer, but being so...disconnected from everything initially made her feel helpless. But now, listening to nothing but the rustling of the leaves and chirping birds made her truly appreciate Charlie’s desire for a simplistic life.

Though she had nowhere to be, probably for the first time in her life, she decided that she should probably make the effort to change out of the previous night’s sweatpants and over-sized t shirt. Not that it mattered. Charlie more or less told her once that he would find her sexy if she were wearing just a garbage bag. The very thought made her laugh, even now.

It wasn’t until she opened her closet and looked for something cute yet casual that she realized what her entire life had become. Nothing but suits, blouses, black skirts and formal dresses. She had a couple of pairs of yoga and sweat pants tucked away in the bottom drawer, but that was it. Her entire identity was, or had been, her job. How she landed such a down-to-earth guy like Charlie was beyond her. She shuddered at the thought of what she was like before they met, and wondered how on earth had he fallen for such her in the first place.

Before Ellen could ponder any longer, her phone buzzed. Picking it up off the bed, she discovered she had close to 50 texts from friends, family and even former clients all checking in on her.

Shit. They all had heard the news.

[saundraswriting]

Hercules Chapter Nine

SUMMARY: Things finally get moving. The BAU starts making moves to find this killer by going to the RR meetings. Spencer and The Team finally get some pieces they were missing.

WARNINGS: (I kinda hate this chapter ngl) No warnings.

Previous // Next

Garcia and Spencer looked up aviaries and stables and butcher shops in the city. The police helped build a team to stake out the private meeting area, where the unsub would see select members of the RR group it seemed and from there pick his victim. The smaller group could get together for a couple weeks but people were starting to notice they don't come back, Cameron was for one, Leo another. Cameron told his brother which is how they got this far to begin with.

All that was left was getting Reid and J.J, ready for the meeting tonight. The team also decided to plant a few people on the surrounding rooftops to try and land some surveillance equipment. The team and the police helped change the two agents appearance enough to not be recognizable, they also worked on the cover stories, making them separate and vague. The plan was to get in and get out and not bring attention to themselves.

Dr. Spencer Reid and Agent Jennifer Jareau were ready. The rest of the BAU and members of the Police that were helping out were ready. Spencer stood of to the side at a member of the tech department finished with J.J's wire.

""Pretty Boy, You'll be safe." Derek didn't ask. He demanded, his voice firm and steady, leaving no room for doubt.

"I know. You have my back. I am always safe with you around." Spencer admitted almost nonchalantly. He beamed at Derek unaware of the effect his words had. Derek felt his heart skip a beat, the trust and warm smile Reid gave him just about brought him to his knees.

"You got that right." Derek squeezed Reid's shoulder. "I'll be in your ear the whole time."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Spencer teased, trying to ease his nerves.

"Yes. Don't even try to fool me. I know you, Spencer Reid. Don't tell me the idea of me having you back, being in your ear isn't easing those nerves? I know you are on edge lately with this case. I know and you know that you will be fine." Derek's attempt to soothe Spencer was successful.

Hotch and Gideon came over with a techie. Derek took the tools and shooed the techie away.

"Remember Reid, all we need is the description of the man holding the meetings. A name would be best. The point is not to be taken for further meetings. J.J is going to help you find possible future victims. We need some possible names before the end of the day. Be small, discreet, unnoticeable. We want you in and out." Hotch said. Hotch had bags under his eyes like deep purple bruises. He looked paler but his eyes were as alert and sharp as ever. He had a small smile lie he knew he was wasting his breath.

"You are under no circumstances to go any farther into this group. This is purely recon to figure out what is going on. Nothing we could learn is worth your of J.J's life. Do you understand?" Gideon looked similar to Hotch, like he knew his words were heard but instantly ignored.

Spencer nodded. "I understand. Now let's get me wired and get to the warehouse." Spencer's nerves were regaining traction. He was beginning to tremble and lost what little color he had left.

Hotch and Gideon looked at Morgan who looked fiercely determined and they took that as their cue to walk away. The two of them had said their piece, made their point as useless and ignored as it was-Spencer was a well trained troublemaker. Derek began unbuttoning Spencer's shirt trying not to ogle his pale chest. For a Brainiac with not enough gym time Spencer was well toned and defined. The dips of Spencer's abs made Derek drool. After a few minutes of non-subtle staring Spencer began to blush, a deep red creeping down his throat and across his chest. Derek gently ran his fingers down Spencer's chest lingering in the feel of skin on skin. Derek was stuck, imagining how else he could get spencer to tremble and blush underneath him. Spencer shivered at the sensation bringing Derek out of his brief fantasy.

"They are right, you, know. This isn't the final showdown. we have time. Don't be foolish. I won't be there to tackle you put of the way of any danger." Derek spoke while outfitting him with the wire. He could see his words didn't ease his nerves as much as before. "I know you will be fine. You know you will be fine. You are smart. You can only be successful if you have all the facts. I want you to be able to make the best decisions available to you." Derek buttoned the last button on his shirt. "Are you ready, pretty boy?

"Yeah, as ready as I will ever be, going into a possible UnSub's lair with little to no backup or weapons. Just another day. "I'll be careful. Use my brain and stay sharp." Spencer rattled off, forcing a smile that didn't turn out quite right. "I'll have you in my ear the whole time. I am only an observer."

Derek pulled Spencer into a tight hug, nuzzling his hair. "You bet your sweet ass I will be. You just say the word and I'll be there." Derek murmured into his ear. Spencer hugged him back, sighing at the sensation, remember how it felt to have Derek touching him.

"Aw. You think my ass is sweet?" Spencer giggled at Derek's dumbfounded face. Spencer didn't flirt well on a good day but after the way Derek had just touched him and the fact that they were soulmates paired with the effort Derek was putting in, made Spencer want to push a little.

"Pretty boy... you ass is sweeter than sin. Sometimes, I can't help but stare, thinking you have to know how I feel about it or you wouldn't wear the pants you do somedays." Derek muffled a groan into Spencer's hair. "One day soon, I'll show you how much I love your ass." Derek whispered filthily into his ear.

Spencer's face lit up instantly with a blush and he squirmed in Derek's embrace. "We should go, you're just gonna kill me with your teasing." Spencer said. Derek let him go with a laugh. Derek often teased Spencer but Spencer rarely if ever started their banter, it was a nice change of pace for their dynamic.

The BAU, police and stakeout team left the department and split up. The BAU went to an abandoned warehouse to monito their agents at a very small mini command center. A few police officers set up shop on the surrounding roofs to hold position and plant surveillance equipment for the future. The third team went to the second meeting location and prepared for a long stakeout waiting to see if any of the possible victims show up in the next few days. J.J and Spencer hesitated outside the warehouse, separately. J.J finally took a breath and pulled her cover over her like a second skin, a woman with a deep inner strength that came from pain. Reid loitered outside a few more minutes, gathering his wits and strength. His dithering was interrupted by his coughing, as his stood there looking frail and ill someone helped him into the building.

"Come. Sign in. I will pray to Apollo for you. " They said. Spencer nodded and thanked him and signed in, using his reading skill and memorization his picked some names that could be referenced later, he looked for names revolving around horses and stables and cattle and birds and swamps and metal, names for either of the next two labors, trying to get ahead.

The warehouse was well lit, there was pews divided into clearly divided sections laid out like a clock. Each section was decorated to indicate which god or goddess the pews were for. Spencer shuffled over to the pews painted yellow with sunflowers and lyres and bows with full quivers. There was fresh bundles of laurel and oranges on the sides of each pew. Apollo was the God of sun, art and healing.

Spencer picked a seat and settled in tiredly, he barely needed to exaggerate his sickliness to promote distance thankfully. He used the distance to speak into the wire describing all he saw. There was a dais raised slightly higher than the pews, all around the inner circle of pews. The inside of the dais had a large fireplace as well.

At 7 pm on the dot, the lights dimmed and the fire was lit dramatically. A man stepped onto the platform. The meeting of the Religious Revolution had began.

Spencer sat perfectly still, waiting as the man droned on, he was reciting a Greek myth but not the Myth of Hercules. So Spencer paid bare minimum attention. The man was far more important. Spencer sat studying his mannerisms and characteristics. He was tall medium build blonde hair. He was warm and welcoming and unimposing almost gentle as he recited the myth. 'A small to medium sized group he can charm but lacks the confidence to manage large groups. He is smart. He could be the one behind this.' Spencer thought. He committed the leader's face to memory. Spencer was unsure if that was the only man to be in charge of sermons so he made the plan to speak to him after the meeting, not wanting to tell the others and have them yelling in his ear. Spencer looked around and didn't see anyone with awe or reverence in their expression further confirming the man speaking was the man behind this. Another hour passed and the sermon came to an end. A few gathered around the man, the lights were turned back on, some people used the dying fire to throw in offerings while they prayed.

Spencer saw J.J. head towards the door, pausing at the sign in book. While he waited to step over to the speaker he whispered into his mike about staying a few minutes. The few people that had stopped to visit the speaker left leaving an opening for Spencer.

"Hello! Welcome to Religious Revolution. A place open to the idea that the Universe is managed by multiple deities. We share and revel in other's ideas and beliefs." The leader welcomed Spencer. "My name is Evan Lafferty. This is all my doing, the layout and idea but the comfort others receive here is all on their doing with those they believe in." He swung his arm out wide to encompass all the building.

It may be on them, but you orchestrated it. You have done a wonderful job." Spencer agreed. He could hear in his ear piece the team objecting.

Spencer was aware that their were pieces that fit the profile, Evan was good with small crowds but one on one and he floundered slightly, lost some of the charm. Spencer hypothesized it was social anxiety. One person full focus was too much, but several people's partial focus was okay.

"Thank you. Now why are you here Mr...?" Evan trailed off questioningly.

"Konkle. Mr. Konkle. I am here to appeal to Apollo. I have been too sick for too long. Modern medicine and my family's prayer tree aren't enough. Spencer told Evan. "My wife and I had a big fight recently and I have been sick since. I was thinking of appealing to Hera for marriage assistance as well but historically she is hard to please." Spencer took a breath. "Take Hercules, he was made to do all those labors and one extra because he tried to benefit off them." Spencer knew it was a risk but he needed to see what Evan's opinion was, see what the next step was. The UnSub was killing to fit a delusion, a long deep one.

"Hera was in the right. First her husband had an affair and the child is named in her 'honor' but the act is a slap in the face. Then to benefit off his punishment of going mad and killing his family. There is no conceivable way the cleaning of the Augean Stables would be a pittance in her eyes. And he cheated on the labor to begin with." Evan ranted. Spencer felt his nerves finally settle, he had done it. He solved the case. Found the UnSub. All he had to do was end the conversation and leave. He finally got the Team ahead of him.

"I agree. To cheat on your punishment for being responsible for your family's death is very unbecoming." Spencer mollified. "Evan, I believe we will get along just fine." Spencer smiled at the man before coughing long and hard into a tissue. Evan led Spencer to a pew and sat him down to wait out the fit. After a few moments the fit stopped, his head pounded and his stomach cramped as if he was about to vomit. He caught his breath again-it rattled in his chest and was quick to go and quick to leave. "I'm okay. Ii just need a minute." Spencer was speaking to both Derek who he knew was quietly panicking and Evan. "I am sorry. Where are my manners?" Spencer admonished himself. "I know your name but you don't know mine. Let me properly introduce myself. I am Mr. Arnett Konkle." Spencer held out his elbow, Evan looked at it confused. "My hands are dirty." Evan gave a nod in understanding and bumped his elbow against Spencer's.

"I have to say I agree with you, Arnett. We will get along sickeningly well." Spencer hid the thrill of satisfaction. Evan didn't count the Augean Stable labor as legit, meaning the Stymphalian Birds with bronze beaks and toxic dung were next. With one comment, Spencer knew that Evan was looking for his next victim and who better than a sickly estranged man with a name meaning Eagle in Greek?

"Let me give you my number? We can meet up again outside of congregation. I can give you my undivided attention." Evan said. He handed Reid a slip of paper with his number on it and bid him goodnight. "And don't forget to sign in." He reminded before moving towards some waiting folks.

Spencer hobbled to the door, he could feel his pneumonia, lack of sleep, and lack of food catching up to him. He didn't let himself falter, moving to the book of names to peruse it for names again. Once done, Spencer exited the warehouse and saw a car was waiting for him, The driver nodded and Spencer got it.

They got the precinct quickly and as soon as the car stopped Derek was at the door pulling Spencer into his arms. Derek's eyes were hard and angry and lips pressed thinly together. His hands were gentle were they touched Spencer, he was a giving as a brick wall. They didn't speak, Derek needed the physical reminder that Spencer was safe. Spencer could feel the anger radiating off his soulmate. Once they got to the others, Derek let go of Spencer, waling over to the others. Spencer tried not to show how much his distance and anger affected him.

"I know I went off script and off plan but! I had good reason. Now, let me get stripped of my enhancements and I will explain." A Techie popped up and had him back to normal in a flash. Spencer relaxed at the removal of makeup and contacts and the wig. They also took the wire and comms to return them too. "So, I sat and observed but it didn't lead to much so I had to push a little farther. So I decided to speak to him-"Spencer was cut off by the others talking over him. "Yes, I know. But I had to know. His delusion doesn't allow for the Augean Stables to be consider an action of repentance. So he won't make that killing public. The next one we will see is the Stymphalian Birds. The only was to catch him is to be on his radar. So I go names that may be important but I also made me one of those names. If I am chosen, we have a direct connection to the action of killing. I have the ability to save myself or be saved. If not me the next person he chooses will be a victim." Spencer explained. He was speaking to everyone but kept looking at Derek, who still had anger in his eyes but his body softened.

"Reid, that doesn't matter. You put yourself in danger. You made contact when we said not to." Hotch tried to lecture, but knew Spencer was right.

"I know but I have his name and number. We can see if it pings near any of the sites. We can do this. I got it all figured out. We have options." Spencer tried to reason.

"Spencer, you are not wrong. but we wish you'd clue us in on it. You did the right thing. Hopefully yes you turn his attention on you and buy us some time. But you still took a huge risk that could have ended badly." Derek gently scolded. Spencer looked up at him with watery eyes and a trembling lip. "Oh, pretty boy, I'm not mad. come on, it's fine."

In front of the slightly confused team Derek stepped into Spencer's space-a privilege he didn't take lightly. "Pretty baby, everything is fine. I know, you're tired and sick and hungry. We'll get you all sorted and then we'll talk okay. Hush now, I'll take care of you." Derek said. The team knew the two were close but they were getting closer. J.J looked on with pride and happiness shining in her eyes, She could see Spencer finally letting Derek in. Slowly but surely.

"D'r'k, pl'se." Spencer slurred, sloughing into Derek's side.

"Anything for you, my pretty baby." Derek willingly took all his weight and made eye contact with J.J.

"Hotch, let's call it a night. We can regroup tomorrow." J.J. grabbed her and the two guys' bags before hopping into a car the Seattle PD let them borrow. Once at the car, Derek climbed into the back dragging Spencer with him. J.J. drove.

"Baby, we're heading to the hotel for the night. I'll take care of you." Derek whispered in his ear, cuddling him intensively in the backseat.

"You're good for him. I am glad you are his soulmate." J.J said. "I know you are chomping at the bit to claim him but you are doing well. He is opening up to the idea of you and being with you."

"I hope he realizes that I will always be here. He will never be alone again." Derek told her.

"Trust me. Spencer loved you long before he knew you were his soulmate. But that is something you should talk to him about."

"Yeah but I didn't say anything until I knew. To him that will make my feelings seem invalid. Even though they have been there for years." Derek sighed.

"That is a conversation you will have to have with him. He has know for 9 plus months you were soulmates. That doesn't mean he hasn't been paying attention. He wouldn't say anything if there wasn't anything to say." J.J said.

The trio got to the hotel, Derek pulling Spencer out with him and J.J grabbed their bags. The car was parked by a employee who saw the struggle. They got to Derek and Spencer's room, J.J dropping off the bags.

"Thank you for everything." Derek winked.

"Take care of him." J.J ordered. There was the promise of bodily harm if he failed, Derek knew it was coming. He nodded solemnly.

"Yes ma'am. Now go call Will and Henry. Tell them we said hi." Derek politely kicked her out. J.J laughed at the clear dismissal and left."

Derek laid Spencer on the bed and cleaned up the room a bit, letting Spencer doze. After he was done Derek hopped into the shower and cleaned up letting the water ease the tension remaining from hearing Spencer make contact with the UnSub. Derek had been so angry and worried not being able to help. Derek stepped out of the shower waking Spencer up.

"Pretty boy, come on. Spencer wake up. I am going to order some dinner. Go get cleaned up." Derek shook Spencer awake. Spencer woke up slowly, fighting it.

"Okay. Thanks Derek. Then I think we should talk." Spencer said. He hopped in the shower and was done quickly. By the time he was done, the food had arrived and Derek leaned against the headboard of one bed, patting the bed in invitation.

Spencer smiled and climbed in, sitting cross-legged very close to Derek's warmth. He began eating, not paying attention to the fact he was scarfing food down at an almost disgusting rate.

"Slow down, kid. We got time." Derek laughed eating a much slower pace. Spencer blushed and slowed down.

The finished eating and sat quite absorbing each other's warmth and presence.

"What did you want to talk about Spencer?" Derek finally asked. Spencer played with his fingers building up the courage to answer.

"Us. I wanted to talk about us." Spencer looked up and locked eyes with Derek. His soulmate, Derek Morgan. The man he had been in love with for years.

Previous // Next

*******************************************************************************************

So that is terrible chapter nine. I am hoping to finish this up soon but we will see. 

[lamptracker]

FIC: Counting Down the Days, part 2

FIC: Counting Down the Days, part 2

Pairing: Peter Parker/Female Reader

Inspo: “Cancer” by My Chemical Romance

Summary:  While visiting a children’s hospital as his alter ego Spider-Man, Peter meets a girl his age. She’s sweet, she’s smart, she’s funny… and she’s dying of cancer. When she laments the fact that she probably won’t get to live long enough to have the typical teenage experiences of prom and a boyfriend, Peter offers to fill those roles for her.

Part summary: Peter tells the reader what it felt like when he got Snapped. 

Warnings: Talk of death. The usual cursing (he is from Queens). Endgame spoiler. Making fun of soccer moms who want to talk to the manager.

Tagged: @flokidottir-imagines-br  @babyplutoszx2   @musiclover1263   @judemoos   @drxgxnslxyer   @hollanderheart   @thequeensardine   @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell   @captainbuckyy   @xxtomxo   @deleteidentity   @yessterekthings   @itsyaspacemom   @parrkerspeters   @starksparker

Part 1

**

“Alrighty,” Peter said, webbing (y/n)’s hospital room door shut and peeling off his mask. “One cinnamon chai latte for you, one white chocolate mocha for me.”

“Ew, white chocolate?”

“You’re judging me. This is supposed to be a judgment-free zone, (y/n).”

“Please, Peter. This is a hospital, not Planet Fitness.”

Peter just shook his head and laughed as he handed (y/n) her latte. They’d been texting back and forth over the last couple of days, getting to know each other a little better. She asked to see pictures of his friends; he happily obliged (after telling them what he was up to - sort of, in most cases).

“That’s my best friend Ned,” Peter said, pointing at the pictures he was projecting on the wall from his suit. “He knows I’m Spider-Man too, him and MJ.  He’s in Robotics Club and Academic Decathlon with me. That’s his girlfriend Betty, she’s on Student Council and she reads the announcements every morning. This is Michelle, also known as the aforementioned MJ. She’s on Academic Decathlon too. There’s Abe, and that’s Brad, and… oh, good, I see Flash found the phone that’s not built into my suit today.”

“Wow, that is exceptionally rude,” (y/n) said, squinting.

“Karen,” Peter muttered, “delete that.”

“Deleting,” Karen said as the photo disappeared; (y/n) laughed loudly.

“So wait, you’re friends with a dude named Flash?”

Peter scoffed loudly. “Not friends,” he muttered, “he’s been bullying me since the third grade. Did you know, (y/n), that he gave himself that nickname because his real name is Eugene?”

(Y/n) cracked up laughing. “Eugene?!” she exclaimed. “Well, fun fact, I went to school with a kid named Elmer. Heir to the McCormick spice fortune, and about as smart as a container of Italian seasoning too.”

Peter just shook his head. “Elmer,” he muttered as he and (y/n) started to sip their coffees.

“Wow,” (y/n) said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good cup of coffee. The stuff here tastes like it was brewed with dish soap.”

Peter made a face. “We have a coffee pot, but I never drink coffee at home. I love my aunt May, I really do, but cooking is not her forte. And, unfortunately, that includes coffee. I’ve taught myself how to cook some things. Make a pretty mean chocolate chip cookie.”

“Well, I may have to try one of those sometime.” (Y/n) sipped her latte. “This almost feels like a real coffee date, y’know?”

Peter smiled. “Karen, open Spotify and play my Coffeehouse Favorites playlist, please?”

“Sure, Peter.” The air was soon filled with soft, jazzy music.

“Very nice!” (y/n) exclaimed. “Now we just need the middle-aged suburban mom with her may-I-speak-to-the-manager haircut complaining that her cappuccino isn’t foamy enough.”

“Well, I can’t reproduce that, but I can try.” Peter cleared his throat, next speaking in a weird sort of high-pitched voice. “I asked for light foam, does this look light to you??”

(y/n) giggled. “And there are 47 bubbles, I asked for 49. How hard is it to put 49 bubbles in my cappuccino foam?”

And then, in unison, they said: “Where is your manager?”

They both burst into laughter.

“I gotta tell you,” (y/n) said, “that I’ve only known you for, what, three days? And I’ve laughed more in this three days than I have in the last three years. You’re just… you’re so fun to be around. You come here to cheer people up, right? Guess what, Pete… it’s working.”

Peter smiled warmly at her. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Part of me wishes I’d met you earlier,” (y/n) said wistfully. “You know, before I got sick this last time. We could have had so much more time together. But… but I’m almost glad I met you when I did. Being faced with your own mortality really sucks, it’s nice to have a friend.”

“You know the Snap?” Peter said; (y/n) nodded. “I was one of the ones that got snapped.”

“Honestly? When it happened, I wish I’d been snapped. But… then everyone came back. So either way, I’d have to deal with this.” She gestured vaguely at the wires hooked up to various parts of her body. “But the nice part about that was, you didn’t know it was coming. You know? Like it just… happened. You didn’t have to suffer through it.”

“I knew.”

(y/n)’s eyes widened in shock. “You what?”

Peter swallowed thickly. “I knew what was happening. Because of my powers, my senses are, just, super heightened. I feel everything differently than everyone else. So yeah, for everyone else that got snapped, it was quick and painless but for me? I felt everything.”

(y/n)’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, God. What… what was that like? I mean, if you want to talk about it, if not I totally get it.”

Peter sighed. He knew one day he’d have to talk about it. He was kind of hoping he’d never have to. But, if it would help (y/n) feel better, he was willing to push his fear aside.

“Terrifying,” he finally replied. “I was terrified. I felt helpless, alone. Mr. Stark was right there, that helped me feel less alone. Physically it was weird, I could feel myself disintegrating. It wasn’t unbearably painful, but it was pretty uncomfortable. And then my soul just got… I don’t know, transported? Maybe? Sure, transported to the soul world. And it was five years, but it felt like five hours, it was really weird. But then… then I came back. I guess that’s the difference, though, I got to come back.”

(y/n) smiled. “Wow,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet someone that knows what I’m going through. I’ve been faced with death over half my life and it scares me. I’ve felt so alone. But… now I don’t feel so alone anymore.” She reached over, gently grasping his still-gloved hand.

Peter gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Glad to help.” He smiled at her again. “Um, that latte is getting cold. I don’t want to have to go get the manager.”

“Young man!” (y/n) exclaimed, in her fake customer voice. “This went down to 102 degrees, it needs to be at least 115!”

They burst into laughter yet again.

“What was it like, in the soul world?” (Y/n) asked softly.

Peter shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. I didn’t feel anything physically. But internally, I felt very at peace. I… I got to see my parents and my Uncle Ben again. But they didn’t get to come back, that’s how the quantum thing worked. If you were dead before the Snap, you stayed dead. You know? But they got to tell me they were proud of me, that made me feel a lot better. I had this overwhelming, just… what was I so afraid of? This isn’t so bad. Then I realized that the thing I was scared of was the uncertainty. What’s happening to me? Where am I going to end up? That’s the part that got me. But once I got there… it was okay.”

“That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, Peter.” She squeezed his hand again. “So what do I do now?”

“I… I don’t really know. What do you think you should do?”

“I think I should make the most of the time I have left,” (y/n) answered. “Not dwell on the dying part so much, focus on the living part. I know that sounds like all the schlocky bullshit they spout out in movies and whatnot but… but maybe there’s some good advice hidden in that.”

Peter just nodded solemnly.

“So,” (y/n) said, gulping down the last of her latte, “any plans this weekend?”

“I… oh, maybe. Karen, what’s my schedule this weekend?”

“You have an Academic Decathlon competition in Albany this weekend, be at the school by 5pm packed and ready to get on the bus. Estimated return time is 8pm Saturday.”

“And I’m co-captain with MJ this year,” Peter said, “so my presence is definitely required. I’ll get you a postcard or something though. And then I should probably do my rounds after I get home, and then I think I’m free Sunday.”

“New event added to calendar by Bruce Banner,” Karen said, “meeting at Avengers Tower at 2pm on Sunday.”

Peter chuckled. “...and I’ll try to stop by after that. If not, I will for sure Monday. But I’ll text you whenever I can, okay?”

“Sounds good.” (y/n) smiled. “Hey, thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Everyone that comes in here thinks they need to walk on eggshells around me, not bring up the D word or whatever, you know? Thank you for not doing that. Thank you for treating me like I’m just an average everyday kid, and not an average everyday kid that happens to be walking around with a commuted sentence.”

Peter grinned at her. “Hey, anytime.”

“In a weird way,” (y/n) continued, “I’m almost glad I got sick.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked, nose scrunched in confusion.

She smiled softly at him. “It brought me you.”

Peter could feel a blush creep over his cheeks as he searched for something to say. He settled for squeezing her hand again and replying, “I’m glad I met you too. Sucks it wasn’t sooner, but… better late than never, y’know?”

“Better late than never.” She grinned at him before releasing his hand. “Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

[shy-badger]

Prompt 42

Now for my second prompt. This one can be more wholesome. 42 “I need a hug”. I’m sorry this is so late. Life got in the way, but hey, better late than never?

He was at it again. After every meal, after every mission, nearly all of his waking hours were spent playing that stupid game. Raven didn’t think anything of it at first, Beast Boy always loved playing video games, but now it seemed to take over every part of his life. She didn’t even know why he played it so much considering he spent most of his time playing it with an angry scowl on his face.

Raven sat on the end of the couch, reading and nursing her bruised body after a particularly tough fight with Plasmus. They had barely survived at all, escaping at the last second thanks to Robin’s quick thinking. Beast Boy took the most damage out of all of the titans, his animal forms always struggled with the giant glob of goo.

“No, don’t you…” Beast Boy pleaded just before the words, “You died” popped up on the screen. Beast boy’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “I can’t even beat a stupid video game.” He whispered, sagging back into the couch. The quiet voice of her teammate startling Raven, her forgotten book in her lap. She instead stared at her teammate beside her. He was always so animated. No matter the emotion; happy, sad, angry, he was always over the top. It normally annoyed Raven.

This however, was much worse. He wasn’t flailing about making a lot of noise, he wasn’t going off on some exaggerated rant, or even trying to puff himself up and blame some part of the game for messing him up some how. Beast Boy, instead, sat quietly in defeat. He stared at the screen like his life was over, morose and downcast to such an extreme that worry began to gnaw at Raven. She suspected that maybe, this wasn’t about the game. Beast Boy always had a habit of hiding the things that bothered him. So concerned with “burdening” his friends, that he always tried to wade through his problems alone. So quick to offer a helping hand to others, and so quick to refuse one for himself.

Raven watched Beast Boy for a moment more, puzzled by his seemingly sudden melancholy. Then the realization that this wasn’t so sudden crept up on Raven. Bit by bit, she remembered little changes in his behavior over the last couple of weeks. How his jokes seemed to have less energy behind them, how his smile didn’t seem to meet his eyes, and how when he thought he was alone, his smile was gone altogether.

Raven’s thought’s were interrupted when Beast Boy reached forward and drank what the last of his soda. He stared at the empty can for a moment, as if it held all the answers he had ever searched for, before standing with a sigh. Raven watched him as he walked over to the trash can pondering what could be the cause of her normally jubilant teammate’s newfound demeanor. She suspected that it might have something to do with the last few fights the team had. Plasmus had been released, and whoever was responsible was putting him to work very frequently lately. Beast Boy was struggling the most given the bad match up of powers, and she could guess the hell it was playing on his psyche. He was probably blaming himself, thinking it was because he wasn’t strong, or fast, or smart enough.

Raven took a deep breath to steady the emotions her thoughts had stirred, as Beast Boy turned back to the couch and jumped upon seeing Raven staring back at him.

“Raven!”

Beast Boy started figiting while doing a terrible job of acting casual.

“Hey, Rea… Um when did you get here?… Not like you can’t be here… I mean it’s your tower too…. I meant how long have you been sitting there?… Not that you can’t sit there either… I… Um… Was just surprised to see you. You’re really quiet sometimes. Ha ha”

Raven was taken aback, partly because he hadn’t noticed she was there, but mostly because there he was trying to hide his gloom behind that signature smile of his. This time however the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Raven looked at Beast Boy with suspicion. He hadn’t trusted her to see him that upset, he simply didn’t know she was there.

“Are you ok Beast Boy?”

Beast Boy looked worried for a split second before over exaggerating his smile even further.

“Me? I’m fine Rae, in more ways than one.” He punctuated his line with a suggestive eye brow wiggle for good measure.

You’re a terrible liar Beast Boy. What’s wrong?“ Raven said with an eye roll.

“I’m fine Rae, I swear.” Beast Boy was scratching the back of his neck while he answered her.

“Really?” Raven asked, skeptical.

“Oh I see. You wanna see how fine I really am?” This time Beast Boy put on more of an act by lifting up the corner of his uniform shirt to expose his abs.

Before Raven could stop herself, she sighed.

“You know Beast Boy? Sometimes you really tick me off.”

Raven hadn’t meant to say that, sure she wanted to talk to him, but she was hoping to calm herself before finding out what was wrong.

Beast Boy’s ears drooped a little before he attempted to defend himself.

“Ah come on Rae, It wasn’t that bad. I’ve said way worse stuff than that.”

Raven pinched the bridge of her nose in the hopes of displaying her annoyance.

“That’s not what this is about, you idiot.” She did manage to hold back the venom in her voice dispite her unreasonable desire to do otherwise. Raven knew she was getting upset, more so than she thought she should be. She closed her book and stood up from the couch, fully intending to end the conversation there and heading to her bedroom to meditate.

Beast Boy grabbed Raven’s arm as she passed him.

“Wait, Rae whatever I did, I’m sorry ok. Just come back to the couch, and I’ll even make you some tea or something to make up for whatever I did wrong. Ok?” Beast Boy flashed her a toothy grin to finish of his plea.

Raven couldn’t help but get even more irritated with him. She knew she shouldn’t be upset at all, he always dealt with his problems like this. She also thought that the way to help him was with gentle support, yet she couldn’t help herself. After everything he had done for the team, for her, she wanted better for him. She wanted him to trust her enough to ask for help. Raven hated the anger and hurt she felt, certain that these emotions were irrational and useless to her right now. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t stop her mouth form moving.

“You want to know what you did wrong Beast Boy? Nothing. You never do anything wrong.

Beast Boy recoiled at her sudden outburst, but Raven kept going.

“Yet anytime something bad happens, you’re so quick to blame yourself for stupid reasons like, you’re not strong enough, not good enough, or not smart enough. You never want us to see it though, so you hide it behind that stupid smile of yours. We know that’s your way of coping and there’s nothing wrong with that, but Beast Boy, we want you to come to us when something is wrong. When we have a problem, you won’t let up until you’ve helped us resolve it. Why can’t we do the same for you? Do you not trust us? Or do you not care if you hurt us? Because it does hurt Beast Boy. We love you and when you’re hurting, we want to help you. When you don’t let us, it hurts. I thought that you, of all people would know that.“

Raven took a deep breath to calm herself a little. Beast Boy stood staring at her looking a combination of shocked and guilty.

“Look Beast Boy, I’m not asking you to change everything about yourself. We love you, as our friend and our teammate. We wouldn’t have you any other way, but please. Every once and a while, ask us if you need something, ok? We want to help you too.” Raven was surprised to hear the emotions behind her plea. She looked at Beast Boy, afraid she may have hurt his feelings.

Beast Boy stared at Raven for what seemed like eternity before he finally burst into laughter. Raven was both confused and a little relieved. After a minute, Beast Boy settled down enough to speak.

“I’m sorry Rae, I’m not laughing at you I swear. I’m laughing because, of all the things to cheer me up, I never thought it would be you getting mad at me.” Beast Boy finally stopped laughing, stood up straight and looked Raven dead in the eyes.

“I’m sorry that I worried you ok? I’ll try to be more honest in the future.”

The way that Beast Boy delivered his apology was off putting to Raven. It was so confident and grounded that it seemed almost out of character, yet she couldn’t help that it made her core feel just a bit warmer than before.

“Ok good.” Raven suddenly felt smaller after her anger had calmed down and Beast Boy had changed posture.

Raven turned to head to her room before Beast Boy stopped her again, this time simply by calling to her.

“ Raven?” When she had turned back to hear him out, she found him figiting again. “If you really want to know when I need something, well… I kinda need a hug.” Beast Boy couldn’t seem to meet her eye after that, looking instead at his hands.

Raven response was to wrap her arms around Beast Boy’s shoulders, pulling him into an embrace he didn’t seem to expect.

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d actually…” Beast Boy said shocked before hugging her back and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Thanks Rae. I needed this.”

Raven was being squeezed tightly by Beast Boy and found her thoughts wandering to the peek he had given her of his abs earlier. Try as she might she couldnt get the picture out of her head, nor could she stop the blush she was sure she was wearing now.

When Beast Boy ended the hug, Raven quickly threw her hood up to cover her face.

“You should be careful Rae.” Beast Boy was saying over his shoulder as he returned to the couch. “If you keep giving me hugs that nice, I may ask for one every day.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Came Raven’s monotone threat, as she turned on her heel towards her room, though as she heard the common room door shut behind her, she couldn’t help thinking that hugging Beast Boy ever day wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

[matskreider-blog]

5 & 20 for pekka/juuse?

5. “Just breathe.” deficient & determined au. content warnings: description of a panic attack/disassociation spell from the pov of the person going through it.

In the still, warm darkness, Pekka lays curled up on his side. He’s hiding from the lazy winter sunrise, hiding from the warm body on the other side of the bed, hiding from his coaches, his teammates, his fans. Pekka is hiding, and he feels all the more pathetic for it.

His play has been on again off again for far too long, and he finds himself drawn to the same ways of coping that he had before Juuse. Shutting himself off from his teammates, for one. Ignoring social media, for another, even though he hardly posted anything. Mechanically going through training and practice, leaving his mental game behind. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was giving up more starts to Juuse in the coming games, if not being pulled in favor of him.

These thoughts take advantage of the fact that he’s not yet managed to do anything by way of living yet in the day. Even though it’s 7:45am, he wonders why he wasn’t more productive yet today, why he hasn’t at least gotten up and done something with himself. His body still aches from the game last night, but he doesn’t see any sense in thinking that that meant hard work. They’d lost in overtime, a loss he blamed himself for.

He curls up a little tighter, ignoring the way it makes his quad twinge, and tries to keep his breathing quiet. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, he tries to think positive, think the way that his therapist has told him is okay to direct towards yourself. And it works, for a little bit. But then he thinks to himself how pathetic it is that he has to use someone else’s words to make himself feel better, and it just drags him down further.

Being under the covers is nice, he thinks to himself, in a vain attempt to reroute his thoughts. It’s dark, and quiet, and eventually it takes the oxygen away so you don’t have to continue being so worthless and a drain on everyone else. Isn’t that great?

He is feeling sort of light headed, but he can’t tell if it’s because of the blankets or something else. Vaguely he feels someone shaking him, but maybe he’s just trembling by himself. It wouldn’t be the first time that that happened. But he should probably stop moving, if he doesn’t want to wake up Juuse. And he doesn’t, that’s the last thing he wants to do.

So he tries to fight against the movement, but that proves hard to do. Maybe someone else is actually shaking him? His chest feels kind of tight, but maybe it’s because he’s balled up so tight. He would try to unclench, but his body feels kind of locked in position. Maybe later, when he has more energy, he’ll spread out, but for now, he’s okay. He’ll make himself be okay.

Then Pekka swears he’s being thrown into a snowbank. Everything is cold and everything is white. Eventually, definition starts to filter in. He’s in his bed, still, but the covers have been pulled off of him. The shaking is still happening, but now he’s pretty much certain that it is him, but the hands on him are trying to help him ground himself.

Faintly, he hears some wheezing. Juuse should probably get that checked out, there’s no way he can play if he’s wheezing like that. But then he hears Juuse’s voice, and he sounds okay, so who could be wheezing?

“That’s it, come back for me. You’re okay, I promise you’re okay. Just breathe, babe, just breathe.” The words are familiar, and he tries to take the advice – but when he does, his lungs feel stiff, and that gets him panicking. Finally, he can move somewhat, and he rolls onto his arms, coughing and gasping as he tries to breathe. Juuse rubs a comforting hand down his back, and somewhere Pekka realizes that the wheezing was him.

It takes a few minutes before Pekka can breathe again, before the floaters go away and he can actually focus on Juuse. He looks troubled, but relieved now that Pekka was more alert than before. “…How long was it?” he asks, softly.

“About an hour,” Juuse answers, his voice just as soft. “You only started moving a little bit in the last five minutes though, and at that point I…I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Pekka nods, and diverts his gaze. “I…um…” He takes a breath, now that he can, and squeezes his fingers into the duvet. “I…was thinking about…my gameplay. And I felt…not good. So I just kind of…got stuck.” He knows that it’s not the most eloquent, but his brain still feels like mush, and he’s trying.

Juuse, the sweetheart that he is, knows how to read between the lines. “I’m sorry that happened, babe. You know you can always wake me up if you’re having bad thoughts, right?” he insists, gently placing his hand on Pekka’s knee. “I promise I won’t yell or be mad.”

Pekka heaves a shaky sigh. “I…I know. Thank you. Um…can I have my collar now?” he asks softly, his voice trembling.

“I’d rather have your neck clear right now. Just for a little bit, until you calm down, okay?” Juuse murmurs. “I’ll collar you later, but I want to make sure you’re okay first. I don’t want you hurting.”

Pekka can feel his chest tightening again, but Juuse puts a hand on the back of his neck, and it helps to settle him.

“Shh, I’m not mad at you, babe. I just want you safe, okay? It would be irresponsible of me to do that right now,” Juuse explains. “But if you want, we can go downstairs and make some breakfast? If doing things with your hands might help?”

The suggestions sit right with Pekka. He can make up for his shit play with doing as Juuse says, and he can make Juuse proud and earn his collar back. He wants to prove himself to be good, so he looks at Juuse and nods. When he gets a smile and a kiss on the cheek in response, he feels infinitely more settled.

20. “You gotta stop doing that.” boss & baby au.

Juuse pretends not to know how much sway he has over the Family. He pretends not to know how much he means to the organization as a whole, and he pretends that he’s too young to know any of it. He shyly hides his English skills, blushing on cue, and keeps his mouth sealed tight against secrets others let slip around him.

He observes, but he doesn’t act.

But he knows how much he means to Pekka. With every dress, every choker, every meal, every palette and brush, he receives materialistic affirmation of Pekka’s devotion. With every moan, every kiss, every bruise, and every sigh, he receives an emotional affirmation that carries just as much weight in his heart as his Daddy’s black card does in his wallet.

He observes, and he acts on those observations.

Sometimes, though, these two desires conflict. He’ll be under Pekka on some Friday morning, sliding his hands down warm skin and opening his mouth to let out small noises of pleasure, when the phone will ring. Not Pekka’s phone for pleasure, nor Juuse’s phone for complete strangers or trusted friends, but Pekka’s work phone. And he’ll sigh, but pull back to check who it is, and Juuse will throw an arm over his eyes and will hope that it’s no one of consequence.

It will be a vain hope, because he will already have a pretty good idea of who is calling based on the little secrets he’d heard here and there. He’ll drum his nails on his stomach, exposed in the morning light, and he’ll listen to Pekka answering with his business voice. It’s awfully close to his bedroom voice, soft yet powerful, and it will inevitably get Juuse going again.

He’ll debate in his mind if this is a call he can afford to interrupt. He’s a smart boy, and he’ll come to a decision. If it’s not, he’ll wait it out, and see if they have more time before Pekka must go. If it is, however, he’ll push himself up to his knees and sidle over to where Pekka is talking on the phone.

He’ll kiss his neck, first, to test the waters. If he’s not pushed away, he’ll continue, down to his shoulder, and from there let his hands rove. Maybe he’ll tease at Pekka’s nipples first or maybe he’ll drag his nails over Pekka’s abs first, but either way, he will do both. Either way, he’ll keep working at his Daddy until he can reasonably slide his hand into Pekka’s boxers and move his fingers in such a way that he knows Pekka will be hanging up soon.

When he does, he’ll pin him to the bed with a low growl, admonishing, “You gotta stop doing that.”

To which Juuse will reply, “When it stops working, I will.”

And then they’ll be too busy to talk about anything of consequence for quite some time, and Juuse will feel a satisfaction he thinks he’ll never get tired of. And, maybe, he’ll offer some advice on the predicament over breakfast, with his Daddy’s marks fresh on his neck, peeking above his pink satin robe. Or, maybe he’ll just sit quietly and eat, crossing his ankles under the table and listening with his mouth full.

After all, he’s good at that.

[icecubelotr44]

To Every Thing a Season (6/16)

Summary:   After witnessing the tragic murder of his brother Liam, Killian Jones is more determined than ever to discover the secrets of time travel. Fast-tracking his education at Storybrooke University, Killian is assigned a lab assistant, one Emma Swan. Together, they find a way to break through the veil of time so Killian can set things right. But what will be the price for changing the past, and is it one they’re willing to pay?

Rated:  T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @optomisticgirl made imagesets for all the chapters and @ab-normality made a video and a gifset for this fic.  You can find the imageset for this chapter above and here on her blog.  The video is linked here and on her blog here and the gifset will be posted later in the story!

Beta readers: The as-always wonderful @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, thanks so much for all of your help and cajoling and reassuring!  And a huge thank you to the spectacular @spartanguard who stepped in to help beta read as well!

A/N:  Written as part of the 2017 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge.  You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Thursday from now until its completion. And yes, there is a happy ending after all this… just so you know.

Word count:  ~ 5,500 (80K+ Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: ao3 | ffn  

Current Chapter: AO3 | FFN

Chapter 6: To Mourn and to Dance

“Mr. Jones, could I speak with you a moment after class?” Dr. Hopper queried as Killian slunk into the back of the lecture hall just moments before the class was scheduled to start.

He sighed and pinched his nose against the headache that ramped up at the thought of speaking with his advisor.  When Hopper called his name again, Killian nodded and took his seat.  He knew what the conversation would be about, and he had no patience for it - or anything else - at the moment.

Was it too much to pray that one of the other students would have questions about their final lab session or the upcoming final?

Apparently the answer to that was yes, as the lecture ended and the upperclassmen around Killian filed dutifully out of the hall.  A few of them threw sympathetic looks over their shoulders at Killian as they left, but no one came to his rescue.

Dragging his feet literally as well as figuratively, Killian weaved his way through the chairs until he reached the front of the room.  “You wanted to see me, Professor?” he asked in such a resigned tone that Dr. Hopper laughed jovially.

“Oh, Killian, don’t sound so petulant.  I know you’re upset about the funding that I promised you.  But I might have an idea about that.”

Killian looked up abruptly, his eyes wide with anticipation.

But Hopper shook his head.  “That’s not what I wanted to speak with you about.  I’m still greasing some wheels on that end.  No, I wanted to ask about Miss Swan.  She hasn’t submitted hours in the past two weeks, and with the end of the semester approaching, I wanted to make sure she gets her last paycheck.”

And with that, Killian deflated.  Of course she hadn’t turned in an hours sheet to the Physics department - she hadn’t seen the inside of the lab in more than two weeks.  Because of him.

“Oh,” he deflected.  “Emma had some rather time-consuming papers that she had to complete before the end of the semester, so I told her that she didn’t need to keep working in the lab.”

His advisor looked at him skeptically.  “You told her she could work on her own projects, or you let her go because you weren’t going to get your way with my promise?  Because if you got rid of her just because you weren’t getting your way, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Hot anger flashed through Killian.  How dare Hopper think that he would shun Emma because of his own disappointment?  He knew Emma needed the money that being his lab assistant gave her.  But if she was too stubborn to apologize for shouting at him and storming off, then obviously she didn’t need the money that badly.

“No, sir,” he responded as curtly as he was able without being disrespectful.  “That’s not what happened.”

The professor kept his gaze locked on Killian for what seemed an eternity.  Whatever he was looking for, Dr. Hopper seemed to believe him.  “Very well.  Tell Miss Swan that if she intends to work with you over the summer, she’ll need to check in with me before exams begin.”

Killian nodded once, just barely managing to keep his temper in check as he turned to go.

“Oh, and Killian?”  Dr. Hopper called out before Killian could make his escape.

“Yes, sir?”  The tone of his voice was still cold.

Hopper either ignored it or didn’t notice.  “Do remind Miss Swan that she needs to actually attend my class if she wants to get class participation credit for the final.  I heard from her friend that she’s been ill, but she’ll need to make up some of her work if she intends to pass this semester.”

A tendril of concern wrapped around Killian’s heart and squeezed.  He wondered if Emma was blatantly skipping the physics class in her anger, or if she’d actually come down with some kind of illness.  He honestly didn’t know, and that tore at Killian in a way he had hoped it wouldn’t.

He was supposed to be angry at her.  He wasn’t supposed to care anymore.  She had walked out on him.

But Killian couldn’t ignore the simple truth of the matter - he missed her.

The equation still danced for him, but Killian couldn’t find the drive to manipulate it.  The computer model still spit out results from his photon experiments, but inputting the new variables seemed to be that much more arduous.  The hours in the lab still produced more complex motherboards that he’d cobbled together in order to make an eventual prototype, but the time just seemed to drag on.

Things were different now, and it was all Emma’s fault.

Killian slumped down on a bench halfway down the hall from Hopper’s lecture room.  No, that wasn’t fair, he knew. It wasn’t all Emma’s fault.

It was his, too.

But it didn’t change the matter.  She’d left him behind and he’d just have to figure out how to go back to how it used to be.

He sat forward on the hard, wooden seat and dropped his head into his hands.  Suddenly, it felt too heavy to hold up on its own, too much on his shoulders.  Killian gripped his hair hard, pulling until the sharp pains at the roots was brighter than the anger, the frustration, the helplessness.

“Now what’s that going to solve?” a familiar sounding voice asked.

Killian looked up in surprise - both at the accent that he would swear came from his hometown, only diluted somewhat, and at how quickly the old man had snuck up on him.  He must be a professor at the school, his clothes just a little bit askew as if he’d spent the last few hours lecturing animatedly.  The man’s face was familiar as well, though Killian knew he had never taken a class with him at the smartboard.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need something?” Killian asked irritatedly, his brother’s voice in his ear admonishing him for the tone.

I’m being as much of a gentleman as I can, Liam, he snarked at the internal monologue, so sod off.

“It looks like you need my help more than I need yours, son,” the old man answered him.  “What’s vexing you so?”

Killian didn’t know what it was, why he was so comfortable sitting next to this man when he usually shied away from any kind of human contact.  Their knees knocked together as he shifted, tossing himself carelessly back against the bench and sliding down just a little bit further.  “There’s this girl…” he began with no real intention to finish his thought.

The old man laughed.  “There always is, m’boy.  There always is.  You want to tell me about it?”

To his surprise, Killian did.

They sat in silence for awhile, Killian mulling over his thoughts and the old man content to rest next to him.  “She’s insufferable,” he finally settled on.

A bark of laughter was his answer.  “Is she truly?” the man asked with a smirk - as if he already knew the answer.

“Yes!” Killian exclaimed.  “She’s stubborn.  And opinionated.  And bloody infuriating!”

“Sounds like an awful specimen, then,” the professor observed.

Killian scoffed.  “She most certainly is not!  You don’t know Emma at all!  She’s had a hard life, and she’s made something of it, too!  At any moment she could have rolled over and given up, with all she’s been through.  But she didn’t!  And to top it all off, for some bloody insane reason, she cares about me!”

He stood up angrily and started to pace back and forth in front of the old man.  “She makes sure I’ve eaten, and she can read my chicken scratch.  Her smile brightens the room and the color of her eyes, it's just... it's right, you know?  She knows about Liam, and what I’m trying to do, and she believes me.”

Killian turned to face the old man, seething now.  “You don’t know a bloody thing about her, and I’ll thank you not to disparage her so!”

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement.  “Sounds like you don’t really find her insufferable then?” he asked.

“N-no.  No, she’s brilliant.  Amazing.  And for whatever reason, she seems to like me, too.  Or at least, she did.  Until I mucked it all up.”  Killian deflated quickly, sinking back down next to the professor and dropping his head to his hands again.  The pads of his glasses cut into his nose, but he ignored it.  This time, when he pulled at his hair, it was in self-flagellation.  “She won’t come back, not after the way I treated her.  My Emma’s too strong for that.  She’s too bloody stubborn.  It’s the only way she could handle me, I’m sure.  But now, I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you?” the old man asked quietly.  “I would think that a young man as smart as you would know that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants…”

“... deserves what he gets,” Killian finished quietly, an astonished look on his face as he turned to meet the professor’s gaze.  A fist gripped his heart, one that tightened its grip any time he thought of Liam.  “My brother used to say that.”

The professor nodded.  “Sounds like your brother’s as smart as you are, then,” he said with a wistful smile that Killian didn’t quite understand.

“He was,” Killian admitted quietly.  “I miss him so much.”

“And I’m sure you’ll see him again, young man.  But you don’t want to be old and decrepit like me by the time you do, do you?”  He waved a hand over himself as if he were indicating everything.

Killian stared for a moment longer before he shook his head reluctantly.  No, he couldn’t imagine waiting that long to see Liam again.  He had to get back to the numbers, he had to find a way to make his equation work.

He needed Emma to keep him on task.

“I’ve… I’ve got to go, sir,” Killian claimed excitedly, stumbling back to his feet, already planning on how to apologize to Emma.   He had made it three steps down the hall when Liam’s voice in his head admonished him again about being a gentleman.  “Did you need something before I go, sir?”

The old man shook his head ‘no’ with a laugh.  “Go get the girl, Jones.  Counting on you to do it right,” he replied enigmatically before levering himself to his feet.  Killian reached out a hand to steady him, taking the man’s hand in his own.

It was only then that Killian noticed.

The old man’s left hand was a cleverly designed prosthetic.

Killian tore his eyes away from the synthetic materials, focusing on the man’s dimpled, knowing smile instead.  The prosthetic rose until it was in his line of sight again.  “Don’t you worry on this too much, Jones.  If things go as planned, it may be no more than a memory.  But it was worth it.  Things like this are worth the risk.  Don’t forget that.”

Killian continued to stare, speechless, as he tried to process the mysterious words.  When the old man’s eyebrow rose, he stumbled through an affirmation that he wouldn’t forget it.  How could he?  The chance meeting with this man was taking an odd turn that quieted even the ever-persistent equation.

The old man nodded succinctly before heading down the hall away from the classrooms.  Killian caught the man’s last mutterings before he disappeared from view.  “My time here’s come to an end.  I think I’ve done all I meant to.”

Killian had a sneaking suspicion that this was the most important meeting he’d ever had, and he didn’t even know the professor’s name.

An hour later, and he was starting to get frustrated.  Emma wasn’t at her dorm room - and her roommate was scarily threatening as she filed her nails and told him he if he needed her help to find Emma then he didn’t deserve her.  She wasn’t at the library.  She wasn’t in class - he knew her schedule better than his own.  She definitely wasn’t in their physics lab - though he checked just to make sure.  She wasn’t in the cafeteria or on the quad or with her advisor.

Killian was almost certain that she wasn’t anywhere on campus.

And then a kernel of hope blossomed in his chest when he really thought about Ruby’s threat.

Killian was a bundle of nerves by the time the shuttle into town meandered back to the stop on campus.  He threw himself impatiently into the first open seat and tried to bat away the numbers without looking too crazy.  His knee bounced wildly as he waited for the other students to get on and then off at various stops.

He sprinted down the stairs and away from the shuttle the second the doors opened, the admonishment from the driver lost in the jumbled thoughts in his head.  A quick stop at Granny’s just to make sure Emma wasn’t there, either, and Killian’s hopes began to soar.

He knew exactly where Emma was.

The tide was higher than Killian had ever seen it, the waves rolling against the sand with a soothing rhythm that called to him.  The sky was overcast, the reflection of the clouds making the ocean seem darker, more at odds with the shore.  There was a bite to the wind, the temperature not quite warm enough for a leisurely walk in the surf.

But that wasn’t why Killian was here, anyway.

He was here for the huddled form curled up on the boulder just beyond the surf line.  Killian’s fingers tightened in the blanket he’d brought along just in case, itching to wrap it around her shoulders and make sure she wasn’t going to catch a chill.  He had seen the rubbish bin in her room, overflowing with wadded up tissues.  His Emma was still ill; she should be somewhere warm and comfortable.  Not someplace as cold and unforgiving as their boulder was.

But it didn’t surprise him in the least that she was here.

His heart in his throat, Killian ambled up the beach, coming to a stop at the base of their spot, nervous now more than excited.  He’d found her, yes, but that didn’t mean she wanted him here.

“Hi,” he whispered, his stare locked on the way her arms wrapped tightly around her shins.  Killian was terrified to meet her gaze, terrified of what he’d see reflected there.

Emma’s fingers tightened at his salutation, so he knew she’d heard him.

“I… I thought you might be cold.”  Killian offered up the blanket, toeing a line in the sand.

It seemed like an eternity before he felt her chilled fingers brush his own.  “Thank you,” she whispered back.

Killian smiled tremulously, unsure of where to go from here.

“How did you find me?” she asked, a hint of ice in her words.  Killian flinched involuntarily before she continued, mostly to herself.  “I bet Ruby told you, the traitor.”

He shook his head.  “I’ve been all over campus looking for you, lu… Swan.  Then I just knew you’d be here.”

“Why’d you bother?” The ice was gone, replaced by defeat.

It cut through Killian like a knife.  He gulped and chanced a look upwards.

Emma’s head was bent so far forward that her chin rested on her chest.  If possible, Killian felt worse than he had when she’d been angry with him.  She didn’t deserve to have felt like this.  Not because of him, and not because of all those people before him who had let her down.

“Because I needed to find you.  I missed you.”

Emma’s head shot up at that, her green eyes laser-sharp as they read into his words.

Killian stood stock-still, letting her search his gaze and find what she needed to see - that he’d spoken the simple truth.

It took her a few moments, time crawling by as Killian counted his heartbeats and held his breath.  This would make or break them - make or break him - and his every sense was trained on her.  On what she would say next.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said quietly, finally.

The breath left his lungs in an audible whoosh, the relief leaving him shaky.  “I’m sorry, too, luv.  I didn’t mean any of it.”

The smile didn’t quite reach Emma’s eyes, but it was a start.  She shook out the blanket and draped it over her shoulders.  “Get up here, Jones, before you freeze.”

Killian didn’t need any further prompting, scrambling up the rock until he was tucked under the warm fleece, pressed shoulder to knee against Emma.  She dropped her head to his shoulder and once he took the corner of the blanket from her, Emma wrapped her arm around his back, tucking her cold fingers under the hem of his sweatshirt to latch onto his belt.  His own hand dropped to her knee, his thumb tracing nonsense over her knee cap.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there before Emma started shivering again.  Killian sat up, away from the scant warmth that they’d created between them, and wrapped the blanket fully around her.  She watched him warily as he slid back down to the sand, stumbling a little on the uneven ground.

Killian turned to face her and tugged at her ankle until she had no choice but to follow him off the rock.  When Emma stood in front of him, her chin raised defiantly, he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his chest.  Killian’s hands rubbed up and down her back, trying to give her just a little bit more warmth.

“Let’s go get you warmed up, luv,” he murmured into the crown of her head.  “I’m sure Granny’s got a mug of hot cocoa with your name on it.  Maybe some onion rings too, aye?”

The smile he got in payment twinkled in the depths of Emma’s eyes, and it settled the unrest that had plagued him for weeks.

“Your treat, Jones,” she called before racing to the boardwalk.

Emma was sitting at her desk, staring at the numbers on the paper in front of her with dismay.  She simply didn’t think she could afford to stay on campus and take classes through the entire summer semester, and she definitely couldn’t afford to find an apartment off campus and work full-time.  Not for the first time, Emma Swan wished futilely that someone had taken the chance on a lost, broken little girl who didn’t matter and never would.  If someone had, even if they weren’t perfect, even if they were neglectful or worse, then maybe she wouldn’t be damned if she did and damned if she didn’t now.  Surely a foster parent or two out there in it for the paycheck would have agreed to rent her bedroom back to her for less than what it would cost for an entire apartment.

But no one had.  And now Emma, lost girl extraordinaire, had to figure out a plan that didn’t involve begging for Granny’s charity or setting herself up to fail down the road.

She threw the pen she’d been fiddling with across the room.

Dropping her head in her hands, Emma focused on her breathing and not the sting of frustration that was making her eyes suspiciously watery.  She’d figure this out; she’d always managed on her own before, and she could do it now.  If she had to take out larger student loans, then she’d just have to hope that the job she got after college would-

-a knock on the door startled her badly.

Emma was tempted to ignore it, tempted to climb up into her lofted bed and forget the world existed.

“Swan?  Are you in there?” Killian’s voice was muffled through the door, but the accent rolled over her frustration and brought a smile to her face instead.

The screech of her chair sliding back against the scuffed tile stopped Killian’s second call through the door, and Emma leaned over to yank the door open.

He was standing just to the side of the doorjamb, shifting from foot to foot nervously.  Emma knew that if his hands weren’t full, he’d be scratching behind his ear.

But his hands were full, a plastic bag with takeout containers in one and a tray of drinks and highlighters in the other.

“I thought you could use some study materials,” he answered her unspoken question.  “Can I come in?”

Emma nodded, smiling, as she shoved the door open further to let him enter.  The slam of the heavy door echoed through the room as she moved towards the creaky futon and took the bag of food from him.  She could smell the grease through the styrofoam and her stomach growled.  “I thought this was my job?” she asked wryly.

“Aye, luv, it was.  But it’s mine… or at least, I hope it’s mine now, too,” he responded, grabbing a stack of books from her desk.  “I thought a grilled cheese from Granny’s might motivate you to study harder.”

“Fries?” she asked.

Killian laughed under his breath, and Emma thought she detected a hint of nerves.  “Onion rings.”

“Good,” she grinned at him as he moved towards her.  “I was just testing you.”

Killian’s smile was definitely tinged with relief, and it reminded her that he still felt guilty over their fight.  Emma opened the boxes on the mismatched ottoman in front of the futon, then reached out a hand to him.  He tucked her books under one arm and then tangled their fingers together.  There was a spark there that traveled up her arm and caused her to tighten her grip reflexively.  The smile that he graced her with was boyish and innocent, but free of the guilt she’d caused.

Emma tugged him towards her, her free hand coming up to brush along his jaw.  “Thank you,” she whispered with a nod.

Killian dropped his head down so that their foreheads touched and Emma could feel his breath wafting across her cheeks.  They stood like that for awhile, the silence around them comfortable rather than charged.  It was almost enough to make Emma forget about her money troubles.

Almost.

“The food’s going to get cold, luv,” Killian jutted his chin towards the greasy lunch he’d brought.

Emma sighed and stepped out of his embrace, watching him drop down on the futon and toss her books on the floor.  She had just turned to take her seat when Killian’s arm snuck around her waist and dragged her down to sit between his legs.  She tensed for a moment at the change in position, but then melted into his chest, finally relaxing.  Killian let her get comfortable - poking and prodding and fidgeting until she was content - while holding back a laugh.  When Emma finally settled, he reached for their food, balancing it on one knee while he wrapped his arm back around her waist.

“Do you have any plans for the summer yet?” he asked when their meal was long gone and she’d been ignoring her textbooks in favor of snuggling.  The relaxed atmosphere fled from the room like it was a vacuum and Emma tensed up immediately.  

Killian noticed the change right away.  “Have I said something wrong?” he asked hesitantly, playing with the ends of her hair.

Emma let him drag her back to the safety of his embrace and tucked her head under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she began.  Once she started, it all came tumbling out.  “I planned on taking classes and staying on campus, but I didn’t realize just how expensive it would be.  Then I thought about looking for a full-time job instead, but apartments are so expensive this close to the water and I need to stay close enough to walk to my job.”

“Does your work-study job not run over the summer?” he tried.

Emma nodded.  “It does, but it’s not enough to pay for everything.”

Killian’s arms tightened around her.  “Would you… would you consider coming back to work with me?”

Emma’s head shot up and clipped his chin.  They both cried out.  Emma clenched her eyes shut against the pain, but the next thing she felt was his lips on her forehead.  She sighed at the contact, soothed by his closeness and his care.

“I didn’t think you’d get violent over the suggestion, luv,” he commented wryly, his fingers running over where he’d kissed.

Emma tilted her head back more carefully this time.  “You’re staying, too?” she asked hesitantly.

She saw the way his eyes darkened, could see the barely contained anger in his depths.  “Aye.  I’ll not go home again unless they make me.”

“That bad?” she asked, reaching up to run her finger over the scar on his cheek.  “You never talk about it.”

Killian nodded, turning his head so he could kiss her knuckles.  “My father and I don’t exactly have the same… outlook on my future.  It’s better if we’ve got an ocean between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly, laying her head back on his chest.

“Let’s not let him ruin our evening, Swan.  The job’s still there if you want it.  I wouldn’t have anyone else but you there to help me.”

Emma smiled.  The extra pay from being his assistant would make it possible for her to stay.  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Killian practically melted into the corner of the futon, relief making him relax.  “Good.  Now, let’s take a look at your physics notes, shall we?”

She nodded, trying to focus on the way Killian made physics truly come alive.  Her eyelids drooped as he spoke, the easy timbre of his voice soothing.

Emma woke with a start, her roommate’s grinning face inches from her own.  

“Go back to sleep, lovebugs.  Just wanted to make sure you didn’t freeze to death,” Ruby whispered, tucking the heavy blanket from Emma’s bed over the two of them.

Emma tangled her fingers in the material and rolled, squashing her face back into Killian’s chest and ignoring the deep chuckle that she felt more than heard.  She groaned as he started to shift around.

“I should go, luv,” he mumbled quietly.  “It’s getting late.”

Emma growled a little, tangling her legs in his and snagging the material of his shirt in her fingers.  “No,” she whined.

“Emma,” he tried again.  “It’s nearly midnight.”

“Don’t care,” she grumbled into his shirt.

Killian sighed under her ear and ran his hands up and down her back.  “Sw-”

“Stay,” she demanded.

Emma could hear Ruby chuckling in the background.  “I’m going back to Victor’s.  Enjoy your night, kids.”

“See,” Emma waved a hand towards where she thought Ruby was standing, “you can stay.”

She was entirely too awake for how exhausted she felt, and Emma was starting to get annoyed with the human pillow beneath her head.

“I’m not a mattress, Swan.  You need to sleep in a bed.”

Emma huffed, then stood abruptly.  

“Fine,” she pouted, grabbing the blanket in one hand and Killian’s forearm with the other.  “Let’s go, Jones.”

He stumbled to his feet, swaying with the swift change in position, then reached for his jacket.

“Nope, don’t need that,” Emma directed, tugging him towards her ladder.  “Up.  You get the wall.”

“Emma,” he squeaked.

“Sleeping, Jones.  Now go,” she demanded, piling the blanket into his arms.

She hadn’t opened her eyes the entire time.

Emma grinned when she heard Killian’s shoes hit the tile and then his socked feet padding up the rungs of the ladder.

His shirt landed on her head and she squawked despite herself.

Two could play at that game, she thought.  When she clambered over the side of her bed a moment later, the sharp intake of breath was well worth the step outside of her comfort zone.

Emma was wearing Killian’s shirt - and only Killian’s shirt - as she pulled the sheets that she’d kicked off that morning over both their shoulders.  She settled in against his chest again, her head tucked against his collarbone and her hand over his heart.

“Relax, Jones,” Emma admonished when the muscles in his arms tensed at the contact.  “We’re just sleeping.”

Killian made some kind of aborted noise again when she trapped his knee with her legs.

“You’re… you’re wearing my shirt,” he whispered, and she could hear the awe coloring every word.

“Yep,” she acknowledged, ignoring the way her heart raced.  “And you’re not getting it back, either.”

Killian was shaking a little, and Emma picked her head up to look at him.  “Killian, if you’re really not comfortable here, I’m not-”

“No, luv, it’s not that.  I just… never really saw myself here.”  He shrugged as well as he was able and looked away.  “I’ve never… you’re the first gir-woman who’s given me a second glance.”

Emma smiled and settled back down.  “Well then they’re fools, Killian.  But just so you know, you’re the first guy I’ve allowed to sleep the night away in my bed, too.”

He seemed to relax at that.

“Okay?” she asked, sleep dragging her under once more.

Killian clasped her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her back, tugging her more fully into his side.  “Aye, okay.”

Killian woke slowly, surprised at the sunlight assaulting his eyelids.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night without a nightmare or six interrupting him.  He was musing on the change that led to his restful sleep when the weight at his side started to move and grumbled unintelligibly.

He startled for a moment before the events of the night before began to filter into his consciousness.

Emma.

He was sleeping in… they were sleeping in her bed.

“Too early, Jones,” she mumbled, dragging the covers further up and over her head.  “Go back to sleep.  No numbers yet.”

He smirked.  “As you wish, luv,” he whispered back.  

Killian ran his fingers through her hair until her breathing evened out again.  She fell back to sleep easily, but he wasn’t quite so lucky.  The collar of her… his shirt had slipped over her shoulder and the skin there had him transfixed.  He wanted to reach out and touch it, let the pads of his fingers learn how soft her skin was, but he was afraid to wake her back up.

He contented himself with the feeling of her chest rising and falling evenly, the silky strands of her hair tangled in his fingers, the warmth of her legs still trapping his knee.

Eventually, he dozed off, sinking into the stage of half-sleep where he had no control over the dance of numbers.  With nothing more pressing to deal with, he let them run rampant as Emma’s breathing kept him hypnotized.

She’s good for you, little brother, Liam’s voice echoed through his thoughts, startling him back to wakefulness.  I’m glad to see you’re starting to move on.

A tear tracked down the side of Killian’s face, unbidden, at his brother’s words.  He wasn’t moving on.  He’d never abandon his brother like that.  Not like their father had abandoned him, taking solace in his work and his whiskey instead of remembering that he still had a boy at home counting on him.

No, he admonished the voice in his head, not moving on.  Just… multitasking.

Killian tried to stop thinking about Liam, about how broken their family was without his big brother to run interference.  He concentrated on matching his breathing to Emma’s soft snores and the warmth of her tucked into his side.

He sighed audibly when the numbers began to shift around on the ceiling for him.  He snagged his glasses from the top of Emma’s wardrobe, not really needing them save for habit.

Killian’s eyes were half-closed when the color started to shift.  His breath caught in his throat, and he tried valiantly to let the numbers continue to transpose themselves, refusing to manipulate them himself and chance losing the progress.

It seemed an eternity passed as he waited, drifting with the ebb and flow of the equation like a boat caught on the tide.  The numbers slowly darkened, the cautious yellow giving way to green as everything began to fall into place.

He sat up with a shout a few moments later, tears checked in the corner of his eyes as the entirety of the equation turned a startling shade of emerald.

“Swan!  Emma!” he cried, shaking her despite the glare she was gracing him with clearly showing that she was awake.  “I’ve got it!  I know how to save Liam!”

Emma’s body snapped around so that she was facing him fully.  Her piercing stare caught his attention and held it completely.

His numbers had turned the exact shade of emerald that was looking so hopefully, so happily, at him.

Tagging: @gusenitsaa, @katie-dub, @kiwistreetswan, @lenfazreads, @xhookswenchx, @killian-whump, @eala-captian, @kmomof4, @onceuponaprincessworld, @couldnthandleit

[allyinthekeyofx]

Fading Light -Part 3- Prologue

PART ONE  -  Chapters 1-6

PART TWO  -  Chapters 1-6

SUMMARY - He giveth and he taketh away

PART THREE

PROLOGUE

J Edgar Hoover Building

The atrium is busy despite the early hour; throngs of people who, for some reason this morning seem intent on getting in my way. My progress is slightly hampered by the fact I am trying to precariously balance two take - out cups of coffee, one atop the other since the small coffee shop both Mulder and I favour were out of cup carriers and actually I had briefly considered not bothering this morning. But since he bought yesterday it’s only fair that I return the favour today.

Mulder has to have coffee in the morning. I’ve known him enough years now to know to give him a wide berth should he be dragged away from his morning hit of caffeine before it’s had time to percolate through his system and I’m becoming painfully aware that if one more person jostles me there is a very good chance that the cups will wind up on the floor.

It’s been a strange morning so far. I feel slightly out of step with the rest of the world, as though I’m playing catch up. Odd feelings of déjà vu have been plaguing me since I awoke. And I felt strangely disjointed, as though I was viewing myself through the eyes of another as I carried out my usual morning routine. I briefly allow myself a smile as Mulder's face nudges its way in to my mind because there’s no doubt he would be able to supply a dozen reasons for my strange mood today. All and anything from Shamanistic ritual voodoo to Missing time phenomena. My partner of six years likes nothing more than to find a fantastical explanation for the mundane. Simple, logical, reasonable hypothesis are my rubric not his and while sometimes my rationale is the driving force within our partnership; I learned to admit a long time ago that more often than not it isn’t.

We have a meeting with Skinner this morning which, If I don’t get a move on, I’m going to be hopelessly late for. I reach the elevators finally, and by some miracle both coffee cups are still intact and balanced. It’s a small victory but after six years on the X-Files – give or take a few unscheduled sojourns in to the wonderful world of cowshit – I count each victory no matter how small because God knows, our victories have always been hard to come by.

The ‘up’ elevator arrives first and I make the decision to go directly to Skinner's office. At least that way I’ll be early and will have chance to call Mulder to let him know to meet me up there. And I take a deep breath as I squeeze myself in to the crowded space, still trying to hold on to those damn coffee cups.

I hate crowded elevators at the best of times but I particularly dislike these elevators. Because even after six years of working with Mulder, I haven’t quite got used to the way conversations stop and voices become hushed as my fellow agents realise that they have one half of Team Spooky in their midst. I know we have a reputation. God knows it’s been spelled out often enough for me over the years. I mean, regardless of how adept I am at my job, how high my IQ might be, how toned my fucking abs are or how good I look in a tailored suit, I am forever tainted by what has gone before and while Mulder is mostly impervious to the whispered comments that follow us around the corridors of this vast building, I am not. I don’t think I ever will be.

Dana Scully, promising young Agent, top of her class at Quantico. Serious, smart, sexy even, saddled with Old Spooky Mulder; brilliant crackpot and he of the frequent mental breakdown, I think initially I was pitied more than ridiculed. But then everything changed. My disappearance 4 years ago and subsequent return shifted those perceptions and I was put firmly into my perceived role as Mrs Spooky. And nothing has changed since then. And it bothers me sometimes. I wish it didn’t.

Today is no different and even as I risk a glance in the mirrored walls in front of me, I immediately drop my eyes away from the curious glances being thrown in my direction. And I have a sudden urge to smile sweetly back and pop them the finger. Really give them something to talk about over lunch.

I don’t of course because Dana Scully would never do that.

That would be simply unthinkable.

So I look down at the floor, avoiding the issue, just like I always do.

Finally though, after stopping at almost every fucking floor, the elevator is empty aside from me and a small bespectacled kid with a sweet face who I vaguely recognise as working in the records department. He looks about eighteen although I know he must be older than that and I find myself smiling sadly at his reflection in the glass because he suddenly reminds me of Agent Pendrill.

He must have noticed me looking at him though because I notice a flush of red begin to creep up his neck to colour his face and I wonder if I should apologise for staring. But before I can transfer thought into action, the elevator stops at his floor and to my surprise he briefly touches my arm as he draws level, not meeting my eyes as he awkwardly mumbles something I only barely manage to catch before he is gone.

“It’s good to see you back Agent Scully”

The fact that it’s a strange way to greet someone isn’t lost on me, not least because I haven’t been anywhere, at least not lately. Both Mulder and I generally shun vacations, I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of personal days we have taken since we started working together; and lately we are batting a thousand, having managed to avoid being shot, rundown, abducted or drugged. Oh yeah, Team Spooky are on a roll.

The thought makes me smile and I am still smiling when I enter the anteroom that leads to Skinner's office. He is actually leaning over his assistant's’ desk and not for the first time I allow myself to idly wonder if there is more to their relationship than meets the eye; never more so as I hear a sharp gasp from Kimberley as she sees me standing there. Skinner follows her gaze and when he sees me his eyes widen behind his wire rimmed glasses; he straightens up to look at me, whatever words he was about to say dying on his lips as I literally watch the colour drain from his face. I am reasonably adept at reading Skinner, because as much as he can be a hardass with regards to Mulder and I, he is one of our few allies and I trust him. The trust makes him easy to read.

But today, the look on his face is enough to make my breath catch in my throat as I feel my heart rate increase slightly.

He takes a step towards me, softly, gently; as though he is afraid I will turn and flee

“Scully?”

His voice barely above a whisper and suddenly I am frightened. Inexplicably I am so frightened that I want to do just that.

Because he is looking at me like he’s seen a ghost.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Fading Light 13/24

Fading Light

AllyinthekeyofX

Chapter 12 and links to Chapters 1-11 can be found here

Part 3 - Prologue

Summary -He giveth and he taketh away.

J Edgar Hoover Building

The atrium is busy despite the early hour; throngs of people who, for some reason this morning seem intent on getting in my way. My progress is slightly hampered by the fact I am trying to precariously balance two take out cups of coffee, one atop the other since the small coffee shop both Mulder and I favour were out of cup carriers and actually I had briefly considered not bothering this morning. But since he bought yesterday it’s only fair that I return the favour today.

Mulder has to have coffee in the morning. I’ve known him enough years now to know to give him a wide berth should he be dragged away from his morning hit of caffeine before it’s had time to percolate through his system and I’m becoming painfully aware that if one more person jostles me there is a very good chance that the cups will wind up on the floor.

It’s been a strange morning so far. I feel slightly out of step with the rest of the world, as though I’m playing catch up. Odd feelings of déjà vu have been plaguing me since I awoke. And I felt strangely disjointed, as though I was viewing myself through the eyes of another as I carried out my usual morning routine. I briefly allow myself a smile as Mulders face nudges its way in to my mind because there’s no doubt he would be able to supply a dozen reasons for my strange mood today. All and anything from Shamanistic ritual voodoo to Missing time phenomena. My partner of six years likes nothing more than to find a fantastical explanation for the mundane. Simple, logical, reasonable hypothesis are my rubric not his and while sometimes my rationale is the driving force within our partnership; I learned to admit a long time ago that more often than not it isn’t.

We have a meeting with Skinner this morning. Which If I don’t get a move on I’m going to be hopelessly late for. I reach the elevators finally, and by some miracle both coffee cups are still intact and balanced. It’s a small victory but after six years on the X-Files – give or take a few unscheduled sojourns in to the wonderful world of cowshit – I count each victory no matter how small because God knows, our victories have always been hard to come by.

The ‘up’ elevator arrives first and I make the decision to go directly to Skinners office. At least that way I’ll be early and will have chance to call Mulder to let him know to meet me up there. And I take a deep breath as I squeeze myself in to the crowded space, still trying to hold on to those damn coffee cups.

I hate crowded elevators at the best of times but I particularly dislike these elevators. Because even after six years of working with Mulder, I haven’t quite got used to the way conversations stop and voices become hushed as my fellow agents realise that they have one half of Team Spooky in their midst. I know we have a reputation. God knows it’s been spelled out often enough for me over the years. I mean, regardless of how adept I am at my job, how high my IQ might be, how toned my fucking abs are or how good I look in a tailored suit, I am forever tainted by what has gone before and while Mulder is mostly impervious to the whispered comments that follow us around the corridors of this vast building, I am not. I don’t think I ever will be even though I am more than aware that in the beginning I was largely ignored, pitied even by those very same people.

Dana Scully, promising young Agent, top of her class at Quantico. Serious, smart, sexy even, saddled with Old Spooky Mulder; brilliant crackpot and he of the frequent mental breakdown. But then everything changed. My disappearance 4 years ago and subsequent return shifted those perceptions and I was put firmly in to my perceived role as Mrs Spooky. And nothing has changed since then. And it bothers me sometimes. I wish it didn’t.

Today is no different and even as I risk a glance in the mirrored walls in front of me, I immediately drop my eyes away from the curious glances being thrown in my direction. And I have a sudden urge to smile sweetly back and pop them the finger. Really give them something to talk about over lunch.

I don’t of course because Dana Scully would never do that.

That would be simply unthinkable.

So I look down at the floor, avoiding the issue, just like I always do.

Finally though, after stopping at almost every fucking floor, the elevator is empty aside from me and a small bespectacled kid with a sweet face who I vaguely recognise as working in the records department. He looks about eighteen although I know he must be older than that and I find myself smiling sadly at his reflection in the glass because he suddenly reminds me of Agent Pendrill.

He must have noticed me looking at him though because I notice a flush of red begin to creep up his neck to colour his face and I wonder if I should apologise for staring. But before I can transfer thought in to action, the elevator stops at his floor and to my surprise he briefly touches my arm as he draws level, not meeting my eyes as he awkwardly mumbles something I only barely manage to catch before he is gone.

“It’s good to see you back Agent Scully”

The fact that it’s a strange way to greet someone isn’t lost on me, not least because I haven’t been anywhere, at least not lately. Both Mulder and I generally shun vacations, I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of personal days we have taken since we started working together; and lately we are batting a thousand, having managed to avoid being shot, rundown, abducted or drugged. Oh yeah, Team Spooky are on a roll.

The thought makes me smile and I am still smiling when I enter the anteroom that leads to Skinners office. He is actually leaning over his assistants’ desk and not for the first time I allow myself to idly wonder if there is more to their relationship than meets the eye; never more so as I hear a sharp gasp from Holly as she sees me standing there. Skinner follows her gaze and when he sees me his eyes widen behind his wire rimmed glasses; he straightens up to look at me, whatever words he was about to say dying on his lips as I literally watch the colour drain from his face. I am reasonably adept at reading Skinner, because as much as he can be a hardass with regards to Mulder and I, he is one of our few allies and I trust him. The trust makes him easy to read.

But today, the look on his face is enough to make my breath catch in my throat as I feel my heart rate increase slightly.

He takes a step towards me, softly, gently; as though he is afraid I will turn and flee

“Scully?”

His voice barely above a whisper and suddenly I am frightened. Inexplicably I am so frightened that I want to do just that.

Because he is looking at me like he’s seen a ghost.

Continued Chapter 14