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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 18 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader finds more productive ways to spend her time, including babysitting Henry and volunteering at the local inpatient hospitals.

A/N: That’s my gif so please give credit if you use it 🤗 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader   Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral (female receiving), addiction, relapse, discussions of death/murder, unsub talk, hospitals, inpatient ward Word Count: 13K

MASTERLIST

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The next morning felt strangely similar to the morning of the day we’d gone to the bank. . Waking up in Spencer’s bed and smelling the unmistakable, comforting scent of old book pages and stale coffee. I’d told him when I first came to his place that it reminded me of a library, but it was more like that quiet local hole-in-the-wall bookshop.

It almost felt like that morning, but there was one glaring difference: Spencer wasn’t in the bed.

When I sat up to try and locate him, I was reminded that there are consequences to my actions. My stomach hurt like shit, and I swore I blacked out for a second from the pain. It would pass, though. Considering I had gotten through the night without waking, it clearly wasn’t that bad.

I thankfully managed to get out of bed myself and take the pain medication I kept in my purse. And armed with the knowledge that the pain would subside within the next half hour, I hobbled toward the distant sounds of… vomiting.

Not even bothering to stop yet, I made my way to the kitchen to grab the poor guy a glass of water. It was the least I could do for his comfort considering that I was about to make his headache much, much worse.

Peeking my head through the open door, I frowned at the sight of my boyfriend half asleep on the toilet.

“Hey old man. I brought you some water.”

Finally looking up, not having noticed me until I spoke, Spencer groaned as he backed up to lean against the wall instead of the dirty porcelain. “God, when did I get this old?”

“Hmm. I’m guessing sometime in the past 30 years.” I hummed, joining him on the cold tile floor. The two of us just rested there, his hand reaching out to take mine with a solemn smile.

“You’re cute.” He mumbled.

“I know, thanks.” I joked back, knowing that I really looked like a whole mess, with my hair desperately needing to be brushed. He never seemed to mind, though. I was glad for the lighthearted domesticity of the moment, because I knew I was about to shatter it like a brick through glass.

Softening my features as much as possible with the anxiety coursing through my veins, I squeezed his hand before finally whispering, “You know your age isn’t the only reason you’re sick though, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He snapped back with about as much hostility as I was expecting. He ran a frustrated hand over his face, his breathing picking up almost immediately as he tried to calm himself down.

“I know you’re just trying to do what you’re supposed to, but please…” The waver in his voice broke my heart and turned my stomach to knots. With more force, he held his hand in the air and continued to stare straight ahead. “Just... don’t. I’ll call my sponsor.”

I tried to keep my voice quiet and nonthreatening as I pushed, but I knew that it wasn’t going to make much of a difference either way.

“We have to talk about it, too, Spencer.”

“No, we really don’t.”

“You’re going to get your chip taken away,” my voice broke in half as the word fell from my mouth, “I know that that’s important to you. We can’t ignore it.”

Speaking faster, our urgent pleas overlapped to create a small cacophony booming through the acoustics of the bathroom. “(Y/n), seriously, stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A silence fell between us, and I let it sit there for a minute. I wouldn’t get anywhere with him if he was defensive, and that’s exactly what he was at the moment. But I wasn’t trying to chastise him; I’m not his mother, I’m just his worried girlfriend. I loved him and I knew something was wrong, and I just wanted to help.

I didn’t know how. The men I loved never made it far enough for me to be able to help.

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming home. We need to talk about that, at least.” I offered the narrowed scope, hoping that he would take it without any more of a fight.

He didn’t. Instead, he took back his hand and turned it to a fist in his lap. That time it was my breathing that became unsteady, and I tried to touch him, but he recoiled when I came too close.

“You didn’t seem to mind me being drunk last night.”

Although I knew it was coming, the words hurt just the same. I resisted the urge to mirror his actions. I wasn’t angry. I wouldn’t be angry, because that’s what he wanted. If I reacted that way, he could write off my responses.

“I’m not going to agitate you or shame you when the damage is already done, Spencer.” I said as confidently as I could, “I knew you needed affection and you weren’t going to ask for it yourself.”

He finally looked at me again, and in doing so, realized he was making a mistake. The anger melted from his face within seconds, being replaced with overt sadness and guilt. “I could have hurt you.” He whispered through the tears that started to fall.

“But you didn’t.” I said with a gentle smile, reaching over to wipe the saltwater from his cheek. “That’s not a very good excuse anymore.”

“It’s always a good explanation.” He clarified, chewing on his bottom lip. His hands released from their tense state.

My fingers couldn’t move fast enough to clear his tears, but he brought his own hands up to rub the tired eyes. I used the freedom to run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer to me.

Resting his head against my shoulder, he let out a deep, shaky breath. I continued slow, soft strokes along his arm, listening to the rhythm of his breath slowly recalibrate. Once I was satisfied with the pattern, I tried again.

“What happened on the case, Spencer?”

The tension returned, but subsided quicker than it had before. He took a deep breath and spoke through the exhale, trying to rid himself of the thought as he said it.

“We had to kill someone.”

My movements paused for a second before I reminded myself to continue, but my confusion remained. “I understand trauma is complicated but… You guys have to do that pretty often.”

Spencer wasn’t the kind of person who liked to share his thoughts. I knew as much; even his coworkers hadn’t seen the parts of him that I’d seen. There was no way for me to know if I knew them all, but I figured that I didn’t. I was almost certain there was a side of Spencer Reid that even I didn’t know. The only reason I didn’t try to figure it out was because I knew he liked it better that way. He designed his heart that way for a reason, and I wasn’t going to try and pry it out of him.

But he was scaring me. He almost never talked about his job, which didn’t bother me when it was obvious that he didn’t bring it home with him. Him getting drunk and defensive, though, were very different circumstances than the usual.

Understanding that there was no other way out of this, he continued to talk, hushed and slow. “I was alone with the guy, and I had the opportunity to kill him, but I didn’t. I didn’t kill him, even though I really wanted to.”

‘I really wanted to.’ The words stuck out in my head, no matter how quickly he tried to bury them.

“But after Hotch showed up, he had to do it. We didn’t have a choice anymore.” His arms crossed over his chest, but he pressed himself harder against me in a strange, contradictory stance.

I couldn’t respond to the most important part of his confession just yet; I knew the story wasn’t over. Like I’d told him, trauma and grief are complicated; however, there was something else he needed to admit before I could address the part of his admission he seemed most affected by.. “Spencer, that’s okay. That’s not your fault.” I reassured, trying to coax his arms away from his chest. I’m no profiler, but I felt like if he stopped trying to build walls, things might be easier. I could at least try to break down the ones that were tangible.

“I’m not worried about it being my fault. I’m worried about how… angry I am.” He said in defeat, dropping his arms back to his lap. He still didn’t want to touch me, it seemed. Like the same hands that had wielded a gun against a man were too tainted to share.

“I’m angry because… I wanted to kill him, I wanted him to suffer for hurting innocent people and —“ He covered his mouth, and I think the motion surprised himself.

I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible, no matter how illogical I knew that was. It felt like yet another morning was being taken away from us by what had happened before. I didn’t want to think about it; I didn’t want it to torture Spencer the way it did me. It was wishful thinking, and the stupid kind, at that.

Spencer would always blame himself and care too much. While he was always trying to work on the former, I hoped that the world would let him keep the latter. His compassion was one of the many reasons I fell in love with him. The thought of losing the man who felt the need to confess to me that he’d lied about checking me out in a crowded club invoked a sadness I never wanted to experience.

Although, the prospect of that loss paled in comparison to the acute sorrow I was feeling right then, holding Spencer while he failed to hold back tears, choking on his words. “I didn’t do it, and then he almost hurt someone else.” He said, his voice growing more frantic as he broke from my hold, grabbing his hair and pulling it like it would do something to stop the thoughts.

“And I’m angry that I wasn’t the one who got to do it. I wasn’t the person who got to kill him.” He spat, rocking forward as I tried to wrap my arms around him again. He didn’t let me, putting an arm out to hold me away from him. Still, he looked at me when he forced himself to say the conclusion that I’d reached the second he told me he had wanted to kill someone.

“I’m angry that I didn’t kill someone, (y/n).”

There were so many things I wanted to say to him that my mind literally couldn’t pick any of them. All I could do was stare at the man I loved, stopping me from doing the only thing I wanted to do. I just wanted to hold him; to remind him that I would love him no matter what. Just like we always did, I wanted my body to express the things that my mouth wouldn’t articulate.

But apparently, I was capable of doing that without even touching him. Because the longer we sat in silence, the more his enraged grimace warped to a frown. “Please, don’t look at me like that.” He begged, unable to take his eyes off of mine. I wondered if he could hear my thoughts, because before I even spoke, he pulled his arm back. “Don’t look at me like I deserve sympathy for that.”

Ignoring the pesky numbness forming in my lower half at the awkward position on the unforgiving tile floor, I thanked the lord that I was finally getting some relief from the narcotics, which allowed me to climb on Spencer’s lap. He’d finally ceased his valiant efforts to keep me away from him, accepting me with his hands on my hips.

When I tried to kiss him, however, he turned his face away with a sharp inhale. Careful not to use too much force, I use a tender hand on his cheek to lead him back to me. His eyes bounced between my lips and eyes, almost like he was asking me to try again.

“I’m not going to pretend you’re a monster to make you feel better, Spencer.” I whispered, attempting to infuse the words with everything I felt.

Whether it worked or not, I could never be sure, but Spencer’s small smile sneaking over his cheek was enough for me. “I’m pretty sure it’d make me feel worse.” He croaked, laughing as he bit his tongue to stop any other jokes from slipping out. Like he was betraying the pain by letting it go.

“Well I’m not going to do that, either.” I returned with a laugh. Then, satisfied that he would accept my affections, I closed the gap between us. The kiss was so soft I could almost question whether our lips touched. But his hands slid over my lower back, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me against him.

Eventually, it became obvious just how tired the both of us were. With a quiet thanks, he rested his face on my shoulder, enjoying the calm after the storm of his feelings that he’d finally released.

“Can you come back to bed?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, holding tighter for a second before he started to help ease me off his lap. “Let’s go, little girl.”

The return to my nickname made me happier than I’d like to admit. At this point, the use of my real name was like a litmus test for his anxiety. And although I could feel Spencer slowly opening back up to me, he still felt so far away when we crawled under the covers.

Turning on my side to face him, I saw something in his eyes that alerted me to just how deeply rooted this problem was. It wasn’t just the event we’d discussed; it was the knowledge that there would be many more like it in the future.

I wondered what Spencer saw when he looked at me. Did he see me like I was in that moment, or was I always going to look like I had before, choking on blood and a confession I wish I could have made more beautiful? Did he see me at all? Or did he just see all the mistakes he’d made? Would all our moments together be marred by the overwhelming tragedy of a single one? More than anything, I just hoped that he didn’t see the faces of the people who had caused us to be in that horrible tableau. I needed Spencer to see beautiful things when he looked at me, because I needed to see them in his eyes. If something so ugly was the biggest thing between us, our relationship would fray with time, each of us unable to truly see the other.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known.” I said into the silent early morning air of his apartment.

As expected, Spencer’s precarious smile broke almost immediately, replaced with violent sobs and an attempt to hide his face from me by burying it in my chest. I let him, wrapping my arms around his head in the hope that I could act like a shield for the world that never let him rest.

“I’ll love you forever,” I let my voice break, but I didn’t let that stop me. “And nothing will ever change that.”

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One of the things people never warn you about when you’re dating a bona fide genius is that there is no such thing as a surprise. It was like every time I came up with an idea, Spencer could see it on my face within seconds. I was never really sure how he did it, although he usually had the decency to wait until a normal person would have figured it out to say something. For example, when we were about three streets away from his best friend’s house.

“Why are we going to JJ’s house?” He finally asked, turning to me with a confused but excited expression that almost hid the residual negative feelings that insisted on sticking around a week later.

I glanced over at him, laughing at the way his fingers bounced on his lap. He never was subtle with his emotions. “I may or may not have offered us up as babysitters so she and Will could have a much needed date night.”

From the way his shoulders dropped, I could tell it wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. Still, it didn’t seem like he was disappointed— he was simply trying to read my motivations that were seemingly counter-intuitive.

“Really? Isn’t that gonna be a lot for you?” The concern was evident in his voice, which I found both endearing and a little annoying. It wasn’t this fault, really. I was just so freaking tired of not being able to do basically anything I wanted to. Especially when the thing I wanted to do was watch my boyfriend and his godson.

“Henry may be well behaved, but he’s still a toddler.” Spencer continued, eliciting a deep sigh from me.

“That’s why you’re here.” I half-joked, pulling into the driveway that was starting to feel familiar. If someone had told me a few months ago that I would become friends with the woman I was angrily binge watching clips of on YouTube, I would have asked them if they had me confused for another girl. But, much to Spencer’s delight, JJ and I never really had that awkward phase. From the second that I met her, I knew that we just wanted the same thing: above all, for the people we loved to be happy. And it seemed we both had a soft spot for the man currently in my passenger seat.

“Oh, running after the kid is my job?” He laughed, already unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling his bag onto his lap in his excitement.

“Yep.” I stuck out my tongue at him, which only made him lean over in an attempt to steal a kiss. I allowed it, if only to bring him within arm’s reach. When he started to pull away, clearly ready to hop out of the car and run to his favorite toddler, I grabbed a fistful of his cardigan in an attempt to keep him closer for a second longer.

“But seriously, Spencer, I…”

He settled into his seat, immediately recognizing the faint tremor in my words. His hand came to rest over mine, and I sighed at the warmth that filled my whole body in seconds.

“I want you to remember that you’re a good person.” I whispered, trying to let him feel how deeply I meant the words, “I know how much you love Henry. I think spending time taking care of someone that’s… not me… will be good for you. And me.”

Those big brown eyes glassed over, glancing down and then away from me as he remembered looking at my stomach didn’t ever do much for his self-hatred. Which, in turn, just made me feel worse. I wondered if there would ever be a day where he could look at me and not feel that way. I desperately hoped that there would be.

Spencer rubbed his eyes to stop any other emotions from spilling out. “Does JJ know we’re using her kid as therapy?” He joked between sniffles.

“She’s a smart lady.” I shrugged, smoothing out the now wrinkled cardigan beneath my fingers. “Besides, Henry said he missed you and it’s hard to say no to him.”

And just like that, Spencer’s bouncing returned, his hand reaching behind him to open the door before he could even open his mouth to speak. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t keep him waiting, then.”

There was no stopping him at that point, and I trailed along behind him, watching as Henry tumbled out of the front door and straight into my boyfriend’s waiting arms on the porch.

The rest of the night went a lot like that, too. Once the novelty of having me there wore off, and Henry realized that my boo-boo made it hard for me to play the way little boys liked to, Spencer returned to his rightful place as Henry’s favorite babysitter.

I didn’t mind; I was perfectly content watching the two of them. Between the cheesy magic tricks that required a little bit of childlike innocence to be entertained by and Spencer’s attempts to follow along with Henry’s excited rants about cartoons my boyfriend had never even heard of, I somehow fell even more in love with the man.

And even though I had planned this for him, it was restorative for me, too. There was this weird, paradoxical guilt you feel when you’re dating someone like him. Although I know that he wanted to spend every waking second of his free time with me, it made me feel like he was missing out on something else. Something better than me.

It was so easy to forget that we could do those things together. In a way, I could thank my injury for that. When we were limited so much on what we could do together, we had to find creative ways to spend time together that were still stimulating for the both of us.

That being said, in that moment I wished for nothing more than rest. Even just watching the two boys together was exhausting, so when Henry’s first yawn sounded, I jumped at the opportunity. Because, see, Spencer was good at the playing, but I was much better at the cuddling.

It wasn’t like he could argue, either, because while Henry curled up next to me on one side, Spencer was on the other, his arm reaching around to rest on the young boy’s back. Despite picking out the movie, Henry fell asleep against my chest within minutes.

And in the quiet calmness of JJ’s house, I found myself almost falling asleep, too. My head rested against Spencer’s shoulder, moving ever so slightly with each deep breath as my eyes struggled to stay open. That was when Spencer kissed the top of my head so delicately that I almost didn’t feel it.

“I love you, little girl.”

My heart skipped a beat at the sound, and the wave of goosebumps and satisfaction covered me like a blanket. If we’d stayed for even a few minutes longer, I would have fallen asleep right there. However, JJ and Will arrived home just in the nick of time. They tried to convince us to stay, but Spencer seemed uncharacteristically excited to leave, so I didn’t question it even though I wanted to. I took the trip home to catch up on my phone and try to wake myself up enough to spend another hour or so awake with him before I passed out.

“Don’t fall asleep yet.”

I perked up in my seat, not entirely sure if he’d actually said the words, or if I’d just imagined them a little too vividly. But when he glanced over at me, I knew that he was just doing that slightly unsettling thing where he read my thoughts.

“Why? You got plans?” I said through a yawn, trying to stretch within the confines of the car.

“As a matter of fact, I do have plans.”

At first, I thought nothing of the smug way he said it— up until I felt his hand slowly slide up my thigh, the pressure of his fingers increasing when he couldn’t go any further.

“This feels familiar.” I chuckled, my mind transporting me back to our first not-a-date. The sensations caused a desire to burn through me so quickly I became lightheaded, my lungs hungry and desperate as Spencer continued to tease me by avoiding the one place he knew I wanted him to touch.

But, of course, just as I reached down to move his hand, he pulled it away altogether.

“Lucky for you, we’re almost home.”

I audibly groaned, knocking my head back against the seat now that Spencer had succeeded in waking me up. “Sometimes, Spencer…” I mumbled, “I remember why I have to be such a fucking brat.”

“It’s my fault, is it?”

There was a distinct darkness and deviancy in his words, despite the joking cadence they were uttered in. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in some time; a voice that was imprinted so vividly in my memory that even just the thought of it would make me putty in his hands. And I knew that I was reminiscing a lot, trying to relive times that had long since passed, but every time I saw a part of the old Spencer — the Spencer who rambled in museums and demanded I cover up my Lolita costume — the more I felt like my life was finally returning to normal.

“Of course it’s your fault. Have you seen me?” I gestured to myself, swamped in a sweatshirt and shorts like a weather-confused idiot. If the clashing clothing wasn’t enough, my make up had smeared from constantly rubbing my eyes. “I’m an angel.” I concluded, intending it to be sarcastic but knowing that he really saw me that way.

And sure enough, Spencer looked me over for just one second before pulling into the parking lot to his apartment complex. “You’re spoiled.” He decided.

“Doesn’t feel that way right now.” I whined, chewing on my bottom lip as I continued to wait for his attention.

But he just parked my car, leaning over to grab his bag from between my legs. Before it got too far, though, I clamped my legs around the leather. “Stop ignoring me!” I said through a pout, only getting more heated as he chuckled in response, tugging on the satchel until it slid from between my legs.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, his other hand grabbing my chin and forcing my bottom lip out from between my teeth. He held my mouth open against my resistance, but as soon as I gave into his hold, he relaxed his grip, leaning forward and pressing a much-too-soft kiss against my lips.

Without even fully breaking away, he turned my head to the side to whisper in my ear, “Get inside and I’ll make it up to you.”

Life was returning to normal. Together we excitedly stumbled through the Langham apartment complex until we got to his door, and he fumbled to unlock it without letting me go.

Everything about the chaos felt comfortable and predictable. I didn’t even notice the dull throbbing in my stomach because Spencer’s hands felt like home. The insistent noise of all my messy insecurities was quieted by his lips trailing down my jaw and neck as we finally crossed the threshold.

“Watching you with Henry, I just...” Spencer began to mumble against my neck, our bodies gravitating toward his room with a complete lack of grace, considering how well I should know the layout by now. We made it to the door, but not his bed, as he pressed me against the wall right on the other side.

His lips were slightly swollen from how feverishly he’d kissed me, his breathing ragged and his hair wild from where my hands had raked through it a few too many times. But his eyes were what really caught my attention, staring into me so deeply that it caused a shiver to roll down my spine. Spencer sensed my hesitance, because he brought a gentle hand to my face before he spoke, quietly but surely.

“I want to marry you one day. You know that, right?”

I thought about before; how those words would have filled me with both a naive joy and overwhelming anxiety. But as I stood there, staring back at him, I felt a genuine smile spreading across my lips.

“We speak in a lot of ‘one days,’ Dr. Reid.”

I couldn’t tell the effect the words had on him, although I had a few guesses. I’d avoided the part of the sentence he’d meant for me to hear the loudest. We both knew I’d heard it. At the same time, I hadn’t denied the idea or given any reason to suggest I wasn’t happy about the statement.

“I’m serious.” He insisted, not ready to drop the subject just yet.

Unfortunately for him, though, I had other plans. As much as the talk of marriage gave me butterflies, there were more immediate needs I wanted him to fulfill. So, without saying anything, I subtly suggested that he put off the conversation and switch to other activities with a firm hand against the bulge that had already formed in his pants.

“God, I want to fuck you.” He immediately groaned, his head lolling forward and resting against mine. I figured that it would be harder to convince him to fuck me now that he wasn’t drunk, but he seemed even more willing now that we’d already made the leap of faith once. Nothing bad had happened to me then, and the dramatic improvement of my mood was helpful for both of us.

So I began to slide down the wall, my hands raking down his chest as I giggled, “Let me help you.”

Spencer’s hands moved so quickly and with such strength that it surprised the both of us. Luckily, he’d grabbed my hips instead of my stomach, halting me before I could drop to my knees.

“No.” He firmly corrected, lifting me back to my normal height before turning the two of us around so that my back was to the bed. “It’s my turn.”

Much gentler now, he helped lower me onto the bed, but he didn’t follow me yet.

“Take off your clothes.” He instructed me as he removed his own.

I listened, watching him intently to try and determine his plans before he actually got to me. But he kept his expressions to a minimum, only giving away his enthusiasm in watching me sheepishly remove my clothing. My shirt was still on when he climbed onto the bed and over my body.

“I want to see you.” There was something pitiful about the way he uttered the words, and my hands hesitated, holding tightly to the hem of my shirt as I avoided his eyes.

“You have an eidetic memory, Spencer. You know what it looks like.”

“I’ll never stop wanting to see you. You’re so beautiful, (y/n).” He used my name, and my body reacted just as quickly as he realized his mistake. Grabbing my arms before I could close them over me, he brought my wrists against the bed beside my head. “You can leave it on for now.”

What he said provided me all the context I needed to know what he was planning, and I locked my legs around him, hoping that I could stall him for a few moments.

“Please, Spencer. Please fuck me.” I begged, arching my back and baring my neck to him, knowing that he could see my erratic pulse in my neck.

“I can’t. Not yet.” His voice was strained, one hand raised so that his fingers could brush over my neck. “It won’t be much longer.”

Frustrated by his undying desire to take care of me, I used my hand that he’d released to grab a handful of his hair. “I want to feel you inside of me again.” I moaned through the words, my heels digging into his back and bringing his hips down to meet mine. I watched as his eyelids fluttered shut, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I want to see the look on your face when you fill me up.” I continued, bucking up in search of the delicious friction I’d been deprived of for months now. “I know what you’re thinking when you do it.”

“F-fuck.” He struggled to lower his hand to hold my hips down, but I could tell he was scared he would hurt me in the process. It was a dangerous game, to ever put me in this position when neither of us had pants on. Spencer’s confidence wavered as he choked on his words, “This isn’t going to work.”

“You can’t think about that if I’m not touching you.”

“Yes, I can.” He responded with no hesitation, his eyebrows raising in a challenge.

“But isn’t it so much more fun when it’s actually possible?” I cooed.

“It’s always possible, it’s just so unlikel— Fuck!” Spencer cut off by his own gasp when I finally succeeded in pulling him against my heat.

The noise that I gave was something between a sigh and a moan, and I swore I saw Spencer’s pupils dilate in response. There were just some things he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. But my satisfaction was short lived, and Spencer sat up on his knees to place a manageable distance between us.

“We’re not doing this.” He growled through clenched teeth, his nails raking over my thighs before he removed them entirely. “Stop being a greedy fucking brat and spread your legs.”

I waited a second, hoping that Spencer would get impatient and force my legs open himself. But he flashed me a look, warning me that if I didn’t behave, he could very easily just send me to bed without any satisfaction. And as much as I wanted to call his bluff, the idea of going to bed without getting to touch him was so upsetting.

So, I slowly dropped my legs open, running my hands over the skin still burning from where his hands had touched me. And even slower, Spencer lowered himself until his face rested against my thigh, the scruff of his cheek causing a shiver to run up my body.

“Don’t tell me that a few months of me pampering you has undone all of my hard work.” He murmured so softly I almost didn’t hear it.

But the fact that I did was evidenced by my laugh. “That would imply you’ve actually accomplished something to undo, but I’m just as bratty as the day you met me, Dr. Reid.”

He smiled, his eyes focusing on my face as I continued to giggle, now urged on by the way his breath tickled my inner thigh. “Is that right?” He said in that familiar cocky voice. “Because I happen to recall that the first time that I did this, you tried to stop me.”

The blood rushed to my cheeks as my mind replayed the memory of his smirk from when he had held my legs open for him.

‘You’re not broken, little girl. Promise.’ Just the thought of the words was enough to cloud my mind, but I was dedicated to besting him in this exchange. If he was going to be arrogant, then I would give him the best challenge I could.

“Would you rather I fought you?” I asked, beginning to pull my legs shut before he grabbed them and pulled them over his shoulders.

“No. The instructions for tonight should be very easy to follow; even for you.”

I was trying to pay attention, but it was getting harder the closer he came to actually fucking doing something. It was so obvious that he was getting off on the way my eyes were barely able to stay open, my chest moving with each half-sob that came when he would lay a kiss against my hips.

“What are they?” I slurred, grabbing handfuls of the sheets to prevent myself from forcing him against me.

It was clearly the exact question he was waiting for, a devilish smirk stretching over his cheeks as he dragged his lips down to where I wanted them, moving them against my skin to say, “Stay still, and don’t be quiet.”

While I appreciated the instruction, I feared that it was in vain. Because when Spencer finally flattened his tongue against me, I couldn’t have stopped myself from immediately crying out if I tried.

My hands retained their death grip on the sheets, partially making up for the fact that my body immediately disobeyed his command to stay still. But I couldn’t help it; the long strokes of his tongue up and down my sex felt like pure bliss. And honestly, it wasn’t even just the physical sensations. It was just the knowledge that we were back where we should be; shamelessly indulging in our need for each other without inhibitions. Spencer was clearly enjoying himself, his hands struggling to gently hold me down while he devoured me like a man starved.

I couldn’t look at him, my head bent so far back I could see the headboard. His name fell from my mouth like a mantra, my hips rolling against each motion of his tongue.

“I missed you.” I cried, my legs once again locking around him, my heels on his back as I wished I could pull him closer. “I missed this so badly, Spencer.”

He couldn’t really answer, although I think the moan that he gave was meant to be a response. The vibrations almost sent me over the edge, but right before they could, he pulled back ever so slightly.

I glanced down to figure out why, and was met with his eyes watching me intently, analyzing every response I was giving him; memorizing the way my body shook with need after just a few weeks in his absence.

“Please, don’t stop.” I begged, not caring how pathetic the words sounded when they broke in my throat.

“Oh, I’m not.” He mumbled against me, raising his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at my crest.

At first, I just sighed, appreciating the soft flicks and swirls of his tongue that would eventually build up another release. But it was when I closed my eyes that he revealed his plan.

Without any warning, I felt his finger slip between my folds, thrusting into me with one fluid motion as my wanton moans filled the room. He didn’t let them distract him, his mouth intent on the rhythm it had set, and his hand insistently working to match it.

There was nothing comprehensible in the noises I made, and neither of us seemed to mind. Spencer was only urged on, quickly adding a second finger in his ruthless pace that finally forced me to release the wrinkled sheets in my hands. Instead, they wound through his hair, pulling me against him as I chased my release.

“Please.” I whined, hoping that he would know what I was asking for. Because I didn’t even know what I was asking for— just that he could give it to me.

And sure enough, he did, his fingers beginning to curl inside of me with each motion. I used all of the energy I could muster had to keep my hips relatively still, although they were still trembling with the tension spreading through my muscles that tightened around him.

I wanted to call out his name, to give him the praise and recognition he deserved, but my tongue was tied in the haze of pleasure that overtook me. I could barely breathe, my mind transported to some alternate universe where there was only Spencer and myself. There was no point in identifying where we diverged, because he felt so much like a part of me in that moment, I could never separate from him again.

My walls fluttered around his fingers that still pumped into me with the same vigor. His tongue continued to circle my clit while he gently sucked, clearly lost in his own form of pleasure from the activity.

I wished I could touch him more. I wanted to drag him up to my lips, turn him onto his back and ride him until my legs gave out. But I couldn’t; my body tired and no longer used to the energy we once made a habit of spending on each other on any given day. It had used that energy to dull the pain so I could enjoy the relatively tame experience we had just shared.

As I came down from my orgasm, I was filled with guilt over the fact that I hadn’t so much as touched him once in this entire encounter, and now my hands weren’t even able to keep my grip on his hair as he lifted his head.

Spencer seemed none the wiser about the shame brewing in my head, and he wiped his mouth to reveal a lovesick smile beneath his hand.

“Good girl.” He rasped, crawling up to my side rather than on top of me. With a tender hand, he brushed aside the strands of my hair that stuck to the sweat on my face. “I knew you could behave.”

He sounded so proud of me, which only served to intensify the guilt now pouring from my heart and tainting the rest of what should have been a beautiful memory. I clung to the little bit of light I saw in those toffee eyes.

“How dare you imply I’m ever capable of such a thing.” I chuckled, reaching out to hold him somehow.

He took my hand in his, raising it to his lips for a brief kiss before resting them both against his heart.

“Can I help you?” I sounded drunk from my exhaustion, but hopefully determined enough to convince him I was willing. He didn’t buy it.

“No, go to sleep.”

He leaned forward like he was going to kiss me, but then brought his fingers down over my eyes, brushing over my lids in an attempt to get me to close them. To his credit, it worked, but only for a second before they snapped back open.

“That’s not fair!” I murmured, pulling the sheet over me while I tried to sneak closer to him. I noticed the way he scrutinized my free hand’s movements, ready to stop it from doing too much.

‘It’s gonna be like that, huh?’ I didn’t let it stop me from trying. I didn’t even get to his bellybutton before he snatched my wrist.

“I said no.”

“You know... I could help you without touching you.” I offered instead, pressing my hand against his chest since he wouldn’t let it move any lower. “It’s not the first time we’ve touched ourselves for each other.”

Spencer snorted at the reference, bringing my hands up to his neck, where they happily ran through his now tangled hair.

“That didn’t end well for me last time.”

“I bet you still finished without me.” I teased, my tongue slipping out from my mouth. “Did my pictures come in handy?”

“Like you said— I have an eidetic memory. I don’t need pictures.”

The most noticeable part of his response wasn’t the way his cheeks turned pink, but rather that he didn’t deny that he’d used the pictures. Knowing they were long gone now, considering Penelope’s tendency to snoop too much for her own good, I wondered if that memory was filed away somewhere special in his mind.

“You especially don’t need them when I’m right here.” I purred, tugging him closer by his hair until the gap between us was gone, our lips pressed feverishly against the other.

It was always like that. Like the second we touched, the proverbial dam between us turned to dust. Within a matter of seconds, we’d be so wrapped up in each other that we didn’t care about the wreckage left in our wake.

Spencer didn’t let it get that far, though. He hadn’t in some time.

“You have had enough excitement for one day. I don’t need anything.” He clarified, clearing his throat and acting like I couldn’t feel his erection pressed against my thigh. Still, his next statement was so genuine I couldn’t have argued with it if I tried. “I just wanted to take care of you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

But on the topic of wanting, I knew I felt it more. “I want things to be normal again.” I answered quickly, an urgency blooming in my throat that died when I tried to finish the thought. “I feel so... useless.”

His hand has grabbed my chin before I even noticed its absence on my hip. He held my face towards him, a dark and pained timbre in his voice.

“Don’t ever think that.”

It was a plea. I wanted to give him the relief and assurance he sought, but my gut told me to be honest with him, even if it hurt us.

“It’s just that before, we... did so much more and I’m scared that I won’t...”

Why was it so hard? He was looking at me like he would do anything to stop me from feeling even the slightest discomfort, but I felt like I was suffocating. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want him to worry. I wanted to make him as happy as he made me, but...

“I’m scared that I won’t ever be able to do it again.”

He couldn’t tell me that I was wrong. If he tried to make it only about my physical condition, he risked the chance of me telling him I don’t want to do it ever again. Did I feel that way? It was hard to tell; it was too early to tell. But the crushing despair that I felt at the thought of losing that part of our relationship suggested I did not feel that way.

“Hey. Look at me.” Spencer’s voice tore me away from the intrusive thoughts about our inevitable fallout, his hand still holding me in place in front of him, and his eyes still promising me the world.

“Just because we’ve done something before doesn’t mean we ever have to do it again.”

The words felt like the first breath after struggling for air underwater and finally breaking the surface just in the nick of time. Why were they such a relief? I couldn’t figure it out, but was too afraid to ask, fearing how Spencer might take it. Although, the tears pooling at my lashes gave him more than enough to read.

“Tell me you understand.” His request was as gentle as always. After a moment of trying, and failing, to collect myself, I nodded.

He sighed, cautiously moving his palm to cup my cheek. It was his voice that broke then. “I know this is hard, but I need you to use your big girl words for this. I need to make sure you hear me.”

“I understand.” My throat ached as I forced the words out. I could tell he wasn’t convinced but knew any argument would be meaningless while we were both so tired.

“Thank you.” He said, anyway. And like the prettiest sounding broken record, he let his fingertips trail over any exposed area he could find as he spoke the same words I’d heard before, even more insistent. “Even if you never touched me again, just knowing that you’re alive and happy... That alone makes the happiest man in the world.”

Spencer’s lips pressed against my forehead, resting there for a little too long. From the uneven shake of his breath, I knew he was hiding something, but didn’t want to ask what. I suspected they were tears.

I had disappointed him again. I had hurt him, yet again. I hadn’t meant to.

“It’s all that I need. To know that you’re happy.” There was an implicit message hiding in those words.

He was saying he wanted me to be happy, consciously neglecting to voice the resigned addition, ‘even if it’s not with me.’

“I know.” I whispered, half asleep as he continued drawing patterns on my skin. I meant to tell him that he was the only man who’d ever made me feel truly happy, safe, and loved— the only one I trusted with my heart. But all that came out was a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He said back, leaving me to wonder if he’d heard what I meant.

—————————————————

After everything I’d been through, I’d sworn that I would never want to be in a hospital ever again. But, unfortunately for me, it seemed my stubbornness extended even to my own limits, which explained why I was currently walking through the doors of the residential inpatient ward. It was a good idea in theory, to volunteer in the last place I wanted to be so that I could grow used to being there again.

It didn’t have to be a scary place.

Especially since the people around me weren’t the typical hospital patients. In fact, the people there weren’t even the usual patients of the hospital. Apparently, the ward was hosting a group of traveling patients that had been deemed fit for a vacation to the nation’s capital.

My assignment was simple enough - simply meet with a person and discuss the book they were currently reading. There was no requirement that we had to have read the book before, considering that would leave most people without a partner at all.

I was expecting to meet someone to discuss some niche romance novel or whatever had recently come out in theaters, but as I scanned the list of books, one stuck out to me more than the others.

The Book of Margery Kempe (1501).

It wasn’t the book itself that piqued my interest— I’d never read it. I had, however, listened to Spencer explain the entire premise to me on several occasions. Unsurprisingly, no one else volunteered for the book from the fifteenth century that referred to the main character as “this creature.” No one until me, that is.

There was no questioning who my partner was when I entered the room, spotting her quickly on the outskirts of the room with the book in her hand, but her eyes fixed on the raindrops slowly dripping down the window.

“Hi, are you Diana?”

She jumped a little at the sound of my voice, and I tried not to be consumed by guilt for surprising her despite my best efforts not to.

“Who are you?”

“I’m (y/n). I’m sorry if I scared you. I was assigned to be your book buddy today.” I explained, gesturing to the book on her lap with a smile that wasn’t big enough to be fake. From what the nurses had told me about her, I figured it was best to just be as genuine as possible… which made my answer to her next question a little more difficult.

“You’ve read this book?”

“Actually, I haven’t. No one had.” I laughed, pulling another chair over to her before taking a seat. “But I have heard someone go through basically the entire story in their own words, so...” I never finished the thought, cut off by a slight scoff from the woman.

“I figured. You’re very young.”

“Hey! Young people can read the classics.” I defended, crossing the lower half of my legs and tucking my hands between my knees. It probably gave away some of my nerves, but I figured it was alright considering she wasn’t a profiler and Spencer wasn’t here.

“But you don’t.” She wryly noted.

“Guilty. My boyfriend does, though.” I acquiesced, albeit a bit distracted as my mind decided to focus on those memories rather than the current reality.

“At least you’ve got that exposure. It’s important to learn these things.”

For a second, it felt like I was being lectured by my boyfriend, making it hard not to laugh, which I was pretty sure she didn’t appreciate.

“Can you tell me about it? I want to know if my boyfriend was just making stuff up.” I shrugged, laughing while I found myself avoiding her eyes. She noticed that behavior; most people would.

But to my surprise, she started to explain the book, anyway. Less surprising was the realization that Spencer hadn’t made up any of it. It was clear as day from their similar words that they had definitely read the same book. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought they’d discussed it together, too.

She was more talented than he was at explaining, though. Maybe it was a little bit my fault, considering I always got distracted by his voice. But with her, it really did feel like someone sharing a part of themselves. I could tell how deeply she cared for literature, and it made me more excited to hear about the chaste holy woman that found herself tempted by jealousy and sex.

When her story was winding to an end, I was almost sad that it was over. “You must have been a professor.” I mumbled, having already forgotten the information I was given by the nurses.

She was quick to correct me, her mouth curling into a frown as she said, “I still am. I’m just not on the campus anymore.”

“Of course. Gotta stay sharp, right?” I half-heartedly joked, sitting up from my slouched position. A brief stint of silence stretched between us and glancing at the clock I realized that it would still be a little while until Spencer could come get me. So, I turned back to the woman in front of me, noticing the way she stared out the window as she chewed on her nails.

“Is that why you wanted to visit D.C.?” I wondered aloud, and her response didn’t help assuage that curiosity at all.

“I... have another reason.”

“That sounds very mysterious, Diana.” I giggled, leaning forward and whispering, “Are you secretly a rebel?”

She scoffed, but I detected amusement behind the apparent derision. “Nothing like that.”

As sneaky and vague as she was being, and the fact that I had been warned of her paranoia, I still found myself wanting to ask her what could possibly make her as happy as her current thought.

“So what is it?” I said, leaning back in an effort to seem less insistent, explaining my intentions in a rant reminiscent of my boyfriend. “I don’t mean to pry, I just... you got really happy and I’d love to share in that excitement.”

“That’s just selfish.”

She really was so much like him.

“That’s how you know I won’t judge you.” I pointed out, raising one hand in the air and placing the other on my heart.

“I’m not worried about that.” She just waved her hand at me, ignoring my dramatic gesticulations and sighing as she glanced down at the book once more. After another moment of contemplation, her eyes flicked up to me so quickly I almost missed them, analyzing my features one more time before she carefully said, “I’m here to visit my son.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Although her expression was anxious, she still seemed at least a little relieved to have shared her plans with someone.

“He is.” She returned, lightly brushing the back of the book, almost like she was trying to remember something etched on the beveled hardcover. “He’s a good boy. Very bright. He has wonderful adventures. He goes all over the country. He used to tell me everything but... he’s gotten too busy for his mother these past few years.”

As I took in the words, I felt the pain in her voice. My heart wrenched in my chest, imagining how awful it must be to not have a chance to talk to your family. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to ignore you.” At least, I hoped not. She had so many stories to tell, even in just this short window, I couldn’t imagine anyone would want to avoid her. Then again… I knew it could be hard.

“I know he’s busy. That’s why I wanted to come here. It makes it easier for him.” She was confident in her explanation, and I nodded back with similar gusto.

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“No. I’m going to have them call him today.”

We were both happy then, and I clapped my hands together in front of me to suppress the urge to touch her as I excitedly replied, “I hope you get to see him.”

“Me too,” she agreed, simultaneously hopeful and defeated, before turning back to the window with the same wistfulness as before. “If not, the museums will be nice, too.”

“Hey, if you need a docent, I could always call my boyfriend. He would be so excited to talk to a fellow scholar who could actually follow along.” I excitedly replied, rocking forward in my chair with a goofy grin at the thought. She reminded me enough of him that I figured the two would get along. He’d at least understand what she talked about, unlike me.

“There’s no one that can compare to my son.” She warned, narrowing her eyes and pouting in a way I swore I’d seen before on another face.

“I bet. He does sound a lot like him, though. I bet they’d be friends.” The gears in my brain, rusted and slightly worn, started to turn. “They actually might be... my boyfriend lives near here.”

And that was when it hit me, the obvious conclusion I’d been avoiding for some reason. That creeping, unsettling familiarity wasn’t from coincidence; it was my brain recognizing her as an extension of the man I loved.

“...What’s your son’s name?”

She never got to answer, because no sooner had I finished saying the words thanwe both heard Spencer’s voice from the door behind us.

“Mom?”

The realization crashed into all three of us like a goddamn freight train. And even with my flair for the dramatic, I found my head spinning as I tried to will time to rewind itself.

“Spencer? How did you know I was here?” Diana said through a confused gasp, turning to me to see the equally stunned look on my face.

“I didn’t… I—“

They both turned to me, but I was too busy staring halfway between them, my jaw dropped open and my brain suddenly devoid of any helpful thought.

When it decided to finally be helpful, it was only marginally better. “Well… that makes a lot of sense.” I said with a cringeworthy laugh. When neither of them laughed, and continued to stare at me, I quickly shot up from my chair and waved a shaking hand. “You should talk to your mom. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

I didn’t get very far before Spencer’s hand caught my wrist, his wild eyes wide and insistent as he crackled, “Actually, I need a minute alone with you. If that’s okay.”

I turned to Diana for her permission but found nothing useful. She was also still caught up in the disaster that had just occurred, and turned back to her son who seemed genuinely apologetic.

“Sorry mom, I’ll… I’ll be right back.”

Spencer nearly dragged me out of the room, shutting the door and hiding out of sight of any windows. If he was ready to unleash his pent up anxiety, though, he wasn’t quick enough.

“Spencer, what the shit?!” I whisper-yelled, the sound echoing through the sterile hallway.

My boyfriend didn’t have any answers, his hands raking through his hair as he clearly tried to calm his heart and rapid breath. “I’m sorry I— I didn’t know that she was here! What is she doing here?!”

“Oh my god. Shut up. I’m freaking out. What if she thinks I’m weird?” I rambled back, grabbing my chest once I realized that I was freaking out just was badly as the idiot in front of me. Because seriously, he couldn’t tell me his mom’s name so I wouldn’t be blindsided like this?

Then again, I guess I couldn’t talk.

“What did you say to her?” He whispered back, dragging his hands over his face. He seemed eerily calm while asking, considering just how much we could have gotten into during our conversation. Although, I guess it would have been weird to share the more intimate, embarrassing details with a stranger at a hospital.

“I don’t know! We just talked about you!”

“You talked about me?!”

“Well we didn’t know we were both talking about you!” I said was quietly as possible, which was not quiet at all. Waving my arms between us, I tried to explain the jumbled mess in my head. “She was talking about her son and I was talking about my boyfriend and— Actually, that reminds me.”

“What?”

His answer came in the form of a soft thwack on the back of his head. He jumped, raising his hands to his head in both shock and embarrassment at the public chastisement, despite there being no one around to witness it.

“Call your mother, asshole!”

“Ow?! Don’t hit me!” He whined, and I could tell from the tone that the only damage done was to his ego.

“Stop ignoring your mother! You shouldn’t even be out here!” I reminded him, laying my hands against his chest and beginning to push him back towards the door. “Get back in there!”

Spencer’s hands held onto mine, and for the first time in a while I noticed that they were shaking. The lighthearted panic I’d felt seconds before vanished, replaced with a painful sadness that seemed to bleed from him into my hands.

“I’m not trying to ignore her, I just…” His eyes were struggling to focus, and the crackle in his voice warned me that there was something he was trying to avoid saying. “I can explain… This.”

I didn’t need to hear it.

“Explain what?” I meant the question to be an expression of my feelings, but it seemed to freak him out more. Like I actually expected an answer for why his mother was in a program like this. Like the reason he had kept that from me mattered. I already knew the reason he didn’t tell me— It was pretty obvious.

“Spencer, I don’t care that she’s here. That doesn’t bother me.”

From the faraway look in his eyes, I knew he didn’t really believe me. I couldn’t blame him entirely. The shame was clear on his features. But I also knew that nothing I could say in that moment would make him believe me; it would probably take a long time. That was okay. We had time.

“I’m serious. She’s your mother and you love her, so of course I’m going to like her.” I tried to reassure him anyway, and I noticed the small twitch of his pout that slowly turned into a pitiful smile.

Trying to keep that upward trend, I motioned to my absolutely ridiculous outfit and bedhead before I laughed, “I’m mostly just mortified about the fact that I just met your mother looking like this and acting like a fucking moron.”

Thankfully, Spencer laughed back. His hands gripped mine tighter, and through the tears that stayed perched on his eyes without falling, he croaked, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… go see your mom. I’ll go hang out in the cafeteria for a minute.” I jumped up on my toes, yanking my hands back only to them around his neck.

His arms caught me like they always did, holding me so tightly against him that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. I kissed him just as hard, trying to remind him that there was nothing in the world that could ruin the happiness I felt when he held me.

I held his face as the kiss ended, squishing his cheeks together and warping his smile in the process. I was just grateful that it was still there.

“And take your time talking to her, because I am fucking starving.” I instructed. The crisp hospital air on my skin was cold as he left, but inside my chest, butterflies erupted that kept me warm. He gave me one final goofy wave before we went our separate ways again.

As I wandered through the hospital halls, I wondered if he knew how nervous I actually was. I couldn’t tell him yet; he would misinterpret it, regardless of his profiling skills. He would see the anxiety in my interactions with her as my fear over his future mental state instead of what it really was— fear that the other woman he loved wouldn’t approve of me.

There was no sense in worrying about it yet. Diana and I had shared a great time together as far as I could tell, and I would definitely make sure that Spencer spent more time talking to her in the future. So as depressing as the hospital cafeteria could be, it wasn’t so bad that day.

—————————————————

Being alone with Diana was so much different after I’d learned that she was Spencer’s mother. Then again, we weren’t really alone - Spencer was there, he’d just passed out and somehow ended up with his head against the pillow on my lap. I was a little surprised by how comfortable he was being so touchy feely in front of his mother, but I’d also recognized the exhaustion the second he walked into the hospital. He’d been out cold for at least 10 minutes, and I was barely able to stay awake, myself.

Diana seemed wide awake, though, watching the minute rise and fall of Spencer’s shoulder as he slept. At least, I thought that was what she was watching, but it could have also been my hand stroking his arm.

“My son seems very happy.”

I looked up, shaken by the sudden sound after nearly falling asleep to the rhythm of Spencer’s breath against my knee. “I think that has more to do with you being here.” I said through a yawn.

“I’m not so sure.” That was all she said, quiet and skeptical. Her eyes were scrutinizing everything she could see, and I thanked the stars that I didn’t have to go through this without him here, at least. At least we’d had one nice memory together first.

“Are you the reason he’s been so busy?”

I was dreading the question but had already planned my response. “I hope not. His job is so stressful, and he spends so much of his free time taking care of me.” I looked down at the mop of brown hair that hadn’t been brushed.

When I ran my hand through the ends of his curls, he shifted on my lap, his hand coming up to grab my thigh as he buried his face into the pillow. I chuckled at the clingy movements, which poorly contrasted my words.

“It makes me feel awful.”

I expected her to look disappointed or disturbed by the action, but she mostly just looked… sad.

“He’s good at taking care of people.” She explained, her head jerking away to stare at the lamp beside her. “I made him do it too often.”

Her answer hurt me in more ways than one. It hurt me because I felt the guilt and shame in her voice over something that she had no control over, which was obviously something that should never happen. But it also hurt because I heard myself in it, and I had to ask myself if, just like I had found traits of my father in Spencer, he’d found his mother in me.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be ashamed of being like her - she was brilliant and obviously cared for him deeply. It was the source of the shame that frightened me.

Was he just with me to take care of me? How soon would he grow tired of that? What would happen when I got better? Would I ever? Did I even want to, if that meant he would leave?

They were terrible, awful thoughts to have. So, I did what I was best at, and shoved them back into the corner of my mind to revisit when I was desperate and alone.

“I think he would disagree. He obviously loves you very much.” Was what I said, instead.

“I could say the same for you.” There was a slight bitterness in her words that forced a frown out of me. The words were forceful, almost like a compulsion that she wanted to fight but was too tired to win. She seemed to regret that, too.

“I know my son... and I’ve never seen him like this before.” She pointed to him on my lap, still sound asleep despite the conversation happening above him. “I don’t think he’s ever slept that well with me. And…”

Part of me wanted to tell her that it wasn’t always like this. I wanted her to know that it had nothing to do with any failing of her own, but a failing on the part of the rest of the world for hurting him when neither of us had been there. But she probably felt the same guilt I did that we couldn’t fix those broken parts. Her eyes met mine, and in the reflection, I saw both of our apprehension.

“I’ve never felt like a girl was taking my son away from me before.”

The breath wasn’t knocked from me, but it did fall out of me in a slow, shaky exhale. I didn’t know what to say back, terrified by the implication behind the words just as much as the fact she felt them.

“He’ll always be yours first.” I promised her, refusing to look away from her eyes even as she refused to meet them. I needed her to know that I would never be a threat to them. That all I wanted or cared about was that he was happy and safe, and that I knew she felt the same.

“Then he should call me more.” Diana said, wry humor bleeding back into the conversation despite how heavy it had become.

“I’ll make sure he does.” I answered, my hands resuming their gentle soothing motions. I saw her hand mimicking the actions against her blanket and found myself wondering about things I’d never ask her. I knew virtually nothing about his childhood aside from the prodigy thing, but it was clear that his father was not in the picture, and that he was very close with his mother.

I couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect him. Just as I had thought it, she’d said it herself.

“When you’re kind like my son, the world will eat you alive if no one is protecting you.”

Maybe Spencer had gotten that mind reading trait from his mother, rather than his profiler training, I thought.

“Are you going to protect him?”

I wasn’t ready for that question. Honestly, I hadn’t even considered it. In all the time we’d been together, I’d selfishly worried about how any harm to him would affect me. In my defense, it had always seemed the more likely scenario.

I was so worried about being the source of his hurt or not being able to fix it that I never thought about how I could prevent it. It almost felt… inevitable. Everyone who loved me got hurt, and he’d already made up his mind on that topic.

“I’m going to try.” The hesitance in my voice gave away my anxieties, and Diana spoke quicker and bolder.  

“You said he takes care of you, but what do you do for him?”

The walls were closing in on me, and I couldn’t fucking breathe. My hand on Spencer’s arm grabbed his shirt before I noticed. I wanted him to be awake, to hold me and tell me that it would be okay. I wanted to be far away from that conversation— that question.

“I-I…” I mumbled, trying to flatten my hand as his mother saw it, trying to act like I wasn’t a fucking child clinging to her boyfriend to save her from a question she didn’t have a satisfying answer to.

It was too late, and Diana covered her mouth as she looked away. “I see.” She said before we both went silent.

The silence didn’t help either, though. If anything, it felt worse. Like my chest had been torn open and she could see all the contents, and the longer I gave her to draw her own conclusions about what she saw, the worst they would become.

That was stupid, right? I couldn’t tell. She liked me, right? Did it matter?

“He told me he wants to get married and have kids and I’m just...” I started to ramble, my hands now hovering above Spencer as I stared down at him, still sleeping soundly like the world wasn’t crushing me above him. In a panic, I looked up to Diana with what I can only assume was a terrified, frantic look. “I’m worried. I’m scared that he won’t be as happy as he could be if he stays with me instead of... someone else. And that question scares me because I still don’t know why he cares about me so much when I can’t give him half of what he gives me.”

My chest heaved from a combination of the lack of breath and skyrocketing pulse. Diana peered at me through her peripherals, a battle visible behind her gaze.

“Most people would be scared to admit that. Especially to his mother.” She thought out loud, and I knew she was weighing my open admission to determine how likely it was that I was lying.

“I figured lying would be worse. I know honesty is important to your family.” I confessed, hoping that my openness wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass. “I don’t ever want to lie to either of you.”

I left off the ‘again.’

“You know what I think?” Diana said, tapping her chin and readjusting the blanket over her legs as she found a way to be more comfortable with the tension floating in the air.

I took it as a good sign. I hoped it was a good sign. I looked at her in anticipation.

“I think... you two will be happier than you think.” Diana’s lips curled ever so slightly as she held her own hand, rubbing the back of her hand the same way Spencer often rubbed mine. “Love is more than similar beliefs. It’s wanting to share your life with someone. Wanting to see them happy.”

Despite the content of her words, it didn’t feel like a lecture. It was… warm, and comforting. Her voice sounded familiar and loving and safe. She was the one who had taught Spencer to talk.

“I love my son more than anything else in the world. I won’t let anyone take him away unless I’m positive that he will be happy.” Diana finished; the warning grave but her voice quiet.

“I understand.” I replied just as softly, finally looking back down to Spencer. My heart felt like it would burst from the image. As much as I wanted him to see me and his mother having a heart to heart, it was best not to worry him with our battling affections, no matter how minimal the risk.

“Do you love him?”

The question hung in the air because I was still so caught up in his face that I almost forgot she couldn’t read my mind.

“Yes.” I felt the tears forming in my eyes as I breathlessly repeated, “Yes, I do. I love him.”

Diana must have heard the strain in my voice and seen the tiredness in my eyes, because the threatening tone faded. “Then take care of him.” She said, more like a plea than a demand. “Take care of him like I never could, because you know how much he deserves it.”

I nodded, excitedly and happily, my voice breaking and interrupted by a hard swallow to rid myself of the lump in my throat when I said, “I will.”

With perfect timing, Spencer’s body jerked under my hand as it found its way back to his shoulder. “What are you guys talking about?” He slurred before even opening his eyes, clearly bothered by the lost time wherein his mother and I could have spoken about any number of horrifying things.

“We were just saying it’s time for me to head out.” I lied, and Diana’s sly smirk was enough of an indication for me to feel alright about it. It was funny—I’d just told her I never wanted to lie to him, but this one seemed pretty harmless. She deserved alone time with her son, after all.

“Do you want me to drive you?” He finally sat up, rubbing his face to try and get rid of the creases that had formed from the pillow’s texture.

I laughed at the question because he was so obviously not in a position to drive. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten an Uber after leaving his place, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. At least this time wasn’t a walk of shame.

“No, I’m fine. You stay here and spend time with your mom. Awake, this time.” I warned, poking him on the nose and earning a playful giggle from the grown man at my side. “She came a long way. She deserves it.”

He quickly got me back, grabbing my face and pulling me forward to plant a kiss on my forehead. And as much as I would have preferred one on the lips, I was grateful for his sudden modesty in front of his mother. It still felt strange.

“Okay. I love you. Drive safe please. And tell me when you get home.” He instructed as I nodded along, already having memorized the speech from every time I’d ever left him.

“Of course.” I murmured through a somewhat embarrassed pout before I got up and grabbed my things.

Before I made my way to the door, I stopped, turning to see Spencer take the seat beside his mother. She took his hand, but she looked at me. I thought about hugging her but knew that Spencer’s company was far superior to mine, and that every second I distracted her was one less she got with him. So, I settled for a wave and a smile.

“Goodnight Diana. Thanks for the talk.”

“Goodnight.” She returned, with a contented smile washing over her as her son rested his head on her shoulder. The final image of the two of them happy in each other’s company was enough to satisfy me until the next time I saw him. Because, like we’d just discussed, he was happy, and that was all that mattered.

As I opened the door to leave, she spoke again. “Thank you.” She said, and I knew she was talking about more than the conversation.

“Anytime.”

—————————————————

| Part 19 |

1K notes · View notes

ibijau · 3 years

Text

Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand.

Funny things indeed.

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen.

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions.

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon.

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before.

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang.

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice.

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working.

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I?

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue.

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him?

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again.

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure.

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him.

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long.

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her.

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

Meng Yao is very sure indeed.

So Lan Xichen comes.

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day.

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?"

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax.

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were.

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good.

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more.

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi.

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily."

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances.

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

#xisangyao #xiyao #sangyao #xisang #counterfeit au #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

32 notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

two tails | reader x minho |

Two

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff

Tags: neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, coworker!hyunjin, florist!jisung, punk!jisung (yeah boiiii), agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food, passive body shaming

Word count: 5.5k (y e e t we love self indulgence)

Tagging: @lauraneuuh

Chapters

P | ONE | TWO | THREE

busybody noun

:an officious or inquisitive person.

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There are a couple things that your mother is known for--or rather, a couple things that she has been deemed.

Mother, wife, friend, matriarch, socialite, unofficial event planner, gossip, show off, professional nagger, and, to certain people, bitch.

And yet, somehow your mother was intertwined with some of the most prominent circles within the city, and she knew everything about everyone’s business. Frankly, she often didn’t have anything better to to with her time. ” If she had any job at all, it would be calling you every weekend to give her opinions on your rather “less than auspicious” life choices.

To her, another one of your “less than auspicious” life choices had to do with the way that you had dressed yourself; however little sense this made.

Your mother sipped at her tea with dainty fingers, barely cracking with age due to her expensive hand creams.

“Quickly. Go get changed. We don’t have much more time and you’re dallying. It should fit you, just as long as you haven’t put on any more weight.” Her hawk-like gaze inspected your hips and thighs. “Hmm. I think you’ll be fine.”

Seungmin, where he sat on the couch with perfect posture tapped his feet up and down with discomfort.

I hate you for doing this to me, he glared at you with despair, hiding it behind the wide smile he performed for your mother.

“What? Do you not trust me to be alone with your friend here?”

Your best friend nervously chuckled out in that little puppy-like way that he would. “What? Ahh no, I’ll be fine, go on Y/n, I should be leaving soon anyway, I was just stopping by.”

Your mother’s eyes followed you up your staircase, watching for the very moment that you closed your bedroom door. The second you did, her snide voice hissed out loud whispers, undoubtedly drilling Seungmin about the usual questions: are you married, where do you live, what’s your profession, what does your family do etc.

The little metal zipper of the pencil skirt pinched your fingertips as you attacked it up your body. Once again, your mother had underestimated your clothing size. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes looking at the tags for the designer matching skirt and blazer ensemble. There was nothing in your mother’s life that didn’t denote the status that she “worked so hard for.”

In a way, you hated that you had done this to Seungmin as well. Initially you had thought that having some kind of male presence over when your mother arrived would deter her stabbing remarks about your singledom, but in fact, it has just made it worse. For once in your life, you just wanted to hold something over her. Now, you’d likely traumatized the best friend that you had.

You nearly slipped on the carpeted stairs in your nylon stockings on the way down, but held fast the the banister, looking a bit like some kind of sad, business-casual, plastic-looking prom queen.

Seungmin’s eyes widened seeing you in the toning skirt. Likely you knew that he must’ve been keeping his jokes to himself the very best that he could--you wouldn’t hear the end of it later.

“Wonderful. Let’s get going.” Your mother set down her teacup with a clink. “I’ve got some cosmetics in the car that you can use as well. We’ll be stopping off at the flower shop before we get to the venue. I’ve ordered an arrangement for the bride-to-be.”

“I feel like a China doll.” You muttered under your breath, catching a little laugh from your friend. Your eyes met as if to ask him if he was okay, which he rolled his eyes as his answer.

You put on the only pair of kitten heels that you owned: they were brown, banged up and the pleather was cracking a little at the edges. Of course, your mother let out an exasperated sigh upon seeing them.

“I’ll bring shoes next time.”

Seungmin politely opened the door for the both of you and the spring morning’s sun washed your face in it’s warmth. The morning was perfect: the exact kind of day that you would spend in your garden writing or reading on the single-person porch swing you had just installed. Dew still held to the Kelly green blades of grass and your cherry blossom tree bowed a little in the breeze.

“Well, it was nice meeting and speaking with you Seungmin--”

“--We’ve met before thou--”

“--You seem to be a strapping and organized young man. I do hope that you consider what we discussed.”

Seungmin appeared to flush a little, “I-I’ll think about it.”

You tugged at your friend’s shirt, pulling him in to whisper, “What the hell did she talk to you about?”

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes fluttered around nervously. “She just kept going on about how she wanted me to--”

“--Oh, Y/n!”

From your mother’s surprised expression on the other side of the car, to the way that Seungmin stopped dead in his sentence, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

Your body turned around in slow-motion, hoping that this must have been some kind of nightmare, and that you hadn’t woken up that morning yet and were cozily still tucked in bed.

If it would have been socially acceptable, you would have hidden behind that car until he walked away, but it was too late considering he already knew you were there.

Your mother let out some kind of ungodly squeal before rushing towards Minho and taking his hand in hers to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I take it that you know my daughter? And who might you be, such a handsome man as yourself???”

You really did contemplate hiding behind that car.

It was unfair how you had to run him into at a time when he looked like that. Your mother was nearly eating him with her eyes while Minho looked to you in his confusion.

Of course when your mother had to see him, he was fresh off of his morning run: white cotton sleeveless shirt, running joggers, a thick headband with sweat dripping down his body in rivets from his forehead to the curves of his toned arms.

Life was just too fucking unfair.

“Minho!” Internally, you crawled so far into yourself it was like you were barely there. You squeaked out the words coupled with a poorly-timed voice crack, “I didn’t plan on seeing YOu here!”

“Minho?!” Seungmin echoed your phrase, grabbing onto your arm with force.

“Uh, hello, nice to meet you I’m Lee Minho. And yes, I do know Y/n, I actually live a couple doors down--”

“--A neighbor! How wonderful! I know she doesn’t leave the house that much, but I’m so glad that the two of you have met. Do you live your family..? Or...your wife...?”

He smiled warmly, polite as always, “No Ma’am, I’m not married, I live with my mother.”

“Your mother? Well, that’s very honorable.”

You and your best friend locked eyes upon hearing the answer to the question that both of you had been silently wondering.

With a little eyebrow raised, he gave you a smirk, before braiding his hand through his locks strung with sweat. “I also live with my cats too.”

“Cats?” Your mother tried her best to hide the distaste in her mouth. “That’s...honorable as well. Taking care of animals is...hm, well, Y/n get in the car, time is ticking!!”

Your mother’s shrill voice was clipped by the sound of the car door closing behind her. You and your best friend choked in silent laughter together.

“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” You patted down your itchy grey blazer.

Seungmin nodded, “Do you want me to tell you the truth? Not your colors. But, you’ll just have to live with it.”

“I think that you look nice.” Minho’s compliment melted into your skin like honey. “But I agree, the colors don’t work the best. Sorry.”

“Oh. Thank you...” Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry! God, I’m-this is Seungmin, my-my friend Seungmin, sorry I didn’t introduce you both, my head is just--”

“--Nice to meet you. Finally.” Seungmin’s expression turned a bit more stoic, a stark contrast to his softer features.

“Nice to meet you as well.”

“Okayyyy, well, I’ll just...get going then. See you both...later.”

Seungmin slammed the door behind you, leaving you with your huffing mother in the car.

“All of these handsome men around you and you can’t lock down one? I can’t believe you...” She threw her makeup bag on your lap. “I’ll play matchmaker if you want me to, I don’t mind, but you know that I have a lot going on already--”

“--Haven’t you already started? Don’t pretend like you didn’t tell Seungmin something. Seungmin is my friend, mom.”

“I just don’t get you. Aren’t you ever a bit sad that you don’t get invited to things like this since you have no female friends...?”

“Honestly? I don’t really care--”

“--You should. Thank God that you have me.”

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The front windows to the floral shop winked in the morning sun and the gold lettering of the signage glistened with a similar glow. On the display, there were several dozens of different types of flowers all arranged into different glass vases, tied with bows or swaddled in burlap. The arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, peonies, daises, sunflowers and other wildflowers appeared to be freshly cut, and beaded with water droplets.

“Here. Take my card. If any of them seem to be brown at all, tell them that you won’t pay until they fix it.”

You took the little plastic card from her red painted nails. “Will do.”

There was a little bell hung over the shop door, and it tinkled when you entered like fairy chimes. The entire place seemed a little magical: the kind of place that you would find yourself reiterating in your writings. On the marble tiled floors, flecks of dirt seemed to gather in the grout.

The golden brass counter stretched on for nearly the whole length of the shop, and held a display case which doubled as a cooler holding smaller things like corsages and boutonnières.

“Can I help you?”

The man approached you wiping the dirt off of his hands onto his canvas apron which was stained with smudges of green and brown. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoos adorning his arms in beautiful patterns of black with muted colors of yellow, lavender and pink. They were nearly all floral in design and reminded you of the drawings from a botany book. His shaggy dark hair had a bit of a curl to it that tasseled over his eyes. His smile too was devastatingly charming, decorating it was a black hooped lip ring.

“Here to pick up an order?”

“Y-yes, for L/n.”

“I just finished that one up, lucky for you.” He palmed through the little stack of receipts near the register. “I’ll go get it real quick.”

It was criminal how fast you found your heart beating after hearing how strikingly soothing his voice had sounded. You also found your head spinning over how familiar he seemed, like someone you had met before, but couldn’t place where.

He had brought the sizeable arrangement over, and upon seeing it, you knew that your mother must’ve asked them to pull out all the works. Not only were flowers like this a bit of an unusual bridal shower gift, but it was just one more way for her to show off. The moment that the two of you would arrive with that, heads would turn, and that was exactly what she wanted. It was so large, you had to crane a little to see the florist behind it.

“That’ll be 360.”

Never had you been more thankful to pay for a gift with someone else’s money.

When you passed him the card, you noted the little scrapes up and down his hands and forearms, looking a bit like cat scratches.

“It’s the roses.” He chuckled. “This job is a lot more dangerous than you would think.”

“Oh.” A heat in your cheeks rose along with his observation of you.

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” He tapped at the register, then nodded to the sunlight streamlining in from the windows. There were little rainbows speckling the store from the prisms hung above the displays.

“I-it really is.”

Your eyes wandered to his nametag which looked like he had decorated with hand-drawn stars. Jisung. Once again, he caught your eyes, slyly rolling his tongue over that black hoop.

“It’s the kind of day that makes me wish I wasn’t cooped up in here and doing something else; going somewhere else. You seen the cherry blossoms yet?”

“I-I have one in my yard.”

“Oh really? It’s my favorite time of year because of them.”

His smile was a bit in the shape of a heart, and the way that his eyes smiled along with it was just as charming as the rest of him.

Blaze.

He was Blaze.

Quite literally, never in your life could you have said that you had felt your heart skip a beat, but, you imagined that there’s a first time for everything.

He scribbled down something down on the receipt, handing you both the card and the slip.

“Have a good one, ‘kay?”

Had it been socially acceptable, you would have slapped yourself square in the face, right then and there, to snap yourself out of your awe.

“Yo-you as well.”

It was a miracle you didn’t drop that expensive-ass floral arrangement getting out of there as fast as you did.

“What took you so long? People will start wondering where we are.”

Your mother said a couple more chastising remarks, but they faded away once you looked at the crinkled piece of paper on your hand:

I hope to see you again, Blossom.

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“Y/n!!! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you. I’ve been decaying, simply drying out in this office all by myself.”

You swatted your melodramatic friend by the backside of his head, subsequently ruffling up his perfectly primped long, blond hair.

“Shut up. You’re surviving just fine without me.”

Hyunjin lowered his voice into a rather loud whisper, “Everyone here is just so boring.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting ‘Jin. It’s a publishing company, all we do is read here. You kind of did it to yourself too. Hell, you edit the children’s books!! You don’t have a thing to complain about.”

“Are you sure that you can’t take an office here? We could eat lunch together, make coffee together from that broken-ass coffee machine, and bitch about Mr. Yoon together. By the way, what are you doing here anyway besides not seeing me?”

“Picking up a couple manuscripts. I finished the ones from before.”

“You’re inhuman. I don’t know how you get through 300+ pages over a weekend.”

You shrugged, “It’s just what I like to do, that’s all. And, no, I will not be taking an office here, not when I have my classes too.”

“Aren’t you the perfect symbol of adulthood.” Hyunjin pulled up for you the creaky plastic office chair from the empty desk next to his.

“Tell that to my mother, I think she’d have a different oponion.”

“Screw your mother--and you can tell her that I said that too.” Your coworker fiddled with his white collar, pulling it from his neck. You knew how much he hated those and would have much rather preferred the silky low-cut ones which had become his trademark.

“If only it were that easy.”

“How’s Princess Bomi doing?”

“My cat or the story?”

“I was talking about the story, but sure, tell me about your cat too.”

Hyunjin was a sarcastic little shit, but that was why you loved him. Seungmin tended to be the same sometimes--you surmised that perhaps you made the same type of people gravitate towards you.

“It’s been pretty well received actually, and I think I’m just about done with the first book, there’s probably only a few chapters left. I just passed 8,000 reads.”

“Wow, that’s actually...really impressive. I mean it.”

When he wasn’t being a sarcastic little shit, Hyunjin was actually a genuine friend. He had been supportive of your writing ever since he forced the information out of you a few months ago after seeing a your chaotic notes mixed in with your manuscript ones. Of course, he had laughed at the prospect of you naming your main character after your cat, but he understood otherwise.

“You’ve been getting good feedback?”

“Mmhm! They really like Bomi as a character, that, and it seems like Blaze has some fans too...”

Upon saying the same, the boy from the flower shop sneakily crept back into your head along with that stupidly Blaze-like smile of his--or at least, the smile that you had always pictured Blaze to have.

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to Y/n? Where did you go?”

“Huh? Oh sorry, I think I just got...lost in thought.”

“I said I think that you should really consider brining it to the company. What if they want to publish it? I think that it’s worth a shot. You said yourself that its successful online. What makes you think that people wouldn’t be interested in the print version?”

“I--Hyunjin, Princess Bomi is kind of a personal thing...”

“--Why do I even bother!” In his mock disgust, Hyunjin crossed his flabbergast arms against his chest. “I’m only trying to give you a helpful suggestion.”

Above the two of you, the florescent white lights bore down on you with a harsh luminescence.

“But--” You shyly picked at the hem of your blouse, “I could use your help with something else.”

“What?”

“What do you suggest that I wear...to meet someone’s mom?”

Hyunjin practically leapt out of his chair and three feet into the air.

“YOU’RE MEETING SOMEONE’S MOTHER?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!”

“Get your ass back down in your seat.” You whipped your head around to see your coworkers concerned glances. “Yes, I am.”

“Thank God that you asked me. This is a serious matter.”

“I can’t exactly ask Seungmin...so...”

“Don’t you worry! I know exactly what you can do. So,” His voice turned sing-songy, “~What’s he like~ And how come you didn’t tell me about this sooner??”

“-Because I knew that you would have this exact same reaction.”

“I promise I’ll calm down, okay, go:”

“Well, he’s my neighbor, and I’ve only met him a few weeks ago, and he’s got cats, and he’s really sweet and not to mention hot as well but in like kind of a... cozy, librarian kind of way? Anyway, he wears cardigans--and you know that I’m a sucker for a good cardigan--and I’m convinced that the universe is trying to get me to destroy him but, that’s beside the point--”

“Slow down slow down! Literally all of the words you said just now don’t make sense together.”

You wheeled your chair closer to the man across from you, “And then he asked me to meet his cats and his mom or maybe just his cats or his mom, he was kinda unclear about that now that I think about it...”

“So he’s hot and has cats, hmm, sounds right up your alley.”

“I-I guess.”

“Are you sure he’s not, you know, trying to be neighborly?”

You punched Hyunjin’s arm so hard you jiggled your glasses on your face. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Sorry I brought it up! Ok, ok, I think I know what you should do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you bag this sexy librarian man?”

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“I sure as hell hope that you’re not trying to be neighborly.”

You smoothed down your freshly ironed blouse: a floral pattern with birds, something “light and springy” just as Hyunjin had recommended. The pleats in your trousers were in shape as well. He had suggested too that you tied your hair up, something about it being professional and “dateable.”

Bomi sauntered up to you while you inspected your outfit in the full-length mirror. Her gorgeous green eyes were squinted after her day-long nap, and she yawned while she brushed up against your leg.

“To what do I owe the pleasure Bomi?” You bent down to pat her head, which she promptly shied away from. “You think that this looks good? Mother-worthy?”

Bomi blinked.

“Thanks for your input Bo.”

Another yawn.

Your nightstand held your little jewelry tree, and from it you took a dainty silver necklace that hung just above the neckline of your blouse, as well as the thin tan wristwatch that you wore once in a blue moon.

The watch face read 5 o’clock exactly.

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit!.”

Bomi scrambled out of your way as you flew around the room trying to find a matching pair of socks. You stopped one more in front of the mirror. Your mother’s words always did find a way of seeping back into your skin like poison. Even if you had looked “nice” a nagging voice deep down echoed: “you’ve only ever been less than auspicious. Why don’t you ever change that?”

“Screw your mother.” Hyunjin had said.

If it only was that easy.

Your footsteps clomped down the stairs, and you threw on the same pair of kitten heels.

“Shit. The gift.” You slapped your forehead, cursing your horrid memory.

“And don’t forget to bring his mother something. A gift. Something small but thoughtful. Something that she can use. Mothers eat shit up like that.”

You frantically searched your entire home for something that resembled a gift. After a few moments of searching, you had resolved to go without it--you’d explain that it was in the mail, or misplaced, or anything but the fact that you didn’t have one. You grabbed your humorous amount of keychains on your keys, eyes catching that little box of complimentary chocolates from the bridal shower.

“Good enough.”

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

One more time, you checked your reflection in the glass door leading to Minho’s mother’s townhouse.

“This is fine, you can do this. Don’t screw this up, you’re fine, you’re fine.”

Minho opened the door, looking as confusingly adorable and downright gorgeous as you had grown to know him as. This time, he had ditched the cardigan for a sky blue sweater that still pooled at his palms. Seeing how casually he had dressed, you instantly felt overdressed, and made a mental reminder to cuss out Hyunjin when you got the chance later.

“Come in,” He gently ushered you to the spot where you switched on shoes for slippers.

“You-um, look really nice.” Minho pushed up his glasses up his nose bridge, “Really pretty.”

“Th-thank you, um, you too.”

He snickered, “No one has called me pretty before.”

“Shit, Sorry, that was weird, sorry, I’m just kinda...nervous.”

“No, not at all, I don’t mind. I appreciate the compliment.”

You stood at the doorway, awkward silence permeating the air. Suddenly, you remembered the chocolates in your hands.

“Oh, this is for you and your mother, I thought I might as well bring something over...”

Minho took it from you, and you prayed that he wouldn’t think too much of the packaging that just looked a little too wedding-y.

“Thank you for this.” He popped the box open excitedly, “What kind are they?”

It took a couple seconds, but you watched in horror as his expression turned from thrilled to deeply confused.

“What is it?” You craned your neck over to see.

“Are they...supposed to look like that?”

Inside of the little plastic compartments, each of the chocolates had melted into blobs pathetically and swirled together making one huge, brown, melted--and then solidified again--chocolate mess.

“Oh my god.” Your throat felt as tight as a knot in your embarrassment. “They’ve...”

Minho hurriedly closed the box. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.” He tried the best he could to suppress his laughter. “It’s still about the same.”

“No it’s not.” You whined out the words. “Don’t let your mother can’t see them, oh shit, oh shit.”

“What happened to them?”

Your horrid memory suddenly let you remember the fact that those chocolates had stayed in the car after the bridal shower when you had gone to visit your mother’s home.

“Nothing good, just-hide them--”

“Minho? Is that Y/n? Is she here?”

“--Hide it, quick!!!”

Minho shoved the box behind a large houseplant, still hiding his laughter caught in his throat.

“Ahhh Y/n! It’s so good to meet you at last! I’ve heard so much about you!”

You greeted Minho’s mother with a bow, throwing the box of chocolates a disdainful glare. She was a gentle looking woman who appeared to be a little older than your own, or, perhaps the same age. You wouldn’t be surprised if your mother had paid enough to procure the elixir of life; sounds like something she would have done.

“I’m so happy to meet you as well. Thank you for inviting me in.”

“Minho!!” His mother nudged his arm, “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.”

Your cheeks flushed with heat when you gave another little bow in thanks. “Your home is really lovely too.”

“Oh, it was all Minho’s idea, I’m just the one that did the cooking. I’m always happy to cook for a neighbor.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve got a couple more things to prepare, Minho, you go show her the cats, I’m sure that she’d like that--I hear that you have a cat too?”

You nodded. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?”

“No no, you both go on, I’ll handle this.”

By each passing moment, this all started to feel a bit more like a playdate than an official meeting of one’s mother. Here you were, a grown woman, and you had gone over to someone’s house to play with their cats. Maybe you weren’t as much of a grown woman as you thought you were.

“Over here.” Minho guided you to the living room: it was a modest one with furniture that looked to be very old, with beautiful traditional pictures of landscapes with assorted baby photos hanging on the walls. Everywhere, there was little pieces of evidence of the residence of cats: cat toys, scratching pads, a couple cat carriers and the cat tree nearest the window. At the top tier of the structure, there was a white and orange cat lazing with a foot slung over the side.

“Doongie?” You carefully approached the furball to pet it’s tiny paw.

“That one is Soonie, I have two cats that look a bit similar. Doongie is probably somewhere strange. You never know cats. Mine really like hopping on top of the china cabinet; it scares my mother half to death”

“I can imagine.”

Soonie remained unbothered, little cat body peacefully sleeping.

“Over here is Dori, the youngest one.”

Dori was a bit striped, with a grey body and a white belly. The smaller cat was rolled up into a perfect cinnamon roll on the loveseat. The cat stirred hearing it’s name, and keened into Minho’s touch when he scratched its head. You copied the touch, and Dori granted you the same permission.

“You cats are so sweet...wanna trade?”

“I...think that I’m good with the cat’s I’ve got. But that is a tempting offer.”

Making a rather loud appearance was Doongie, who ambled into the room with a series of loud yowls and meows, looking up to both you and Minho with striking yellow eyes.

“Doongie!” You crouched down to give the cat scratches under it’s chin, making it purr slightly. “Did you miss me? I hope that you’ve been staying out of trouble.”

Minho’s gentle brown eyes observed your interactions with his cats, simply letting you play around with them as you wished. Every once and a while, you could catch his eyes following you with a contented little grin on his face.

There was something so domestic and comforting about the whole scene. Inside the townhouse that felt well loved and with the smell of a homecooked meal in the air, there was something so peaceful about it all that was a little foreign to you.

“Minho! Please come help me with the bowls!”

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Crickets chirped along the pathway and into the spring’s chilly nighttime air. Minho had offered to walk you home, even though you were just two houses down. Because of this, it seemed as if the two of you were walking in slow motion, taking one step after the other as slowly and carefully as you could. Absentmindedly, you both wanted just a little more time.

After spending the night being on your best behavior, you felt as if you could finally breathe. Granted, you had grandly spilled soup all over Minho’s mother, but this seemed to diffuse quickly once she had laughed raucously at the event. She was a sweet woman, with a kind soul, much like Minho. Her lightly wrinkled face shone like the sun and made you feel loved even without knowing her much.

In many ways, you wondered what it would be like having a mother as such. It was likely however, maybe you just weren’t supposed to know.

Minho cast his gaze up to the sprinkling of stars spread out over the vast sky: most of them invisible due to the closeness to the city.

“You know, I’m starting to really like living out here, in the suburbs I mean. Everything in the city was so fast and chaotic, it’s nice to sit back and let things be still for a while.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“Not as much as I did. The city...holds a lot of memories for me; some of them I’d rather forget. Being out here feels like a new start.”

The two of you stopped near the light coming from your porch. In the soft glow of yellow, coupled with the gentle navy blue tint of the night, Minho looked ethereal--perhaps even a little fairy-like.

You cursed out your writer brain for thinking of your little made up world at a time like this when you had this boy, real, in front of you.

“I had a nice time with you tonight.” Minho shoved his hands into his pants pockets with a cute little smirk. “I think my cats are a fan of you as well, so, that puts a good word in for you in my book.”

“Me too. Thank-thank you for inviting me.”

“Next time, we should do something different, I heard actually that there’s a meteor shower in a couple weeks.”

“Wait, next time?”

“Or, we could do something sooner if you’d like.”

“You want to do something else? With me?”

“Yes you, who else would I be talking about?” Minho capped his sentence with a little snicker.

“S-sorry, I just...don’t understand...why would you... I mean, I don’t do too much besides kinda hide in my house with my cat...there isn’t really a lot of things interesting about--”

Minho squatted down, sweeping something off of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had put it in your hair that you had realized he had taken one of the cherry blossoms from your tree to tuck it behind your ear. His head titled slightly as he admired the decoration, fingers lingering by the side of your cheek for a moment.

“I disagree.” He hushed, barely saying the words louder than a whisper. “Even though you you tent to get yourself into...situations--not that I mind anyway, you are special. Hell, and I haven’t even known you that long. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

Had it been socially acceptable, you would’ve kissed him right then and there.

If only it were that easy.

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Chapter 25

There Blaze was, standing, simple, cuts on his face and that little scar on his eyebrow twitching. The campfire illuminated his eyes with the flames, creating that brazen fire that he had gotten his name from.

Bomi knew him well. In fact, she thought she had known him better than most--a fact which she selfishly kept to herself. Blaze was everything she had known for the past year or so, and the time had interwoven their paths in ways that she had never expected. Before her was a person who knew her too, perhaps better than she knew herself.

Blaze’s callused hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing over her own battle scars.

“If you’ll not have me, please know Princess, you are the strongest warrior, bravest leader, and wisest friend that I have had the pleasure of knowing. I’ll stay by your side until I breathe my last breath.”

With a shaking hand, Bomi took Blaze’s hand resting on her cheek. She memorized the way that his skin felt on hers, making a million silent wishes that she knew would never come true.

“You and I, we both know that fate would have other plans for us...I’m sorry.”

Bomi turned from the warmth of the campfire, and the way that his eyes held hers.��

She wished a million wishes, and he was nearly every one one of them.

127 notes · View notes

gowoshusoul · 3 years

Text

Fanmade Chaos Insurgency Item: Grandmother’s Ring

(TW: themes of suicide, mentioned/implied domestic violence)

Item: Grandmother’s Ring

Size: Size 8

Type: A wedding ring of unknown era

Living: No

Sentient: No

Potential/current hazards: Can induce madness, can cause death

Location: Base Five

Reported Anomaly: Mind altering cognitohazard

USAGE

The Insurgency currently has no use for Grandmother’s Ring.

REPORT

Grandmother’s name is an ornate, diamond Victorian wedding ring. It was a family heirloom before being collected by the Insurgency. While it appears to be nothing out of the ordinary, there are multiple written testimonies of its anomalous properties. Grandmother’s Ring should be kept in a standard felt ring box and should not be worn by anyone under any circumstances.

If a married person assigned female at birth puts the ring on, they will be driven to madness. If a person assigned female at birth is not married, the ring will have no effect.

If a person assigned male at birth puts the ring on, they will be strangled by an unseen force.

The entity attached to the ring cannot be seen by anyone not wearing the ring and cannot be captured by cameras. Our only knowledge about the entity is from first-person accounts and interviews have proved unsuccessful.

A picture of Grandmother’s ring before it was put in storage.

ADDENDA

Below are relative journal entries written by the last person to wear Grandmother’s ring. Her skeleton was found with the ring still on its finger. Skeleton has been collected for testing.

7/17/1841

I’m to be married in a week's time. My dress was my mothers, though certain alterations had to be made for it to fit my figure. Ma was always a small thing. Petite and fragile, she preached that men would love me for my shape. For all the soft parts of me waiting to be slept on and hugged and loved. I would keep my husband warm at night, she told me. Her words ring true as my beloved Harry tells me I have more to love than the average woman and he loves me well. He spoils me more than I think I deserve, and I pay him back in poetry. He loves me, and he’ll love me more in my mother’s dress. White, floor length, modest with frills around the wrist and beading from foot to breast. My veil will be my own. My ring has been in the family for so long that we’ve forgotten the name of the woman that once wore it. I’m honored to wear it, and glad my sister declined to fight me for it. She doesn't wish to marry, she said. Rather, she fancies planting a garden with a close friend of hers. They can eat the fruits of their labor and that will be enough for them. I’m thankful for her decision. For the ring.

7/24/1841

It’s the morning of. From the moment I awoke, my hands trembled with excitement. They still did as my sister Adelia dressed my hair. She helped me in the dress and behind me I saw her eyes full of tears in the mirror. Behind her, I saw a flash of white in the corner of my vision. I’ve come to accept that I’ll meet the same mad end as my mother. Adelia will as well, but today is not one for lamenting the inevitable. Even if I’m to forget this day in my old age, I will enjoy it. I will revel in it for as long as it remains in my memory, and I will cherish my Harry long after I’ve forgotten his name. We have a love that transcends madness and forgetfulness. When we are old and decrepit, we will hold hands on our deathbeds and go together, neither of us willing to go alone. I’ve found a man I can face death with. No matter what greets us on the other side, we won’t be lonely.

7/25/1841

Last night was the greatest of my life. Even now, the next morning, my head is light and airy, my chest full of suppressed giggles as I awoke to his loving face on the pillow beside mine. There’s no feeling to compete with that of waking to see his face, to hear his gentle snoring as I sneak out of bed to write my love. Should someone one day in the future read my diary, know that there is love for you. Pure, untouched love you can never imagine before you feel it. It doesn’t happen fast. It isn’t like falling. It’s like sinking into a comfortable bed and having a blanket lovingly tucked around your shoulders. It’s a feeling of utter safety, of waking up on an overcast day with the gentle pattering of rain against the grass. You know you have nothing to do that day. You revel in the warmth until you realize the blanket wrapped around your shoulders are the arms of your beloved. You will feel love like this, too. All you have to do is give it the time to flower.

7/27/1841

I never expected the madness to grip me so quickly. I awoke to the sight of Harry’s dark beard against the white silk pillow cases. At the foot of my bed, however, I saw a woman. Her hair was the color of straw, her eyes white and tearful. She stared through me, into something I can’t understand and spoke to me. Fear not. You are in danger, she said, and I am here to protect you. I whispered, so that I wouldn’t wake my beloved Harry, and asked her what danger I could be in. She wept into her palms. Poor girl, she said, you never could have known. I was frightened, so I turned to Harry and buried myself in his arms. I’m not sure when she left, as my head was in my beloved Harry’s chest. I listened to his heart until he woke. When I lifted my head, she was gone.

7/30/1841

I see her in my sleep. The weeping woman dresses in white and veiled with sheer lace. Out of the corners of my eyes, hiding behind my Harry. She sits at my dinner table and weeps in my bed. She warns me against my marriage and I tell her I won’t leave. Harry exudes love and passion. He wraps his arms around my waist and leans his weary head against my shoulder while I cook. I sit in his lap as I read and she sits across the room from me. She can’t see our love, or she chooses to look through it. I assure her I’m safe. I am loved, but every time she takes to drying her cheeks and telling me, one day you’ll understand. One day you’ll know. But I know now the love I feel. The safety of Harry’s strong arms and will. He’ll let no harm come my way.

8/12/1841

I had an awful dream last night. It started at my wedding, though it wasn’t really my own. The man standing before me was not my Harry. He was a tough, rugged man with eyes of blue and hair of brown. It was curly and tousled. He smiled with his teeth bared and I woke as he slipped my ring onto his finger. As I look down at it now, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and the image of that man in my head. One look from my beloved Harry banishes any thought of him. However frightening that man was, my beloved is infinitely more comforting. He is safety and warmth personified.

8/20/1841

She comes to me daily with her eyes red from drying tears. He doesn’t love you, she says, but I know she’s lying. I argue with her in the dead of night when I’m able to slip from my bed and join her on the porch. I don’t want my voice to wake Harry. She stood by the steps as I sat in my rocking chair. I told her Harry loves me, that he means no harm, but she won’t be swayed. She shakes her blond head and insists, Time will tell. I sit with her on my loneliest of nights, when Harry’s too tired from work to keep his eyes open after dinner. She reveals nothing of her life, but asks me about mine. I readily tell her. I try to comfort her. I tell her how lovely Harry was during our courting, how patient and gentle and kind he was. She hears none of it.

8/26/1841

I’m teaching myself to ignore her, though I hear her heels on my wooden floor in the dead of night. Back and forth down the hall, always stalling by the bedroom door but never barging in. She seems to have learned to respect my boundaries. I contemplate taking the ring off, though I fear hurting my beloved Harry’s feelings. I shall keep it on, as a testament to my love and a promise to her that Harry can be trusted. She whispers to me that my mother thought the same thing as my father. That she saw the same light and felt the same comfort in her own husband. But those men are different from my beloved. I tell her she has no reason to doubt him, that it’s unfair to judge him for the acts of men that have come and gone. She won’t hear me.

8/27/1842

I had another horrible nightmare and woke to a cold, empty bed. The same man as before was in the dream. The same ring was on my finger. He took me by my hand and led me to bed. I refuses to lie with him and his face twisted with terrible anger. He took my hips in his wide hands and I relented. In spite of his anger, there was a warmth to him. A light that shines through his blackened soul and gave me hope that he might one day change. As my dress slipped from my shoulders, the dream ended. She was waiting for me by the door. Her cheeks were wet with tears. I was like you once, she said, men never change. I told her my Harry has nothing to change. He is pure and handsome and kind. She shook her head and left me.

9/10/1841

He plagues me nightly. Every time I lay my head down, he’s waiting for me. With every night, he looks more and more like my beloved. His hair straightened and turned black. He shouts with a voice like thunder and crashes glass against the wall when I try to comfort him. I tell him I love him. He takes the words out of my mouth. Every morning, she’s waiting for me. By the door, on the porch; an apparition following me every step of my life. That was my ring, she says, but I’d already guessed that. I asked her who she was, and she replied: It doesn't matter. I’m someone else now, and I can protect you. I need no protection, I tell her, but she doesn’t hear me.

9/14/1841

My paranoia controls me. I finally told Harry about the woman and the dreams. He wrapped me up in his arms and kissed my hair. It’s okay, he says I’ll protect you. I’ll love you in sanity and madness alike. I’ll chase the man from your dreams and the woman from your visions. I still dream of him. I still see her, but I am loved. That’s all that matters.

9/20/1841

My beloved Harry’s support is something I never could have imagined. When I tell him where I see the woman, he stands in front of her and blocks her from my vision. He saves me the grief of having to interact with her. She still plagues me, though she never speaks. She watches with worried eyes as Harry dips me to give me a kiss, as his beard tickles my neck with his kisses. He protects me from her, just like he said.

10/1/1841

I’m still shaken from last night’s dream. Never in my life have I seen something so horrid, a scene so disgusting. I never would have thought my mind capable of conjuring such offensive visions. I awoke with tears and my beloved was there to hold me, to whisper into my hair that he has me, that I’m okay. And I was okay, though my hands still tremble as I write before bed.

I dreamt of the same man. This time, though, there was something wrong with him. I was timid and small, made to feel smaller by his oppressive figure. I was backed against a wall. There were hands around my throat. My lungs burned. My lips were numb as I dug my nails into his arms. As my vision faded, I looked at him one last time to find that it was my beloved Harry. I woke to see his face on the pillow next to mine. He left a bitter taste in my mouth.

10/2/1841

I’ve had enough. I confronted the woman, cornered her in my own home as her ghostly figure passed through my walls. I asked her who she was and she burst into tears. I noticed the bruises on her neck for the first time and she admitted to me, I am the Angel of Death. I come to you as I came to your mother and your mother’s mother, to warn you of the evil that lurks in every man’s heart and carry you away from their cruelty. I shouted at her, My Harry has no blackness in his heart. He is the off-white pages of my girlhood diary where I lamented my lack of love, where I professed my jealousy for my friends as they found love I vyed for. She shook her head, but I made her listen. My beloved Harry is good and pure. He loves me as I love him. He protects me against my madness, about the madness she brought onto me. I cursed her for my undoing. For my nightmares. For the voices that live between my ears and steal my thoughts from my head. I cursed her for daring to put such a horrible image in my head and I cursed her because I’ll never forget it. Harry heard the commotion and came to collect me. Now he lays his head on my thighs as I write. I’m infinitely thankful for him.

10/21/1842

My nightly horrors have grown too much to bear. Every night, Harry strangles me. I wake gasping for breath with tears on my cheeks. Tears that he dutifully wipes away, though I’ve learned to flinch from his touch. He never raises a hand to me, never speaks a harsh word to me. He’s always worried, always kind. He is a light in my life, one threatened to be snuffed out by the Angel’s cruel visions of the past. I confronted her again, once again on the porch so that I might not disturb my love. I asked her why she tortures me, and she tells me again that she’s protecting me. From what? I asked. She shook her head. You still don’t see it, she said. I don’t. I never will, because my beloved is not her husband. He is not my father nor my grandfather. He is a good, patient man, and she has no right to punish me for having a love purer than hers. My love is right, I said, and yours was wrong. My heart aches for you, but I have a life to live. I have love to dive into and comfort to feel. I don’t deserve to be driven mad like my mother and my mother’s mother. She shakes her head. She doesn’t hear me.

12/1/1841

We thought the delusion was genetic. We thought the woman mom saw in her dreams and out of the corner of her eye was a symptom of living in such an old home. Ma grew up on stories about a fair-skinned woman roaming the halls lamenting for her short life. This was before mom ever saw her. When grandma was still alive and had the mind to tell stories of her youth. She said the woman first appeared before her on her wedding day. There was an unfamiliar face in the crowd. The woman with blond hair and white eyes was crying in a church pew next to my great-grandmother, who warned her nonbelieving child of what she called the wedding ghost. I thought she was lying or crazy. I should have known better than to doubt three generations of women seeing the same apparition. I’m killing myself tomorrow to rid myself of her. Her fear and delusions, her unending scare tactics and the wailing in the middle of the night. She hovers behind my husband, my beloved Harry, and whispers over his shoulder all the horrible things he might do to me. The horrible things he wants to do to me. She never lies, she says, she never will. She claims she knows what’s best for me, but I know best. I’ve lived in my head longer than she has. I’ll put an end to her torture. I’ll die with the ring on my finger and hide my body so that no one else should be hurt the way she hurt me. She tells me she’ll accompany me in death, that she’ll carry me to somewhere better.

I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her. I curse her.

I curse her. I pray that my body is too heavy for her arms, that she might be tied down to my corpse, that my rotting face will torture her as she’s tortured me with Harry’s.

My love, I’m sorry. It’s too much to bear.

#scp #scp foundation #scp canon #chaos insurgency #fanmade scp #chaos insurgency item #scp fanfiction #?#i'm trying my best to post concistently #and get an actual following #it aint much #but it's hard work #mainly because i'm trying not to spam tags for attention #that shit's irritating #but boy is it tempting

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melanielocke · 3 years

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You'll be in my Heart

Alastair has been sleeping poorly, so when he's awake at night and the babies start crying, he might as well get up and sing them back to sleep.

Song is You'll be in my Heart from Tarzan

I did a lot of research into a baby's development and how to feed your child in the 1900s for this

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Alastair had been a poor sleeper for as long as he could remember. In between nightmares, irregular patrols and struggling to feel safe enough to asleep, it wasn’t that uncommon for him to lie awake at night, unable to go back to sleep. He’d found few remedies so far. Thomas could help him through the nightmares, but he wasn’t here tonight. Thomas had started looking for an apartment of his own, and Alastair had considered moving in with him when he found one, but he did worry it might be a bit soon in their relationship. At the very least, Thomas’ own apartment would give them some much needed privacy.

But there was one more reason Alastair would rather stay here for now. His mother had given birth a couple of weeks ago, and to everyone’s surprise she had twins. A boy and a girl. After fighting over baby names for months with Cordelia, the three of them had settled on Rostam and Shadi, choosing Persian names for the babies rather than English ones. Shadi was a sound sleeper so far, didn’t cry often. Rostam on the other hand, kept his mother awake at night. She was getting exhausted, Alastair could tell, and so he’d promised he would get up when the babies cried. Now his mother only had to wake up every three hours to feed the babies since he couldn’t do that and his mother didn’t trust any of the alternatives for breast milk.

The soft crying didn’t surprise him anymore at this point. The babies would get louder as they grew, and Alastair hoped he’d be able to take that. Loud noises were always something he’d struggled with. It was one of the reasons why he’d chosen spears as his primary weapon, it meant he could keep a bit more distance from the demons. But even if it was difficult, he’d be there. He’d always be there for his little brother and sister.

He got out of bed and to the nursery. It was Rostam, as it usually was. He was fairly certain his mother had fed the babies less than an hour ago, he’d been awake then too, so that wasn’t it. Of course, sometimes babies just needed to be held and Rostam loved the warmth and safety of Alastair’s arms.

His nightshirt was unbuttoned at the top, leaving some skin bare. His mother had told him babies like to make skin contact and that it helped with the bonding. Alastair knew he could not quite be a father, but he was the closest thing the babies would have to a father. He was determined not to disappoint, but had to admit he was scared. What if he wasn’t be enough? What if he was just like his father?

Alastair took Rostam out of the baby bed and gently rocked him. He was still crying, but he was getting softer. The way the babies cried often made him want to drop whatever he was doing and rush to them and hold them until they were alright. But what calmed the twins the most was when he sang to them.

Alastair hadn’t sung in years. He’d loved to sing and play the piano when he was a child, but at some point he’d lost that joy and playing had become too painful, too overwhelming, reminding him of the childhood he’d lost. Rostam and Shadi had brought back his love for music, and he and Thomas had written a lullaby together. Alastair truly did not understand why Thomas was so shy about the songs he wrote, they were marvelous.

Rostam did not stop crying, and Shadi had woken up as well. Alastair hoped his singing wouldn’t wake his mother, or Cordelia, but at this point it was the only thing that would help Rostam calm down.

Come stop your crying it will be alright. Just take my hand hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry .

Rostam stopped crying, and stared at him with his big dark eyes. Both the babies had them, a trait they shared with Cordelia and Alastair, but with neither of their parents. Alastair had hated those eyes on himself, once. He’d wished he had blue eyes like his father, or even the light brown eyes his mother had. But now he was glad the babies looked like him and Cordelia, like their mother. They were perfect, and beautiful, and didn’t resemble their father much at all. And Alastair knew it was cruel to think such things, but he truly believed the babies were lucky their father was gone.

Even if Alastair was still struggling to come to term with the loss. Thomas was right, it was much harder to lose someone you were on bad terms with. It took his chance to find closure. Alastair knew there was no way he could have made things right with his father, there were things that could not be forgiven, but he wished he could have confronted him. He would have lashed out at his father, he would have shown him, this is what you made me. He would finally have confronted him with the damage he’d done. And now he never could.

For one so small you seem so strong. My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm. This bond between us can't be broken. I will be here don't you cry.

Rostam really was small. Alastair did not have much experience with babies, he didn’t remember Cordelia being a baby and had only seen other people’s babies in passing. He’d been surprised how small the newborns were, even if they weren’t premature. According to brother Zachariah, or Jem, as he’d been trying to call him, that was not so common for twins, and Sona was very lucky to have gotten through her pregnancy so well. Still, having the babies had been hard on her and she needed to rest as much as she could.

'Cause you'll be in my heart Yes, you'll be in my heart From this day on Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart No matter what they say You'll be here in my heart, always

‘Alastair, is that you?’

Alastair would recognize his sister’s voice anywhere. Cordelia had moved back in after coming home from Paris. She and James were separating, and the enchanted bracelet James had worn was a decent enough reason to separate without ruining her reputation. Both Cordelia and James needed time, and as far as Alastair was concerned, seventeen was far too young to be married. Not that he knew what the right age was. He would never be married, after all. It had become easier for his mother to accept that now that she knew he liked men. Before, she’d doubted his insistence, worrying that he isolated himself too much and would be unhappy, but now she knew he wasn’t alone at all, he had Thomas. He finally had friends, a partner who loved him and treated him well, and a closer bond with his family than he’d had in a long time.

‘Rostam was crying,’ Alastair said. ‘I was awake anyway.’

Cordelia came to sit down next to him, and took Shadi, who was also awake and had begun sobbing softly, out of her bed. That was the difficult thing with twins, you had to divide your attention, and although Shadi was generally quieter than her brother, she didn’t like it when he got all the attention.

‘I never thought much about having babies on my own,’ Cordelia said. ‘But we’ll probably have our hands full with these two for the coming years. ’

‘No regrets about leaving James?’ Alastair asked.

‘I loved him so much,’ Cordelia said. ‘Knowing he didn’t feel the same way. And I know now that it was because of the bracelet and everything that he was so cold. But Paris did give me some distance, some time to sort everything out. As you said, unrequited love doesn’t last forever. Besides, I think I like someone else now.’

Alastair looked at her. ‘Please, please tell me it’s not Matthew Fairchild.’

‘It’s not Matthew,’ Cordelia said, gently rocking Shadi in her arms. ‘It’s Lucie. I’m not sure exactly what’s going with her and Jesse. He’s still figuring out this whole being alive thing, and Lucie thinks maybe a friendship would be better for them than romance, especially so young.’

‘Really? Well, it would be an improvement,’ Alastair said, turning to the baby in his arms. ‘Wouldn’t it, moosh moosh-am?’

Little mouse. Alastair had taken to calling the twins that. It was what Cordelia called her sword, but it was far more fitting for the babies.

‘Don’t involve Rostam in this,’ Cordelia said.

‘He’s three weeks old. He doesn’t understand a word I’m saying,’ Alastair.

‘I’m glad to hear you singing again,’ Cordelia said, changing the subject. ‘I missed that.’

‘Me too,’ Alastair said. ‘For so long, I just couldn’t, knowing it wasn’t like it used to be. Knowing I’d be mocked for singing. But the babies should get to go to sleep with a lullaby, shouldn’t they? Thomas helped me write this one.’

‘Can you sing some more?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Thomas did write a second part, but he’s not so sure about it yet.’

Why can't they understand the way we feel They just don't trust what they can't explain. I know we're different but deep inside us We're not that different at all And you'll be in my heart Yes, you'll be in my heart From this day on Now and forever more

‘That was beautiful. Perhaps Thomas is insecure about the second part because it also describes how he feels about you,’ Cordelia said. ‘Oh look, Shadi’s asleep again.’

‘Rostam too. Let’s put them to bed before they wake up again.’

Alastair and Cordelia put the babies back in their beds, tucking them under the blankets. In some months, they would be putting some toys and stuffed animals with them, but at three weeks they were still a bit to young. Alastair had done a lot of research about a baby’s development and apparently babies couldn’t grip anything until they were about three months.

‘Sorry I woke you up,’ Alastair said.

‘You haven’t been sleeping at all, have you?’ Cordelia asked.

‘It remains a struggle,’ Alastair said. ‘Thomas is sleeping over tomorrow night. Usually that helps me feel safe enough to sleep. I’m getting better, Layla. I’ve been speaking to brother- to Jem. I’ll be alright.’

‘You’re singing again,’ Cordelia said. ‘That’s a good sign. I’m glad to be back home. Even if the babies keep everyone up at night.’

‘They’re probably going to get worse,’ Alastair said. ‘They’re not yet old enough to scream very loud.’

‘I guess then my sleep schedule can match yours,’ Cordelia said. ‘Make sure to take enough breaks, go to Kamala or the Lightwoods when you want to. We can handle the babies.’

‘I will,’ Alastair said. ‘Good night, Layla joon.’

‘Good night, dâdâsh,’ Cordelia said. ‘If the babies wake again, I’ll go. Please get some sleep.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Carstairs siblings #baby Carstairs #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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Hiding in Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 Final Chapter.

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies?

RATING: General Audience

NOTE: final chapter

Loki scoured his desks and shelves for those letters. When the knock came to his door, he gave a nod to Tatianna to open it. The maid, who had been working diligently with him in search of said letters, rushed over to check it was who she had been sent for. “The Postmaster, Lord Johan, Your Highness.” She introduced as the Postmaster came in.

“Lord Johan.” The Postmaster bowed. “Prince Loki, I came as soon as I could.” “Thank you.”

“How can I assist you, Your Highness.” “My brother has informed me that three letters were brought to my rooms over a period of months from the Ljósáfar palace.”

The Postmaster’s eyes widened. “You did receive such, Your Highness. I organised them for your rooms myself as I do all the mail for your family. They even had the name of the sender on them, the Princess Raven of Alfheim. Such fine writing she has too. Artistic and neat.”

Loki nodded and took little heed of the statement, It was well-known that the Postmaster was a graphophile, he supposed a few millennia of looking at different handwriting would turn almost anyone into one.

“I have never received them.” The Postmaster’s mouth opened to speak. “I am not, for one moment, suggesting you to be telling me falsities, Lord Johan, I know of the due care you put into your work but also I know you have entirely no reason to lie.��

“On two of the three occasions, they came alongside other post. On the final one, it did not and I ensured they all made their way to your rooms. Because of their importance, I placed them in the centre of your desk rather than the usual place.” Loki’s eyes widened and he looked at his desk, which was kept clean for when it was needed for work matters but there was nothing on it at present. “It begs the question then, where did they go, and why would anyone do such a thing as to move them?” He looked at Tatianna as he spoke. The maid shook her head slightly. Loki did not suspect his maid. He questioned her for a moment upon returning to his rooms, asking her if she recalled such letters but she stated that she did not. He had no reason to suspect her, she did not have anything to gain from dishonesty and she had even been readying the rooms in case Raven was to be joining Loki in them. She had tidied shelves in case she too was a reader and had books to join Loki’s. She had gone through each and every item of clothing of his that she could find, discarding the damaged, repairing others making room for the new princess. If anything, Loki suspected she was half excited to have a woman to assist tending to. She loved fashion and hair meaning having a princess to assist with events would undoubtedly be something pleasant for her. “Tatianna, have you tried behind those scrolls?”

“No, Your Highness, I will try now.” She darted off to do that. “Do not forget, Your Highness, Her Majesty insists you turn up for dinner. Missing lunch was unacceptable, missing dinner is...well…” “Let me guess, if I do not turn up, I will have Gungnir force me to turn up?”

“Something to that effect.”

Loki rolled his eyes at his parents’ attempts at threats. “Very well, you keep searching.” She nodded and did so. “Where in the realms are they?” Loki muttered to himself. * The prelude to the dinner did not fair as badly as Loki had worried that it would. For most of it, he spoke with the Ljósáfar princes, all of whom seemed amiable in their own ways, but what he did notice was his mother looking worriedly at him, though he barely acknowledged her unless she spoke to him directly as he did not want to embarrass his family and that there was no sign of Raven.

When dinner time arrived, he began to feel insulted that she had been able to avoid it while he was being forced to endure it. The fact that it was a public dinner made it all the worse. The whole realm would hear the announcement of the forthcoming wedding and she was not even present. What also caught his attention was the Vanir that Thor was clearly speaking within an intimate manner before the meal but who was sat down separately for the meal. He recognised her. She was of good personality but little on looks but she was from a powerful house and Asgard’s tie to Vanaheim had to remain strong so he suspected that she would be announced as Thor’s betrothed as soon as Loki’s marriage ribbon was tied. Raven was of far better looks and he knew from her knowledge of literature that she at least was not without a mind but he still felt angered by it all.

Thinking in his own mind, he heard nothing of the talk around him. It was only when he noticed a severely tense atmosphere around him that Loki got pulled from his thoughts as a shadow came into view beside him. At first, he thought the tense atmosphere was from Raven, who finally decided to grave them with her presence but after a moment, seeing her meek demeanour, he noticed she was the subject of the tense atmosphere, not the instigator. Sitting beside him, she did not even try to look at him or engage him in any manner.

“It’s good to see at least that your brothers and parents disapprove of your actions,” Loki growled lowly to her as the noise around them increased, allowing them some privacy to speak.

“My parents do not care in the slightest about that. They were more worried about me embarrassing them by learning to sew and such than anything. They were simply glad that I was no longer there being of age and unmarried.” She stated in a monotone that still seemed to seep sadness.

Loki frowned slightly. “So what has them all looking at you as though you are a disgrace?” His curiosity got the better of him.

“I should not be in public at present. It’s disgraceful. They disagree with your parents insisting that this dinner go ahead, they felt it should have been postponed.”

“I am very much inclined to agree with that sentiment. Though, I doubt our reasonings are the same, are they?”

“I very much doubt it.” She toyed with her hands.

Loki watched the action carefully, realising she had been doing so with nervousness and anxiety clearly for at least the day if not longer from the marks on them. “You will pull the skin off if you keep doing that.” She stopped and put her hands to her side. “I’m curious, what happened to the woman that stormed my room today and called me a...was it a pretentious prick?” Raven’s eyes widened and she looked around at her parents, praying to every Norn that they had not heard.

Loki studied her reaction. Thor’s and his mother’s words coming to the fore of his mind. They were both right, he didn’t like this more than he disliked a woman that would snap back. He didn’t like being called a pretentious prick but the silent and moping creature next to him was a thousand times worse. “So, you have left two things unanswered, how you shamed them enough to want them to call off this dinner announcement and where you hid the woman that barged into my rooms?” Raven said nothing for a moment, her tongue toying with her teeth as she considered her answer. “I should not have done that and I sincerely apologise for having done what I did to…”

“Norns, stop. I don’t want to hear it. Just answer my questions.” Loki hissed.

“Because I am bleeding.” She said nothing more and waited for his reaction, awaiting disgust.

Loki did not comprehend as to what she was referring to for a moment. He was going to insist that she head to the hospital wing for herself when it dawned on him what she was referring to. In his own mind, he thought to make a comment about it explaining her attitude towards him but he knew that was a cheap excuse. She had stated several times she was told off by her parents for being sarcastic and outspoken. Even when they were waiting for dinner to begin, her brothers had made comments on her behaviour being seeing as unlike other Ljósáfar women. “I am failing to see how that affects things. I am aware it is not an overly pleasant situation for a female but there are surely some things that can assist?” Raven gave a small smile at his innocence to the situation. “In Alfheim, high-born women are not seen while bleeding, or pregnant, or not until she is a certain date past childbirth, it’s seen as shameful and dirty.” “But they are basic parts of being female.” Loki didn’t even think over his reply, it came straight out of his mouth before he could process it. He looked at her, seeing the agreement in her eyes making him realise her earlier words on trying to see if she could be forced to continue such a life and how much they actually meant. Suddenly, he realised there was some sense to her actions. Insane as they were. He knew his and Thor’s lives were restricted by their positions in society, but what Raven was describing was nothing short of a form of imprisonment to him. “Obviously, it is different here. Mother did not retire from court until she was almost due my brother and myself.” He didn’t know why he used that example, she made it clear she did not like the idea of even having children but he wanted to settle her some bit.

Raven merely nodded.

As Loki was going to ask her about the letters, Odin rose to his feet silencing the room. He spoke on and on of the honour of hosting the Light Elves, the sharing of ancient magical knowledge and other such things, how they have been allies through several wars, nothing, of course, on the ones they were adversaries and other such words. No one spoke through the Allfather and when he ceased that speech, there was a cheer and raising of cups and tankards. When he spoke of the marriage, Loki gave a slight nod, as would be expected, while Raven looked around in a manner that she hoped offended no one yet knew it would offend her family terribly. When another cheer was made and another drink was taken, the talking began in earnest.

Raven seemed to think to do nothing but swirl the contents of the cup.

“Have you had mead before?” Loki found himself talking to her both out of boredom and curiosity.

Raven shook her head. “It’s nice, though.” She kept her voice down.

Loki pursed his lips. “Could the woman from today who sassed me please come out? Is there a button that activates her or is it only until a certain time of day, then at night, this meek creature emerges?” Raven’s eyes flickered toward her father, which Loki caught. “Ah, that explains things.” He leant closer causing her to shift slightly in her seat. “As of tonight, you realise you are supposed to adhere to Aesir norms, not Ljósáfar ones. Now, I need to discuss a matter with you.”

“Regarding?” “Some letters.” Raven frowned at him. “It was brought to my attention today that you sent letters to me before this...charade.” Raven looked at him suspiciously. “I did. Three.”

“Yes, Thor mentioned and the Postmaster confirmed.”

“And going by your reaction, you doubted this?” “I never received them.” Raven could not help pursing her lips in disbelief.

“I did not.” “You leave all of your post on that platter, you never miss anything. I saw that myself.” Loki studied her carefully, seeing the disbelief in her eyes. “You think I discarded them without reading?” “You read everything, this I know.” “I never received them.” He stared straight back at her, his rich green eyes willing her to see he was being truthful. “The Postmaster placed them on my desk but I never got them.”

“All three escaped your notice?”

“It appears they did.” “One I would believe, three, I am sceptical.”

“So was I when I heard such for the exact same reason,” Loki admitted. “Did you move them when you came?” “I...They would not have still been there by the time I came.”

“But you did not see them in the room, since you organised things in it?” “No, you’re not listening, they would not have still been in existence. I used paper made with Cat’s Claw oil, meaning…” “It dissolves within a month,” Loki completed. “Why, though?”

Raven nodded. “Yes, I did not want private correspondence with headed paper to be at risk of forgery, so I use that oil. Don’t you?” “I will now.” Loki could not fault her logic. If anything, he was embarrassed he had not thought of it. “What did you write?”

“Nothing too taxing. What were the best books to understand Aesir court and history best? I had heard you were an avid reader, so who you enjoyed? What other hobbies you had, nothing too intimate. The first and second were similar as I thought you had not received the first for whatever reason. The last was a tad more abrupt. Then I stopped trying.” She toyed with her hands again.

“You’re damaging your skin.” Loki admonished. “I am sorry your letters went unanswered. I don’t know what happened to them, I will find out but I did not ignore them.” “I believe you.”

Loki could see she meant it. “If I had seen them…”

“We could be dealing with a different situation right now. Not that it excuses my actions.”

Loki nodded slightly.

“I am sorry for what happened. I truly wish I had not done such. But thank you for your concern also.”

“Concern?”

“When I told you I would be leaving your service and I seemed upset, even though you were upset, you were adamant that if I was being mistreated, I could tell you. Even when you felt terrible for yourself, you showed concern for me, even when you did not like me. I think it showed me so much about you.” She gave a small smile. “Even if you think little of me as I truly am.”

Loki was going to challenge that but he saw the slight smirk and playful glint in her eye. “Norns, you switch between two different demeanours faster than the Bifrost travels realms. It will be exhausting to keep up with.” “I think you forget that I know what you are like. We will be suffering together.”

Loki chuckled to himself, thinking that this situation may not be entirely terrible if they tried. Seeing the hopeful look on Raven’s face, he suspected with some work, perhaps they could.

Raven found herself looking at a certain someone staring at her disapprovingly in the crowded room. She took a moment to realise just who it was before giving the other woman a raised brow. For her part, the other woman seemed genuinely startled as to the Light Elf she had previously spoken down to. With Loki’s interest in the princess and the princess knowing full well who she was and what she had said, she knew there was no manner to get into her good graces under false pretences but also that the Light Elf knew full well about everything and could ensure she kept a close eye on such, so she looked at her food again.

#Loki #others #submission #submitted fic #chapter 12 #wolfpawn #hiding in plain sight

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one80seven · 4 years

Text

Just a Coincidence

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

category: pure fluff

summary: friends to lovers, but with a soulmate au twist!

warnings: 10 year age gap (reader is 27 and spence is 37), emily swears like once

a/n: i’ll probably end up deleting this because it’s my first on here and i’m terrified, but if anyone likes it... part 2? also feel free to leave ideas/requests in my inbox, i’m always needing something to write about!

a/n 2: woah thank you everyone for the love on this <3 i was absolutely NOT expecting for it to get even the slightest bit of attention on this! a part two is maybe coming? still unsure but i certainly have ideas!

also, not my gif!

When your mother told you that your soulmate’s initials would appear on your left wrist at exactly 7:30am on your twenty-seventh birthday, you’d thought she had gone insane. But here you were, in the elevator heading up to the BAU, your fingers dancing over the small magenta letters. SR.

Of course, you briefly wondered if your supposed soulmate was the resident genius, Spencer Reid. He also happened to be your best friend, and because of that, you willed away any thoughts of it being him and forced yourself to believe that it was nothing but an odd coincidence. Besides, Spencer was ten years older than you, and although you’d never seen the initials on his wrist, you doubted they were yours. They couldn’t be.

The elevator’s ding drew you out of your thoughts and you quickly tugged your sleeve down, hiding what you knew everyone was going to ask you about. Maybe you’d just tell them that you didn’t have a soulmate after all, or maybe tell them that they were DM or EP just to mess with them. Whatever the case, there was absolutely no way you were going to let them know the true letters.

However, your plan met it’s end the minute a certain bubbly technical analyst was dragging you down the hall. You nearly tripped because of the force, awkwardly smiling at a few agents who passed by you on your way to her cave.

“Penelope, what-“

She shushed you, pulling you into the small office and shutting the door behind the two of you. Before you could stop her, she had a vice-like grip on your arm, pushing your sleeve up.

“S-R?” she mumbled, eyebrows knitted together as she undoubtedly went through a roll index in her mind. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she looked up at you with nothing short of a mischievous smile. “My oh my, it must be Boy Wonder!”

“What must be me?”

You felt your soul leave your body at the sound of his voice, tugging your arm away from her. You stared daggers at her, convincing her to not say a word about her discovery as the doctor looked at you with a puzzled expression.

“Nothing, Spence,” you smiled. He narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it.

“Okay...well, uh...” he cleared his throat, “Happy birthday, Girl Genius.”

You smiled at the nickname, something he called you often. Morgan was the root of it, joking about how you were just the younger, female version of Spencer. The whole team, and eventually Spencer, had adopted it as well. It also led to Penelope drawing a short comic, appropriately titled Boy and Girl Genius, which earned a nice little spot on your fridge.

“Thank you, Spence.”

You lightly pushed past him, groaning at the very long day ahead of you.

“C’mon, you gotta tell me!” Emily begged for the hundredth time that day, this time sitting on your desk, directly on top of the paperwork you needed to get done.

“Em, I don’t have any initials.”

“That’s bullshit. Show me, then!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of the exact person you didn’t want to know about them. Spencer.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, slight concern laced in his voice as he moved from his desk to stand by your own. Before you could lie to him, Emily made a move for your arm, turning your wrist over.

“Liar! They’re...” she trailed off, a small smile on her face. You watched in horror as Spencer peered over as well, mouth falling open ever so slightly at what he saw. Emily’s eyes darted between the two of you, trying to hide the hopeful grin on her face in fear you’d slap it off of her.

“It’s just a coincidence!” you exclaimed. The two of them stared at you, their gaze feeling like it was going to set you on fire right then and there.

“This is a lovely conversation, guys, but I just remembered that Garcia mentioned getting lunch. Bye!” You made a beeline for Penelope’s office, ignoring Emily’s desperate calls to you.

“Oh sweets, what happened?” Penelope worriedly asked as you hurried into her office, falling into the chair next to her.

“Spencer saw them...so did Emily.” you told her, exasperated and tired. You ignored the small smile that played on her lips.

“Well, I have just the cure!” She spun her chair, digging around in her bag before pulling out a tin. You opened the tin, the smell of chocolate chip cookies filling your senses, drawing a deep sigh from you.

“Made especially for you, birthday girl.”

You thanked her, munching away on cookies as you watched her type away at lightning speed. Your heart was still trying to beat out of your chest and a lump had formed in your throat, but you found temporary solace in the cookies. That was until three soft knocks on the door drew your attention from her screens, and instead onto a certain doe-eyed doctor.

“Hiya, Boy Wonder. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Penelope greeted him, stifling a giggle at the way your cheeks flushed.

“I need to steal birthday girl here, if you don’t mind.”

“She’s all yours!” she chirped, turning back to her screens with what you considered to be a just plain evil glint in her eyes. Spencer gestured for you to follow him into the hallway. You sighed as you departed with your beloved cookies.

The two of you walked down the hallway a bit before he halted, turning to you and leaning against the wall. You kept your eyes glued to the ground, afraid that if you looked at him for even a second, you’d burst.

“I wasn’t going to do this until later, but,” he paused, tugging up his sleeve and watch. “Look.”

You glanced up at him, following his eyes to his wrist. You squinted at the letters, eyes going wide with the realization of what they were. Your initials. Magenta and small, just like his on your own wrist. You carefully grabbed his arm, thumbs swiping over the mark, wondering if they’d rub off and that this was some sick joke. However, they didn’t. He let out a breathy laugh, knowing what you were trying to do.

“You sure this isn’t a tattoo?” you asked him, half joking, half not.

“Nope, it appeared about ten years ago. I didn’t think it was you until earlier...but I’m glad it is.”

You tried to hide the large grin on your face, your cheeks growing pinker by the second. Every attempt to believe that you were just dreaming or that this was just a really weird coincidence failed when he leaned down, capturing your lips in his. Your heart soared and your head went a bit fuzzy, but you didn’t care. It didn’t last long, much to your dismay, but potential lectures about fraternization didn’t exactly sound fun.

“So, can I take you out to dinner sometime then, Girl Genius? Perhaps tonight?” he asked you, grinning down at you with a smile that made your knees weak.

“Of course, Boy Genius.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer read fic #spencer reid one shot #reid fluff #reid x reader #reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #cm

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lalainajanes · 3 years

Note

17 + 43 for the prompts!! so happy to see that you're accepting prompts

Okay, these are from a list I reblogged awhile back thinking writing would be done (but then 2020 decided do continue to be 2020 - aka a series of awful awfulness). I’ve missed writing and I’m getting back into the habit so I decided to finish up a short-ish thing that was already in progress.

#17 was meeting at a party whilst drunk au and #43 was falling in love with their best friend’s partner au. But I didn’t get to drunk and I’m cheating a little bit with the definition of partner – my brain is an angst free zone these days!

That Perfect Stranger

As much as Caroline hates surprises, she does take a certain amount of joy in surprising other people. When she’d gotten an invite to Bonnie Bennett’s 50th birthday party, she’d immediately started investigating flights to New Orleans.

She hadn’t RSVP’d. Rude? Probably. Caroline had rationalized that, based on the invites (champagne cardstock embossed with a shimmer so subtle it had to be stupidly expensive), whoever was throwing the party wouldn’t skimp on food or drink, so an extra person wouldn’t be an issue.

It’s been about ten years since she’d last seen Bonnie, and she’s never visited Bon’s adopted home town.

Weaving her way through the thick crowds on the streets, carried along by the music and the energy, Caroline’s kicking herself for not making the trip sooner. She has a general idea of where she’s going, has the address memorized, but she’s content to take a meandering route.

That might be the slight buzz she already has going – either the drinks from the bars here are really heavy on the booze, or there’s something in them designed to affect vampires. She’s getting a few appreciative leers in her short metallic dress, but given the vast array of attire on display – from ratty jeans, to sparkly costumes, to the tiniest club skirts – she doesn’t feel out of place.

She might have to stay a few extra days and do some exploring.

Caroline’s not entirely sure how her oldest friend had ended up in New Orleans. They’d reconnected long after Bonnie had made the move. Bonnie’s never been one to brag though Caroline’s heard whispers from other acquaintances. Something about evil witches coming back from the dead, mortal danger, a showdown of supernatural species, then Bonnie showing up to kick ass and take names.

At the time, Caroline had still been committed to pretending to be human. She’d fled Mystic Falls when it became clear that far too many people wanted to kill her, had hitchhiked across a few states before her cash had run out in Chicago.

Luckily, she’d mastered compulsion easily. Chicago was home to all sorts of easy marks – business bros who genuinely thought hitting on a seventeen-year-old girl was a thing they should be doing. Typically, such a man’s only redeeming quality, which Caroline had been happy to take advantage of, was the lack of a limit to how much money he could withdraw from the ATM at once. It had taken a little trial and error, but she’d mastered feeding enough to sustain herself without leaving a pile of bodies behind.

She’d built up a nice little nest egg, had even gotten her first college degree. She’d optimistically sent her parent’s an invite to her graduation. Her mother hadn’t shown; her dad had. He’d just been armed with a stake and a jug of vervain.

After that, Caroline had given up on blending in.

She’d been flitting around the globe for about a decade when Bonnie had found Caroline on Instagram and sent a DM. At first, Caroline had been leery about another trap. Bonnie hadn’t been too thrilled to make Caroline a daylight ring, and she’d kept her old email address for years, hadn’t heard a peep from anyone she’d grown up with. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d replied.

Stilted text conversations got longer, more fluid. Eventually, they’d progressed to phone calls. Caroline had carefully planned their first meeting, in a city where she had connections and witches were thin on the ground.

They’d had some hard conversations on that trip. Ended up spending way too much time ugly crying indoors, considering they’d been in freaking Porto in June. They’ve made up for it in the years since.

Caroline sidesteps a pack of probable frat boys – cute, she notes idly, probably tasty – twists her head a bit to make eye contact (she’s not hungry now, but who knows how the night will go). She smiles, a little flirty, only to stop abruptly as the noise disappears as if someone had pressed the pause button.

She can still see the street behind her, jam-packed with people and lit up by streetlights and neon bar signs. In front of her, however, it’s quiet. Still. Caroline jumps when a throat clears, her head whipping around to see a man in a white tux who definitely hadn’t been there before. “What the crap?” she squeaks, fangs dropping.

His face remains smooth, not even a hint of shock or fear evident. He’s blandly handsome, nonthreatening, but she’s learned not to trust outer appearances. “Miss Caroline Forbes, correct? You’re here for Miss Bennett’s birthday?”

Warily, Caroline nods.

White tux smiles, friendly now, “Excellent; she’ll be pleased you’ve made it. Can I see you inside?”

His head tips, and Caroline almost jumps when a stone staircase freaking shimmers into view. White Tux pretends he hadn’t noticed her shock, jogging up the steps. He pulls a gleaming door open. It lacks a doorknob, is instead marked with half a shiny M (probably real gold, she decides).

He waits patiently while Caroline makes her way up the steps. She’s careful, given the fact that they’d appeared magically. Between her high heels and her short skirt, even her vampire reflexes won’t save her from humiliation should she take a fall. When she’s at the top, she peers inside curiously.

She hears music again, the clink of glasses. Laughter. “Do you need to see my invite?”

Caroline’s got it in her purse, but the man shakes his head. “Not necessary. You wouldn’t have seen me if you weren’t on the guest list. Welcome to The Abattoir. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

“Thank you,” Caroline murmurs, biting back her questions about the impressive magic this place obviously holds. No need to seem like a total yokel if she’s wrong, and cloaking gigantic buildings in the middle of a busy city is in every witch’s bag of tricks.

The lights are low, and most flat surfaces are covered in candles, lending a warm glow that bounces off ornate framed paintings and crystal chandeliers. The click of her heels is lost under the sounds of the party, louder now that she’s crossed the threshold. She follows the noise easily, walks through a set of double doors into a packed ballroom.

Caroline lifts on her toes, scanning the room, notes the party spilling out the far side, where several sets of French doors open onto what looks like expansive grounds. “Well,” she mutters, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “Bon, you’ve been keeping some secrets.”

“I have not,” Bonnie says, and Caroline whirls, narrowly managing to avoid tipping her glass.

“Bonnie!” she squeals, shifting forward and throwing an arm around Bon’s shoulders. “Great dress.” It’s teal and short, with dramatic sleeves and a deep neckline, just a tiny bit witchy.

“I’m so glad you came!” Bonnie says, returning the hug enthusiastically.

“I am too, actually. Why have I never come to New Orleans before?” She sways a little to the music, drains her champagne, smiling when Bonnie laughs, “Seriously, I had a better time on the walk here than I have in ages.”

“We do like to hear that,” a low voice replies, just behind Caroline. She startles, dropping her glass, though it’s neatly caught by long fingertips, just next to her bare thigh, before it hits the floor.

People have got to quit sneaking up on her.

A hand lands on her hip, nudging her away from a potential collision with a nearby couple, and Caroline whirls, ready to remind Mr. Sneaky Feet that it's rude to interrupt a conversation.

The words don’t come. Caroline hadn’t realized just how close he would be.

Or that he’d be really attractive.

Her eyes dart to the champagne glass clutched in his hand, to a bare wrist, then a crisp white sleeve that’s already rolled up. His tie is askew, and his eyes are downcast, in the middle of giving her person an equally thorough perusal.

She can’t even be mad about it.

His thumb toys with the sequins that cover her dress, flicking one absently back and forth. She opens her mouth, unsure of just what is going to come out. There’s a 50/50 chance it’s either snippy – because hello, personal space – or flirty because she’s got excellent eyesight and fully believes in shooting her shot.

Thankfully, Bonnie interrupts, tugging on Caroline’s arm until she has the personal space that she’d been slow to take back for herself. “Klaus, this is my very good friend Caroline.”

There’s a definite warning in her tone. Caroline glances at Bonnie’s face, finds her expression is pleasant enough, at least to a person unfamiliar with Bon’s moods. Caroline is, however, so she studies Klaus a little more carefully. She shifts, boxing him out, and waits until Bon meets her eyes. A quirk of an eyebrow, then a tilt of her head, and Bonnie gets the message. “No, ew.”

So he’s not an ex, or someone Bonnie’s interested in. Good news, Caroline thinks, because that would be awkward considering how much she hadn’t minded his hands on her.

However, Caroline can’t help but look at Bon like she’s nuts.

Bonnie sighs, “It’s a long story. Klaus and I are…” she trails off, like she’s struggling for words.

“Partners,” Klaus supplies, smoothly shifting so they’re a circle once more. Caroline’s pretty sure he’s unused to being ignored.

“Eh, more like coworkers.”

A flutter of Klaus’ fingers and a new tray of champagne appears. He waits for Caroline to select a flute before taking one for himself. Bonnie declines with a shake of her head. “I feel like there’s a story here,” Caroline says, nudging Bonnie not so subtly with her foot to let her know that she’s a little peeved she hadn’t heard it before.

“Klaus is the one who first… invited me to New Orleans.”

Caroline doesn’t miss the hesitance. She narrows her gaze, shifting her weight to widen the distance between her body and Klaus.’ A smirk tugs at his full lips, but he sips his champagne, doesn’t press forward again. “I’m sensing the word invite is doing a lot of work there.”

He grins at that. “Truth be told, it was more of a coercion. A bit of blackmail, a few threats. But it all worked out for the best.”

Dubious, Caroline looks to Bonnie, only to find grudging agreement. “I will never admit Klaus is right about anything. But New Orleans is home now.”

Klaus’s smile turns taunting, and he lifts his glass, tipping it in Bonnie’s direction. “You’re welcome.”

Bonnie’s lips press together and Caroline feels an odd crackle of energy but then two other men, one familiar, one not, are at Bonnie’s side. The man she doesn’t recognize is taller and cups the back of Bonnie’s neck, pulling her into a kiss that’s so not appropriate for company. Enzo’s mouth brushes the side of Bonnie’s neck and Caroline knows she’s gaping at the scene like an idiot. Bonnie melts into Enzo though, her hands tugging the other guy closer. When he pulls back he tosses Caroline a salute, before spinning Bonnie onto the dance floor. She just catches his words before they’re swallowed up by the crowd, “No aneurysms on your birthday; you can torture Klaus at family dinner on Sunday.”

Enzo’s towed along, managing a wink at Caroline, “Hello, Gorgeous. We’ll catch up later, yeah?”

“Enzo, what…”

But he’s gone and Caroline resists the urge to dive in after them and start asking questions. “When did that happen?!” she exclaims, forgetting she has an audience.

Klaus leans closer, “Kol and Bonnie have been off and on for decades. They’ve been consistently on since Enzo arrived… about two years ago now.”

“I cannot believe they didn’t tell me,” Caroline grumbles. Enzo she kind of understands, he’s not the best at texting or emailing, is forever losing his phone. Bonnie should know that getting into a polyamorous relationship is the kind of juicy dirt that needs to be shared, damn it.

Klaus lifts a shoulder, “I’m not entirely sure your friend views it as serious. I expect a blow up once Kol presents her with the gift he bought for her. Possibly why he’s attempting to institute a no aneurysm rule.”

She’s dying to fish for more details, has to bite the inside of her lip to keep from immediately peppering Klaus with questions. He’s watching her expectantly though, his lips curled in amusement, and she knows that’s exactly what he expects.

Caroline would hate to be predictable.

She looks at the people near them, notes that most of them avert their eyes, as if they’ve been attempting to eavesdrop. “Klaus,” Caroline says again, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly.

“Mikaelson,” he supplies, with just a hint of a sigh. She supposes she has to give him a point for not attempting to deflect. “I assume my reputation precedes me?”

“That you’re an evil megalomaniac that’s prone to violent murderous rampages when things don’t go your way? I might have heard a whisper or two.”

He carefully avoids her gaze, sipping his drink calmly. “I’ve mostly cut down on those,” Klaus mutters.

Caroline hums noncommittally. But she doesn’t leave. “Bonnie leads the witches here, that much I know. What is it that you do?”

He moves closer, until she can feel the heat of his arm pressed against hers, skin separated by only his shirt. “I built this city.”

Caroline’s eye roll is automatic, too used to similar bragging from men who are trying to impress her. She reaches out, straightens his tie. “Sure,” she drawls, rubbing the obviously expensive fabric between her fingertips, “you seem like you build things all the time.”

He takes no offense, presses her hand flat against his chest, a laugh rumbling out of him. “You long are you planning on staying in my city, Caroline?”

His touch is light, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. It feels like an invitation, not a threat. Still, one can’t be too sure when playing with dangerous hybrids. “I assume that’s not a ‘be out before dawn if you don’t want your head on a pike’ hint?”

He circles her wrist, lifts her hand to his shoulder. He sets his glass aside, Caroline does the same. “Correct. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Good to know,” Caroline says, letting Klaus lead her onto the dance floor.

She had already been contemplating a few extra days, hadn’t she?

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #i don't remember why I didn't make this one ah to be honest #also am on my bonnie/enzo/kol bullshit #bonnie deserves nice things damn it

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bwayfan25 · 4 years

Text

ER Appreciation Week Day 5: Favorite Mini-Arc

Kerry was adopted.

This is different from “Kerry searching for her birth mother.” I would have been more of a fan of that if 1) they’d fleshed out Kerry’s backstory more (*cough, cough* told us about her parents in a meaningful way) and 2) finding her birth mother did not cause the problems it did. I’m talking about the thing with Chen at the beginning of s8 as well as how the arc ended.

I am a firm believer that this arc had a lot of untapped potential. From a character perspective, it really explained a good deal of her personality and revealed a little bit more about her thought process and narrative lens. However, there was not enough substantive backstory added to really reach its full potential. Not to mention it took six seasons to finally come to fruition. Between when it was revealed in s5 to when she found her birth mother in s11, the audience pretty much forgot about it. (I know I did.)

And while I focus discussion of Kerry’s parents in my AUs where Kerry and Susan end up together, I think it really would have bolstered canon too. Even if we never met the characters of her parents, it could add a level of depth to Kerry as a character to know more about who she is and where she came from.

It’s likely no surprise given that I am a fan of this, as it was a big factor in my two complete re-writes of ER, but I never miss an opportunity to talk about missed opportunities.

***

Susan was just about to take a seat on the couch opposite where Mildred sat reading when she realized they weren’t alone.

Kerry lay curled on the couch with her head on Mildred’s lap, fast asleep. Mildred absently stroked her daughter’s hair with one hand while she held her book open with the other.

“Oh, sorry,” Susan whispered as she took a step back. “I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Mildred said at a volume far closer to a normal speaking level. “You won’t wake her up.”

Susan still looked pensive, but Mildred just waved her on.

“It’s… I’ve gotta say, it’s kind of… weird. To see her like that,” Susan remarked quietly as she sat down. “I think I speak for all of us at work when I say she does not strike us as a very cuddly person.”

“Ah. Well, that’s at work. We’re at home,” Mildred pointed out. Then, she gave a shrug of acknowledgement. “Though, I’ll admit that I thought she grew out of it a long time ago. But when I moved in here, she started doing it again. Particularly on nights where a certain someone is over at her dad’s house.”

Susan smiled slightly though she was still a bit thrown by seeing Kerry Weaver taking a nap on the couch cuddled next to her mother (let alone the implications that she sought this out on nights where her own daughter was not around to cuddle with her).

Mildred was about to turn back to her book when she noticed the look on Susan’s face. Her brow rose in question.

“Yes, dear?” she asked at Susan’s look of consternation.

Susan opened her mouth to reply and then closed it. She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts, before trying again.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Mildred tucked a scrap piece of paper into her book to mark her place before setting it on the table next to her. She then looked back at Susan expectantly.

“When did you… tell her?” Susan asked slowly. “I mean, I know you said it was never a secret, but you would have had to tell her at some point. How old was she? And… And why didn’t you keep it a secret? Or, I guess, try to keep it a secret.”

Mildred heaved a sigh.

“Well, for one thing, I was forty-six years old when she was born. And while I have heard, let’s say, horror stories of that kind of thing happening to a woman at that age, I knew it would have been harder to explain that once she was old enough to understand where babies came from.

“And, of course, it’s not just you that has to keep the secret. We had friends and family - our entire church even - praying for us. If we’d kept it a secret, they’d have had to keep it a secret, too.

“But, honestly, what it came down to was that we wanted her to know how much we wanted her. That… That, so what, if we weren’t her biological parents? We waited for her and prayed for her and loved her no matter what. And if we kept it a secret that she’d been adopted, we’d have missed out on the opportunity to tell her all that and have that meaning behind it.”

Susan nodded.

“How old was she when you first told her? When did she first understand?”

Mildred chuckled.

“Well, the first time I told her and the first time she understood were different,” she said with a loving glance down at Kerry. “I think the first time I told her, she was… We were living in Kenya at that time, which was ‘65-’67, so...oh, she had to have been about four or five. Just about Annie’s age, really.

“I got distracted with some work and she’d wandered off to play. And when I finally went looking for her to bring her home for dinner, I found her with a few other kids, all watching something from the path. And when I got closer, I realized that they were all watching a group of women helping another woman… give birth.”

Mildred couldn’t help but laugh as Susan’s eyebrows rose.

“Neither of us brought anything up until I was putting her to bed that night. And she asked, ‘Momma, did you do that with me?’ And I told her very calmly that no, I didn’t and explained that Momma and Daddy couldn’t have babies of their own.

“I told her we prayed every day for God to give us a baby, and at the same time, there was a family somewhere that was going to have a baby but couldn’t take care of it. They were praying for a family that could raise the baby and give it all that it deserved. And God heard both prayers as He does, and made it so that baby could come and live with us.

“She took a moment to think about that and then just nodded once and said ‘Good.’ Very confidently. You know the way she does that? Well, she did that then, too. And I remember being a bit relieved. And I said, ‘I’m glad you think it’s good. Daddy and I think it’s very good, too.’

“And then, she said - and I’ll never forget it - she said, ‘Yeah. It’s good you didn’t do that, because that was yucky.’”

Mildred and Susan both chuckled at the idea (Mildred of five-year-old Kerry, Susan of five-year-old Annie) informing them in no uncertain terms that adoption was clearly the preferable option as it saved them from the yuckiness of childbirth.

As their laughter died down, Mildred resumed her stroking of Kerry’s hair. Susan watched her for a moment, thinking of the way Mildred looked down at her daughter with such love and pride even knowing that they did not share the blood and DNA that usually contributed to such relationships.

“Can I ask you one other question?” she said after a moment.

“Of course, dear. You can ask me anything,” Mildred replied simply.

“Have you ever…” Susan took a deep breath, finding the question harder to ask than she thought. “Have you ever felt like she wasn’t yours?”

Mildred looked at her for a moment and then back down to Kerry.

She shook her head.

“No. Not even once,” she answered quietly as she stroked Kerry’s cheek with a gentle finger. “And that could be because we’ve had her since she was about a week old, so we’re the only parents she’s ever known. But I don’t even think it’s that. Because I’ve felt that since the very first time I held her. I just knew that this was my baby girl and there was nothing God or anybody could do to take that away from me.”

Mildred sighed deeply and then glanced up at Susan. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you concerned you won’t feel that with Suzie?”

She could tell the answer by Susan’s hesitation alone, but still waited for the young woman to answer.

“A little bit,” Susan admitted. “It’s just… I mean, I was there when she was born, but she’s always been my sister’s daughter. And I know it’s too early to think that… that Chloe really won’t come back and I can go through with the adoption… I just worry that trying to… that trying to not get my hopes up will keep me from feeling that with her. If I am actually able to go through with it, that is.”

Mildred nodded knowingly.

“I don’t think you will need to worry about that, dear. The connection comes from pouring love into a child, which is what you are doing now and have likely been doing since she was born,” she assured Susan in as gentle a voice as she’d use with her own daughter or granddaughter. “One thing I learned early on was that people always tell you that you will love your children, but what they don’t tell you is how much you will fall in love with them.

“Children are like storybooks, but one where you get to help them fill in the blank pages. You help hold the pen or the paintbrush, getting the chance to help create the story just as much as you get to watch it unfold.”

Susan smiled slightly as she took in Mildred’s words.

From the baby monitor on the table next to Mildred came the sound of a squeak and then a cry. Immediately, Susan rose from the couch and turned for the hallway. But as soon as she did so, she paused and looked back at Mildred.

“I think I know what you mean.”

Mildred smiled and winked before Susan started on to fetch Suzie from her nap.

The older woman watched her go for a moment before heaving another sigh and picking up her book. As she did so, Kerry shifted in her sleep.

Mildred looked down at her as Kerry opened her eyes slightly, still half-asleep.

“Momma?” she mumbled, lifting her head just a bit.

“Yes, dear?” Mildred asked softly as she stroked Kerry’s hair.

But Kerry just laid her head back down and closed her eyes again. She shifted again, adjusting her head on Mildred’s lap.

“Momma,” she said, exhaling the word like a comfortable sigh.

Mildred smiled softly.

“Yes, dear.”

#kerry deserved as much background and family as any of the rest of them did #also she deserved more cuddling #eraw20 #nbc er #kerry weaver #mildred weaver #matriarchs au

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Worth Fighting For (Part: Two)

summary: You’re entirely certain George is the one. So he hasn’t got to put up much of a fight… but in a way, that’s all he knows to do.

a/n: Now is a good time to mention that I know nothing about boxing. My only refreance is a movie about mma and one nights worth of basic research. But all that matters is I'm having buckets of fun writing this! The angst starts to creep in this chapter. Let me know what yall think!

w/c: 4k

Part 1

───※ ·❆· ※───

It was the end of an exceptionally long weekend. You'd managed to throw together last minute choreography for the kids school play, taught a wedding party how to waltz, and helped a friend nail her audition for a foreign dance company.

It was easy as ever, with a broken hand. But everything else was increasingly difficult. You were still getting used to using your one, lame hand to do laundry and cook dinner. But at least you could still dance.

There was nothing better than pumping the music and moving until it ached. Until all you had to worry about was locking up and racing home to shower, and all the things you'd been anxious about all week had long fled to the very back of your mind.

But the weekend was over, and you didn't have an excuse to stay in the studio now that all the kids who came to learn were long gone. But you had a perfectly sound reason for taking longer to do you post class stretches. As you took your sweet time sliding into your jacket and switching out the lights, you kept your eye on the window to the hallway. You tried not to look too obvious, but there was a silly, desperate hope inside of you; to see George.

The gym door remained shut, raucous music thumbing from somewhere deep inside, as you dragged your feet out in the hall. You tried not to look like you were casting glances over your shoulder, or seem too disappointed when you found no one there. When the door to your studio was locked and your adrenalin from class dwindled away, you went on your way.

And while you tried not to think about the funny feeling you got in your chest at the thought of George, you shoved open the door to the parking lot. The sky was a bleak grey and a chill crept past your layers of brightly colored clothes.

"Took you long enough." A voice crept close over your shoulder, causing you to spin around with a gasp.

George was leaning against the stone of the building, the hood of his pale jacket up over his head, strong arms crossed over his broad chest.

"How's your hand?" He asked, like he really cared to know.

"Oh, I'm managing." You decided with a smile, happening to glance at George's. "How's yours?" You asked, noticing bruises on his knuckles that weren't there the weekend before.

George seemed confused, for a beat, before glimpsing down at his fingers.

"Oh, this is nothing." He said. And before you could choose one the dozens of questions you had, you decidedly moved on.

"What are you waiting on?" You asked in a nervous giggle, glancing to his car a few parking spaces away.

"You, obviously." George rose a brow and reached for his bulky canvas bag that rested near his feet. You watched his lean figure shift as he carried the weight over one shoulder and stepped closer.

"Come on, It's my turn to treat you to DeAngelo's." He explained, walking past you to his sleek vintage car. The familiar screech of the city bus caught your ear, and you looked over to notice it stall to a stop, before you followed George's lead.

The ride was quiet. You spent most of the time pretending to be distracted by your chipping nail polish. Even in his silence George was captivating. You couldn't be sure if he'd noticed you stealing glances at him as he drove; but every time you did, you wouldn't let yourself look long.

You couldn't be sure why stepping foot into the diner to get felt different. Maybe it was because you weren't alone. You were mixed among dozens of other dinner parties and the combined white noise of everyone's collective chatter set you at ease. You weren't as shy to let your gaze linger on George as he studied you across the same booth as before.

And much like then, your conversations started mildly. He asked what you were going to order, and you tried not to feel too embarrassed for listing off the same meal. But he grinned and said he was going to do the same. And right as your conversation opened up to grow ever deeper, you were interrupted.

"Miss y/n!" An excited, drawn out greeting rang from a small boy who was busy bouncing your way. You didn't need to turn to know it was little Louis. He was one of your most loyal students. And though you'd never say it to anyone, the small kid was your favorite budding ballerina. Perhaps because he cared so unabashedly for you, too.

All four feet and fifty pounds of the curly headed boy crashed into your side of the booth, his little arms reaching to wrap you in a hug. You let out a surprised gasp and turned to try and greet the boy as soon as you realized he'd appeared.

"Today was lot's of fun. Can we do more big jumps next week?" The boy broke away from you to peer up, big brown eyes full of hope. You chuckled a little and assured the boy you'd planned on it. That's about the time his mother shuffled over, apologizing for her eight years old interrupting your dinner.

"It's alright." You assured, sheepishly glancing over to George who was sat back watching on with a coy grin. The kind of smile that- if you were younger and less confident, might have made you insecure. But knowing the little you did about George, you read no mocking in his expression. Only something more vulnerable you couldn't quite make out yet. You wondered all of a sudden just how exactly to get him to open up, and wondered hopelessly if you'd ever get the chance.

"I'm always glad to see you, Louis." You grinned at the boy, still glancing up to you in the sweetest way. "He's never missed a class in two years." You bragged to George now, who let his grin stretch a little wider.

Then you got the good sense to introduce the guy across from you. You gave his name away, and mentioned that he taught at the gym at Fit For All. Louis mother seemed to light up at the mention.

"Oh, you're Geogre? You know my oldest son, Danny. He talks about you all the time." The woman whose dark roots were nearly longer than the dyed blonde bits of her hair gleamed, and Geogre seemed to glow, too.

"Oh, yes. He's always at the gym, it seems." George sat up a little, peering to the woman Louis belonged to. The mother explained that her eldest wanted nothing more than to grow up to become a boxer. But a shoulder injury at the tail end of highschool ruined his chances. So Danny traded boxing for running, and had completed several marathons since.

George said the guy was great at encouraging the kids who frequented Fit For All, no matter which lesson they showed up for. It was your turn to smile and watch as George and his friends mother gushed over the guy who wasn't even around.

When Louis was coaxed from your side back to his mothers he gave you one final hug and raced her to a table across the room. A silence fell between you and George once more, but it was more familiar than ever. George was the first to break it.

"He was sweet." George smiled, reaching for his drink.

"Must run in the family." You pointed out. "I didn't realize Louis even had a brother."

"Danny is a good guy. He always knows just what to say. Not only to the kids, but to me too, some days." George let out a little laugh. A nervous, slightly bittered chuckle. And while it made you realize a little something more about him, it added to the complexity of George all the while. This guy was going to drive you nuts in no time. You'd let him.

///

And that's how it started. Every Friday, around the same time, you'd pile into George's ride and one of you would cover the bill for DeAngelo's.

Sometimes you got held up, trying to help a girl learn her steps for the schools annual talent show. You'd find Geogre had lingered in and made himself at home on the folded up mats near the door. You caught his gaze in the wall length mirror and tried to hide your blush while you danced on.

Other times, he'd be running behind. You shuffled outside to find George in the middle of what seemed to be a serious conversation with a familiar guy around your age. It was Danny, and you were introduced for the first time like you'd been friends forever. You found the rumors about the guy were true, even in the first few minutes of meeting. Danny mentioned his little brother mentioning you nonstop, and said how he'd been waiting to put your face to your name. George ended the small talk by reaching over and nudging you toward his car.

The slight touch of his arm against yours made you feel different than the only other time he'd touched you before. The last was when he'd rushed in to monitor your injured hand. And you couldn't feel much of anything. But now, when George leaned into you, pushing you away all the while, your nerves seemed to dance on end. But Danny's pleasant goodbye tore your thoughts away, and you waved your working hand to the guy and hoped out loud to see more of him.

Then George drove you to DeAngelos for another week in a row.

///

You hadn't really realized how much time had passed until snow started to fall. Granted the weather seemed to change much earlier than it ever had years prior. But it changed all the same, and it seemed to draw attention to the tradition you'd made of going to dinner with George.

You sat in the same spot almost everytime. And you talked about the same sorts of things. There were always complaints shared, about the growing cold, and the things that held up your week. There was always some kind of exciting news to share, about a new movie coming to town, or the things you'd accomplished during work. You even spoke about things you hadn't been keen on discussing with most other people. Like your relationship with your family and the scariest parts of highschool. Because George asked. He asked you more about yourself than he ever dared to mention his own stories.

"When are you gonna let me come watch you teach kids how to throw a punch, huh?" You teased. George had lingered in the doorway to catch the tail end of a handful of your lessons, by now. And he was always done for the night, when yours ended early.

As you ate your usual dinner, he kept his demure smile and rolled his dazzling blue eyes your way, before changing the subject. And you wanted nothing more than to listen to him talk, so you let your question go unanswered.

"We've been coming here a lot." He pointed out, plain and simply. But the comment made your heart feel like it had grown a layer of steel , sinking ever so slightly.

"Would you rather us go someplace else?" You wondered in a light manner, trying not to seem let down at the possibility of ending your tradition.

"Course not. I'm saying I like coming here." George smiled, then added, "With you."

You bit back your grin from spreading too widely and let the familiar bout of quiet follow.

///

But the next weekend was different and it was all your fault. Your water heater broke on Tuesday. And your landlord called back Wednesday night to say he couldn't help you fix it till he came back to town next week. You had to postpone Friday's class when you realized you were in too deep trying to fix the issue yourself. And while you fiddled with the matter with your non broken hand, a deep regret flooded your system when you realized George would miss you and you had no way of letting him know.

You worried all evening at the thought of standing him up. You crossed your working fingers that he'd still be keen to see you the next weekend; and tried to accept the fact that since your tradition had been broken, the thin connection you shared with George might now forever be lost, too.

By the end of your next week, your landlord was still off on holiday, and had taken to ignoring your texts asking for help. How hard was it for him to call a local mechanic to send your way before he left to go tanning for the day, or whatever?

And as you bared another cold shower and grumpily hurried to head to the studio, your power went out.

"No, no no!" You whined, flipping a light switch a dozen times in a row and wishing and hoping and praying everything would come back to life. You took a deep breath, rushed to the closet where the panel that held your home's power was, and were disappointed to find flipping a few switches there did absolutely nothing. You didn't have time to worry. You couldn't let your kids down again.

Some of them were already lingering outside of the studio when you rushed in, stomping away snow. Little Louis actually cheered and dashed your way for a hug, like he did. You smiled, set at ease by the child's sweet nature.

Then you taught him and a dozen others to dance, and let your worries fade away for an hour and a half. George hadn't slipped into the studio when the clock ticked past your usual meeting time. You tried not to let yourself feel disappointed when your kids shuffled home. You only wrapped up for the day and started to worry over your situation all over again.

But as you locked the doors to the studio, Danny was making his way out into the hall, and George was trailing close behind.

"Hey kid!" Danny glowed, turning to greet you in the dim hall. You shot him a pleasant smile, despite everything, trying not to catch George's gaze. Because his expression was so familiar, now. And he was looking right at you in a way you realized he so often did. And you'd let him down last week, and you had to do it again, now.

He shouldered past Danny as the bulky fellow seemed to decide to go home. He gave you both a quick goodnight before making his way toward the heavy doors. Then you were left alone with the guy you hadn't stopped thinking of since the time he held an ice pack to your knuckles.

"Where've you been?" He asked, like he was much more concerned than disappointed. And while that was nice, it wasn't enough to stop you from wanting to cry a little. God you hoped you didn't look the way you felt.

"I'm so sorry I missed last weekend." You started, shifting in place, under George's study on you. "My water heater broke. Then my power went out. So, now I've got to go home and figure out what to do. I hate to miss another one of our dinners but-"

"What do you need?" His question interrupted your rambles to a halt. You held your breath and looked to the guy for a curious beat before explaining yourself.

"Well I'm just going to grab some things and find a place to stay. Probably just that Motel on Second Street. My landlord is such a-"

"The Second Street Motel?" George grimaced, like he had memories of the place he wasn't over yet. "That place is a dump. And they'll over charge you. Why don't... if you'd like... well you could stay with me." George's confident speech dwindled into something meek as he spoke on. It made you chuckle a little, the way he'd surprised you when you least expected it. And when a moment of quiet passed as you searched his stunning blues eyes, George spoke up more assuredly.

"Only if you want."

"Only if you're sure." Your smile fell away as dozen of nerves rose to your throat as you responded.

"Come on." He nodded, turning to the door in the same fashion he'd always do when you were headed to the one of the only other places you'd gone together. His ride to the urgent care was courteous. His company at DeAngelos was kind. And his offer for you to spend the night was an all new layer of generosity that made you feel the way you did when he touched you a few weeks ago.

///

He waited in his car while you used the flashlight on your phone to throw a few things in a bag. Between your toothbrush, your night clothes, and some things for the morning, you forced yourself not to think about what was happening. You just urged your feet to move and tried not to seem too excited to settle back into George's car.

He drove to his place in a silence that felt different than all the other times before. And when you stole a glance over to him, you could have sworn he'd just turned away from looking over to you. The thought danced through your mind till his vintage ride pulled to a stop outside a row of townhouses. They were just a few roads away from your own, in a quiet, bleak part of town.

George held open his front door as you stepped in from the cold, a baby blue backpack full of essentials in your clutch. And all of your expectations for what Geogre's home might have looked like were not only unmet, but left you with more questions about the guy than ever.

The home was neatly decorated in pale colors. Plants and picture frames decorated every shelf and corner, and the dish towel in his kitchen matched the tea kettle on the stove. It was reminiscent of a much older person's space, with a vibrant charm of someone much more spry. You padded to the cozy living room as Geogre disappeared around a corner, leaving you to think up a dozen more questions about the fellow you were determined to get to the bottom of.

As you eased onto the navy sofa and abandoned your bag, a light came on in the hall and an old orange cat came prancing toward your feet. You glanced down to the pet as it meowed up to you, and stretched to balance against your knees. You cooed, reaching to pet it, before the animal jumped into your lap.

"That's Sadie." George spoke, stepping into the room, slowly making his way toward the sofa. "I was going to apologize for her disregard for personal space but you don't seem to mind." He chuckled.

"Not at all, she's lovely." You grinned, cradling the cat like a baby as purs rattled her delicate frame. George seemed to watch on as you admired the pretty animal in your arms. And when you dared to look back up to him, he sat up a little, from where he was perched on the edge of the couch.

George said something about ordering take away from a place nearby, and you agreed with the condition that you got to pay for it, too make up for his kindness in letting you stay in his lovely home. And much to your surprise, when you realized it anyhow, you felt perfectly content waiting around with George, for the pizza to be delivered. He stuck to his end of the sofa, while you settled into yours, holding fast to Sadie all the while. You talked about usual things, and even laughed over some others, until there was a knock at the door.

George went to answer, as you trailed toward the kitchen, stopping in the hall to admire some of the photos on the wall. There were plenty of his family, or maybe just friends. And even some of George, dressed in boxing gloves, at who must have been his father's side. The older man who looked so much like George held up an award as his son stood by with a shy smile and messy hair.

George found you gawking at his frames on his mission to set the box of pizza on the table.

"This photo is sweet. Did you win this garish award?" You teased, turning to find George wearing a grin reminecent of the one he sported in the photo.

"I did." He said.

"But you don't really do this sort of thing anymore..." You spoke, halfway asking why in the gentlest way you knew that might pry open his closed off manner.

"No I haven't for a while." George said. He poured you both a strong drink, the kind DeAngelos didn't serve.

"Why is that?" You wondered, easing to one of the wooden paint chipped seats at George's kitchen table. You watched him take a sip of the dark liquid in his glass, as you reached for your own.

"It got to be too much." He said, easier than anytime before. Like he actually wanted to tell you. And you kept a quiet eye on him, hoping if you waited long enough, he'd keep talking.

And much to your patient delight, he did.

"I started going to Fit after school, when I had nothing better to do. I'd stay till close, because I didn't want to go home." George explained. You took small bites of pizza and listened on, eyes softly glued to George's every word. And as he ate, he told you that he didn't have a very easy time growing up. How his father was sick, and his mother was never around. How George never thought of his future because he was busy worrying about each day at a time. You could tell he didn't talk about it. Any of it. So you just kept sipping your drink and offering gentle encouragement for him to keep going. Because you wanted to know. You desperately cared to know.

George told you that on one of Bareny's regular stops in, the gym owner took notice of George. How he'd listen to the distant encouragement some coaches gave to students in the ring. How he didn't have the money to take those lessons and stuck to practicing on the mats in the corner. How Bareny noticed, and asked George if he'd like to be trained. How he took up the owners generous offer, free of charge.

And when you nudged him to keep talking by asking all the right questions, George explained that Barney helped him enter into matches that he won like an old pro. How exhilarating it was at first. But those nights would end and George would go home and he would hate it. You knew better than to ask why, as he moved on. You just hoped this was the beginning of him letting you in bit by bit. The first of many stories. You downed the last of your drink while George finished his pizza.

"Well you might not box anymore but I'd still love to watch you teach kids how." You laughed, watching George crack a smile across the table from you. He thanked you for covering dinner and you thanked him for letting you stay over. Then you launched into a sudden ramble about how stressed out you were about what to do, how it might be better to move than to keep combating your landlord. But how you didn't have the funds to put toward either of those options.

"God sorry I sound like a cry baby." You laughed, resting your glass in George's sink as he stored the left over pizza away.

"No you don't. You sound worried, and I'm sorry to hear it. Letting you stay over is the least I could do, really." George shrugged, shifting to face you. He stood a step away, keeping his intimidating gaze on yours. The kind of glare that might have made you feel small if you didn't know George. But you saw past the way he stood so tall and stoically. You saw more of him tonight than you ever had before. And that's what made you unsure of what to say next.

"I think I'll go get cleaned up now." You spoke with a gentle nod, heading to collect your bag. George showed you to the bathroom at the end of the hall before turning away and saying something about changing, himself.

You were left to bask at your reflection in the harsh golden light as the bathroom fan buzzed overhead. You dug through your backpack to find the nightclothes you'd brought along and thought of George as you stepped into the shower. The water was hot, pelting your shoulder blades with a warmth you hadn't had the luxury of experiencing all week. But you hurried along, mindful not to use up all the hot water.

When you changed and took a deep breath and peered back to the mirror, it was covered in steam. So you zipped up your backpack and made your way back out into George's home. Sadie was waiting patiently outside of the door. She wove between your feet as you took care not to step in her path before she settled to walk at your side. Was this some kind of dream, you wondered? Some kind of idyllic alternate universe, where nothing was the matter and the space you occupied was warm and safe and shared by the boy you hadn't stopped thinking of for months in a row?

At the end of the hall, George's bedroom door was open. A soft amber light shone from the bedside lamp you could see. George appeared into view as you were drawn to the space like a moth to a flame. He wore a tattered t-shirt and a pair of cotton joggers you'd never seen him wear before. His yellow hair appeared slightly damp and he looked happy, somewhere in the depths of his usually guarded expression. He looked at home.

Sadie brushed past your ankle, out of the hall and into the living room, leaving you and George the most alone you'd ever been.

He stalled in the doorway as you halted your floating closer. His eyes were softer than you'd ever seen them, sleepier; maybe.

"Right, well goodnight I suppose." You smiled, trying not to let your eyes rake over his figure. You could practically feel how close he was.

"Right." George seemed to decide, letting his eyes search yours for a beat before his glance drifted over your shoulder.

"I'll find you some blankets." He said, slowly stepping past you. But before he could drift down the hall you stopped him. Somehow, you spoke without even thinking, without even knowing you were brave enough.

All you said was his name, like a question. And that was all it took. George turned on a dime and kissed you. He crashed his lips against yours and tangled his long fingers in your hair as he cradled your head. His grip was the only thing holding you in place as you melted into a puddle, against him. When you started kissing George back, he moved one hand down the length of your side as he made one swift move to pin you against the wall. You couldn't help but let out a surprised breath, a sigh, a laugh of some kind.

George responded by kissing you harder, until you could hardly breath. And when you stopped kissing him back to do just that, you felt George's gentle grip against the exposed skin of your hip; tighten ever so slightly.

"Do I still have to sleep on your sofa?" You asked what felt like one dozen questions in one. Your fear of ruining the one in a million moment disguised by a lithe smile. George responded by letting out a laugh, his eyes nearly closing as he did. And when he was finished, he said;

"Come on."

You followed George to his bed, not daring to hide your excitement. He pulled you in with a smile, perhaps the broadest of smirks you'd seen him sport. There was still so much you longed to know about George. So many questions you were eager to ask, so many things you longed to hear him talk about. But spending the night sharing his pillow was a good place to start, you figured. You hadn't expected it of course. You never knew what was next with George. You'd only, simply, hoped for a next time. And with the way he looked at you now, and held on, you rekonned maybe he didn't want you to stray too far, either.

───※ ·❆· ※─── taglist: @haileymorelikestupid @maria-josefin @imaginesandyeah @queen-bunnyears @okaymackay

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic #Boxer!George

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Note

Prompt: A woman of substance.

It Does My Heart Good: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Brianna neatly fanned a sheaf of papers across the desk in John Grey’s study, and turned to a fresh page in her notebook.

“All right. Tell me everything you remember about her.”

Jamie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I could go on for hours, lass. She was my first love - my only love, if ye can believe it.”

Brianna smiled. “I want to know all about that, too. It - it’s a great comfort to know that I come from love.”

Jamie set down his tumbler of whisky and reached across the table, taking his daughter’s hand. “You come from the greatest, most powerful love that could ever be felt on God’s earth, a nighean. Your mother and I - we shared a soul.” He swallowed. “God help me - I’ve never stopped loving her. And I won’t lie to ye - I’m deathly afraid that even if we do find her, she’ll have….moved on. Married another man.”

“Even if she did - there can be no way she forgot you.”

He sighed deeply. “I’m no’ saying it would be accidental - it would be deliberate. I gave her such joy, and then we shared such pain.”

She squeezed his hand. “Why did she come to Glasgow to begin with?”

“She was an exchange student at the University of Glasgow. She was studying here in Boston - Harvard. Pre-med. She had an opportunity to study abroad for a year, to continue her studies in the UK.”

“I didn’t know she was at Harvard.” Still holding her father’s hand, she scribbled a few words in the notebook.

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Ye’re left-handed, lass?”

Brianna looked up. “I am.”

He swallowed. “So am I.”

She smiled. “I’m glad to know it. Was Claire left-handed, too?”

“No - she’s right-handed. Though I do remember her saying that her mother had been left-handed.”

Brianna wrote that down, too. “Did she ever tell you the names of her parents?”

“Her father’s name was Henry, I remember that. Her mother - I canna remember her name. She rarely spoke of them. They were killed in a car crash when she was five.”

Brianna set down her pen and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “That’s so sad.”

“Aye - she had to be very strong from such a young age. She was an only child. And because I had lost my own Mam so young, too - it bound us together.”

“But who raised her?”

“Ah. Her father’s brother - Uncle Lamb. I dinna ken if that is a nickname, a first name, or a surname. But I do ken he was a professor at Harvard. Either archaeology or anthropology. She grew up following him around on digs. He loved her very much, and cared for her. Encouraged her to follow her passions.”

Brianna took up her pen and wrote this down. “This is great - really, really great. Was he still alive when you knew Claire?”

“He was. He would write her letters every week, and I remember a few times when I’d come to her dormitory to see her, she’d be on the telephone in the lobby, speaking wi’ him.” Jamie paused, eyes unfocused, lost in his memories. “From what she told me, he was quite eccentric. As far as I know he never married, or had children of his own. But he loved Claire, more than anything.”

“I wonder if he knew about me.”

Jamie’s eyes focused on Brianna. “Oh, he must have. When Claire left Glasgow to return to Boston, her plan was to live with Uncle Lamb until you were born. She - she felt safe wi’ him. She knew he would care for her. And I’d bet any amount of money that he was there when you were born, and helped her care for you until you went to live wi’ the Greys.”

“He sounds like an amazing man.”

Jamie nodded. “I always wish that I could have met him. To thank him for raising Claire, of course - but more importantly, to thank him for caring for her, and for you, when I couldn’t.”

Brianna scribbled down another note. “So - if Claire was a pre-med student at Harvard, and she returned to Boston in the spring…”

“She returned on April the 16th,” Jamie interjected. “She was five months along wi’ you. I went wi’ her to the airport.” He sighed. “The worst day of my life. Much worse than being in prison.”

Brianna watched him in silence, processing his memories.

“We had met in the University’s medical clinic. I’d been in a fight wi’ some lads, and my shoulder was out of joint. She fixed it. And the last time I saw her, she tried to make a joke. She…she told me to mind my shoulder.” Tears raced down his cheeks. “I didn’t laugh, and she didn’t either. But that’s so typical of her - wanting to draw attention away from herself. Taking care of others.”

“Do you think she finished her studies?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it. I’m certain she graduated from Harvard with flying colors, and then went on to medical school. By the grace of God, I hope she’s had a verra successful career.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Caring for others - healing others - that was her calling in life. And I ken she would have been the best mother. But I’m sure ye understand why that didna come to pass.”

“I do.” She squeezed his hand. “I really do. I’m so, so happy to learn about her from you. How she’s a true woman of substance.”

“That, and a lot of other things.” He cleared his throat. “What else can I help ye with? Do ye ken her birthday and such?”

“I do - it’s on my birth certificate. When I contacted the adoption agency, they gave me all the papers in my file. It wasn’t very extensive - my birth certificate, my medical evaluation when I was eight weeks old. A log of all the notes and photographs my parents sent the agency over the years, to pass along to Claire.” She sighed. “The file also indicated that the agency had lost contact with her many years ago. They provided the last address on file for her - but it was a post office box. Not traceable.”

“Mmphmm.” Jamie sipped his whisky. “I brought wi’ me the picture she sent me of you as a baby, and I kept the envelope wi’ her return address. Though she must be long gone from there by now. I dinna ken how useful this information I’ve given ye will be. But maybe it’s a start?”

“Oh, definitely! Just knowing she was at Harvard, that her uncle was at Harvard, and her father’s name - those are huge, huge clues. Mom’s sister works at Harvard - through her, we can find someone who can help us find the right records.”

“That’s wonderful, Brianna. I - I canna tell ye how proud I am of you. That you would care enough to find me - and then to bring me here. I - I feel so honored. Me - a rough-and-tumble Glaswegian, a criminal, a - ”

“Nonsense. You’re none of that. You’ve done many things in your life - but that’s all in the past. And don’t forget, you made good choices, too. You chose Claire. And the two of you chose me.”

“Aye, I suppose we did.” He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “Do ye think we can call yer Mam’s sister in the morning?”

#Anonymous #;mod gotham #adoption au

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sweet-cynical-writer · 4 years

Text

Thank you to everyone who waited patiently!!! The long overdue update is here for Soukoku's Love Child!

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Suicide, Gore, Death

Special thanks to @soukokuwu naturally for proofreading & of course continuing to be my partner for the series! ♡

Soukoku's Love Child - Nikkō's Past

The soft piano music carried on a reminiscent sound as Dazai walked into Lupin. As he settled into his seat, a certain ginger haired mafioso let out an exasperated sigh as if he'd been expecting company for quite some time. His partner was late as usual.

“What kept you this time, shitty Dazai?”

He took his drink in hand to take a sip before replying. And naturally it made Chuuya upset. A warning glare shot towards the barkeep who was only there to do his job and nothing more. Dazai didn't mind ;In fact for as long as he'd been coming to Lupin, he was always served without having to place a single order.

“I was visiting someone along the way. Turns out, they need my help.”

His partner opened his mouth to retort that there's no way he would assist in helping him but was cut off as if it were expected.

“Chuuya. I know you don't want me to get involved in anyone's problems. But this is a special case. And it will affect you as well.”

The way he released an audible, ‘Tch’ made Dazai smirk with amusement. It was his partner's way of saying, ‘go on and explain yourself fast before I rip your head off’.

“I'm glad you understand. Now. To put it bluntly, I found out more about this kid I ran into. We should adopt him. There's too much risk keeping him in that orphanage and if someone else comes along to grab him.. well let's just say it will only create more work for us.”

Chuuya was irritated at the idea of having a child to look after. He hardly would have patience for Dazai as troublesome and childish he could be. Taking care of a real child would be a nightmare.

“Now listen here, if you think that you could just make all the decisions here and I would just go along with it, you're dead wrong.”

Sure, Chuuya was aware that when it came to making life changing decisions that Dazai had a natural gift for choosing right every time. But that didn't mean the ginger had to mindlessly agree every time something like this occurred.

The way he cooly took his drink to his lips only made him more angry. That sly smile played on his lips like he could order the mafia executive around like some second hand maid.

“Look you bandaged bastard, I mean it. If we just ignore this child and we do end up with more work, so what? We could always use an alternative to helping the kid find a stable home rather than have us watch him.”

Even given their separate roles, it would be impossible for either of them to always have visual watch on the kid. Was he expecting the two of them to play hot potato taking care of him? And then there were always the possibilities of the kid wandering off. Chuuya shook his head after drinking from his glass.

"No, Dazai. There's too much maintenance to bother having this kid in our care. I say make him someone else's problem or just forget about it.”

He knew better than to doubt Dazai's intuition. As insufferable this man was, he never made a wrong call on a long term decision. Ultimately, that was part of the pros of dating such a man. Still, no matter how sharp Dazai was in taking the lead, Chuuya refused to cooperate. This time, Dazai was asking for too much on his part.

To be honest, the burnette anticipated a reaction like this from Chuuya. He didn't look surprised in the slightest as he watched his partner express the facial expression of a stubborn dog who didn't want to move an inch. Unless his owner was going to drag him along by the leash.

“You may be against it now, Chuuya. But when I tell you what kind of capabilities this child has, you'll change your mind.”

Dazai took another sip from his glass before setting it down with a soft clink against the glass coaster. His warm chocolate gaze filled with sorrow as he parted his lips to tell the story of a child that lost everything at once.

***

The child was only six when this took place. A meeting that was long overdue on a night when the air was bone chilling. It whispered desirable sins in the ears of two lovers that tore a bond that was at wit's end. There was only a matter of time that this would happen but the way it happened was something not fit for children. So it was only natural that they waited until their son was put to bed before they took action on leaving him behind.

Nothing was going to stop them from reaching what they both wanted most. The one thing in life that was irreversible that was both feared and wanted by man. It was something that their son wouldn't understand until long after they left.

“The only thing I hope for.. is that he won't hate us if he ever finds out.”

Her silky voice came out in a soft whisper. Sweet honey coated eyes staring back into that freshly cut emerald gaze of his. They were sharp and confident the way he reassured his wife with a gentle press of his lips to hers. The moonlight shone down on them like a spotlight. They danced against death for their whole lives. But tonight? Tonight they would dance toward it.

They had decided a while back; they’d do it here, near the river, under the bridge where it’s quiet, barren. It wasn’t too far from the house, but far enough so their child would be able to sleep through it. Doing it at their home would be too much, too troublesome.

Tonight was the last time they could breathe. The last time they would see each other. Their fate was sealed with the guns they both held in each other's hands. They intertwined arms with the barrels resting on their foreheads. With a silent exchange to one another, they released the trigger.

It was roughly 6:45 A.M. that the boy had woken up from his slumber. He was in a daze, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he rolled out of bed to search for his parents. Their bedroom being empty sent his heart into a panic. Where did they go? And without him? Frantically, he opened the front door to rush to the first place he thought of. The river. It was a favored area that Nikkō loved to spend his time skipping rocks.

There were even times when he would hide from his parents to play out here. It was an obvious spot to be found, but that didn't matter to him, he always wanted to be found easily. However, this time, Nikkō's parents were the ones easily found.

Two bodies, side by side and covered in red, tainting the usual clear blue gentleness which was the river. It no longer held the innocent and kind memories of his family. Instead, it haunted him as he stared wide eyed and unmoving like a statue.

He was snapped out of his blank state to the sound of an incomplete call made out to the caller ID labeled, ‘YASU’. The cell phone was found in his mother's hand. He broke down in uncontrollable sobbing. Nikkō was there, curled in between the decaying bodies of his parents. Crying hysterically with an erratic heartbeat that was visible to the naked eye. A man who possessed blond hair and kind eyes had shown up before to tame the child before police arrived.

It was decided from the note left behind that he would be put into the orphanage for the sake of not learning of his dark past. Out of fear that the child would possibly take things the wrong way or attempt to take his own life out of guilt. His parents did not want the chance of Nikkō ever finding out about losing his family. There was also the logical fear that someday, learning about his ability that he could use it to hurt everyone around him.

As long as he remained oblivious to his ability, he could live out a full life of happiness. If he remains in the orphanage, some loving family will pick him up and raise him to be a sweet child. There were too many risk factors to expose Nikkō to such sensitive information. All they could do was hope he would never have to go through the stress and strain that came with having an ability.

Including knowing about Yasu, he was left with no choice. His parents found it too risky that one day, the truth would slip out if they allowed Yasu to raise Nikkō. Their last request of their old friend was to take him to an orphanage. No further contact was allowed with him after he was dropped off. But Yasu loved Nikkō like his own. He kept his promise to take Nikkō to the orphanage, only to go against their wishes and keep in contact with the boy by exchanging gifts and letters with him as time passed.

The moment the orphanage learned about the child's ability to manipulate emotions upon physical contact, they had him separated from the rest of the children. He was considered a walking disaster that only wanted those to suffer with him. When in actuality, the child not only had no clue he possessed an ability, but he wished for someone to explain what he was feeling. He was confused and often became docile at the mention of any word similar to ‘family’.

He was often asked many questions referring to his past like what happened to his parents and if he knew why he was there at the orphanage. Nikkō couldn't answer with certainty, given that the disturbing image of two bloodied bodies seen at a tender age made his brain block out those memories. Something in him refused to let him access his past. Telling him to keep pushing forward and never look back.

Tags for notification: @suehiro @jounos-teashop-writing @aiya-chan03 @i-am-sleepy-as-heck @tapioka-boi @wildnya @chihxru @dazedbydazai @bandaged-writer @daffodildazaiwrites @orphic-osamu

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs dazai #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bsd dazai osamu #dazai bsd #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs nakahara chuuya #bsd chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #chuuya bsd #soukoku's love child #Seikatsu Nikkō #zai writes #zai does shitty edits

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mangobone · 4 years

Text

I just watched ep 13 and I’m stunned! Finally, the fog is clearing away and the information shown in the earlier slower episodes is paying off! This time is the Seo’s case thats finally coming to light along with some other things.

This is going to be a long post so go get some water and a snack if you’re willing to read and share your thoughts!

Also, If you haven’t watch the ep, please wait until you do before you read this. You’ve come this far, it’d be worth it:

-I don’t want to rewatch any of the earlier episodes until this season is done, so the Park Gwan-Su case with Hanjo, Choi Bit and Woo Tae-Ha is a little muddle for me so I’d give it a pass, just to say that I loved the acknowledgement to the late Chang-Joon and his incredible efforts, that still ripple through various people. He truly was incredibly smart in that aspect; however it didn’t stop him from turning into the mastermind of 2 serious crimes so I’d love to know how Si-Mok feels about him, 3 years after the whole ordeal.

-The Seo Dong Jae case OH! MY! GOD! (I’m turning into Janice from Friends, sorry) I wasn’t expecting that, but I do remember seeing the young man in the beach and thinking there was something off with him when he was being question by the police and he looked like a deer in theheadlights when he saw Si-Mok; however with the onslaught of information from the rest of the cases and the fact that he was a sort of “victim” from the couple that burndt the restriction line, I completely removed him from my possible culprits mental list. I was shocked today tbh. And I suppose Chief Kim has something to do either with him or the fake witness, that much is clear, but I won’t speculate too much there.

-The scene with Kim...JESUS. Hwang nerves of steel Si-Mok! He truly gave absolutely NOTHING away as he kept apologizing while looking at Kim straight in the eye and wasn’t that INTENSE?!!; I was repressing a scream throughout the whole scene. Btw whats with the forgotten garage control? I wonder if that’ll be significant.

- I really hope Kang Won-Chul won’t get too damaged when the shit hits the fan, with the whole Hanjo business and the war between the Lee’s. I’m also interested to know who was Park Gwang-Su’s younger brother.

My guess is that Si-Mok will have to make a decision between helping Kang Won Chul and following his strict moral code in the end. It’ll hurt whatever the decision, as can see that the appreciation between those two is sincere.

-I hate Oh Ju-Seon. So. Fucking. Much.

-The Eun Soo reference? Jeeeeez that was painful (great scene between CSW and Bae Doona btw) I think self-reproach, guilt and regret are Si-Mok’s kriptonites, as we can see since the Tongyong “incident”, and the fact that the “surviving” student is the abductor will only worsen the feeling for sure as he didn’t suspect him from the beginning. (I have a theory about this but it’ll be way below.

-NOW the scene between Yeo-Jin and Choi Bit? (Aside from the horrendous product placement) Well, Choi is holding back nothing eh? But I like that she doesn’t really tease her, she just asks honest questions (though a bit out of place, IMO) says what she feels she needs to, in order to “protect” both Han and her own interests. On the other hand Yeo-Jin GIRL YOU DIDNT DENY THE STATEMENT! Though I think we all knew she had something of a crush on Si-Mok from the first season, she indeed looks a bit more invested now. And I could guess that one of the reasons why she wanted to be in charge of the Seo Dong Jae is because of Si-Mok’s need to catch whoever hurt another one of his fellow prosecutors.

-Boy! Finally a scene where they find that son of a bitch! The moment when Yeo Jin presents her ID and the musical punk looks around to see if he’ll be able to knock her out and kidnap her JESUS OMG I WAS SCREAMING AGAIN and dismayed that our prosecutor hadnt gone with her! but thank heavens Hwang Si-Mok’s elegant shoe made its appearance, along with the rest of him and I was able to breathe!

-BTW I’m not too sure that Si-Mok will be able to catch him without Han’s help (We know that’s not his forte) by the looks of the teaser but he sure will be yelling at him, and for that I’m more than glad! He needs some catharsis and we all need the information.

Also, I love aggressive Hwang Si-Mok 🙃 (Sorry for the shitty captures, but I didn’t want to invest much time in them)

-From the teaser: WHY THE HECK ARE THEY LOOKING UP? Is there something horrible up there? AND WHERE THE HELL IS SI-MOK?!?

-And also...whoever decided to add a scene from episode 14 (to be confirmed) way back in the teaser for other episodes?!? That’s not cool and I’m sick of being cheated.

-NOW! onto why Si-Mok didn’t suspect the Tongyong “survivor”? Two theories that could be seen as one but here we go:

-Unknown emotions getting in the way:

In the first season the media was trying to destroy his credibility and Yoon Se-Won told Chang-Joon that Si-Mok had undergone brain surgery when he was younger and it was possible that he could be temporarily suppressing his emotions; so what if In these past years and everything that happened with his colleagues and with meeting someone like Han Yeo-Jin, changed him subtly but enough that he could actually empathize, if only for a bit, with Kim Hu-Jeong? And that all of these questions and doubts on his professional capacity are because he’s too worried about his college but he doesn’t know it, just like Prosecutor Kim suggested it, when he suggested that he’d tell Chief Woo that he wasn’t ready to take Seo’s case.

-Mental turmoil

Or what if he’s actually a little bit...depressed? Contemplative? Unsatisfied?

When we start the season, for the first time we see him more as a lonely man rather than an outsider. He’s actually got a farewell party thrown for him that he clearly doesn’t look forward to, he’s watching couples and families stroll by, he admits openly to Kang Won-Chul that he “may never fully understand the things that he should know by a certain age”, he doesn’t let his mother know that he’s back in Seoul and the promised visit is clearly not his idea, and the talk with Yeo-Jin about Eun Soo and the simplicity between living and dying got me wondering about his state of mind. He’s got questions he won’t ask to the only authoritative figure he still respects somewhat (Kang) and he’s more defiant to Woo Tae Ha. So he’s more self-isolated with the only exception being Yeo Jin, to whom he asks questions about her obvious attitude change.

These things, along with Han Yeo-Jin’s change in attitude really got me wondering about both our protagonist but we don’t really get enough time with her to venture theories on what is going on and why she keeps quiet when Si-Mok questions her about her life choices, just that she’s miserable on her desk job with her bureocratic collegues.

Also, I could be mistaken BUT anyone noticed how this is the first time Han Yeo Jin mentions someone from her family in the series? (grandmother).

I’d go on and on writing on the possibility of a Hwang/Han relationship but I feel that those two ending together is just too unlikely, as much we as audience would love it. They truly are made for each other, like a perfect yin-yang, and this season only confirms that she’s the only person who manages to make him eat in peace and make him smile.

Well I’m sorry for offending your eyes with this sea of text but I had to get it all out before tomorrow’s episode!! Going to sleep and hopefully I’ll open my eyes to the new ep!

#secret forest 2 #stranger 2 #stranger 2 tvn #Hwang Si-Mok #Han Yeo-Jin #Bae Doona #Cho Seung Woo #long ass post #I'm sorry but I needed to get it out #I'm really sorry for any typo

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Tale as Old as Time - Chapter 3

Rami!Prince Adam x Reader

Summary: A prince cursed. A young woman aching for adventure. The classic tale of seeing beauty within.

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @xviiarez, @rogerina-owns-me, @brianssixpence, @mirkwoodshewolf, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: But she won’t discoooover that it’s him! til chapter threeeeeeee :)

Warning(s): Mentions of homophobia

Moodboard

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 here we go!!!

Just learning Rami’s name was a breakthrough. Two weeks passed peacefully at the castle. Though you were still wary of him, you trusted that he would not lash out unprovoked. You just wanted to learn what provoked him.

But the more you spoke to Rami, the more you understood that his anger came from a place of deep hurt. It wasn’t an aggression he came by naturally. His usual disposition was actually rather awkward. At times, even amusingly so. It was obvious to you that he had not interacted with anyone outside of his staff in many years.

Even so, you kept your guard up. You continued to search for the prince all around the castle, but there was no sign of him. Although, after getting to know Rami, you found it hard to believe that he had ever really harmed anyone. Sure, he could be unreasonable about things, but you didn’t think he was dangerous. There was only one place you hadn’t looked. The west wing.

Your curious mind was desperate to find out what was up there. But your logical side reminded you that it was best to not test the limits of Rami’s patience. He could easily put you back in the dungeon if he felt like it. On the other hand, it could hold all the answers to your questions. Putting it all to the back of your mind, you went down to the vegetable patch to help Daisy.

Daisy was another mystery to you. She was the only servant who had come to the castle after the deaths of the king and queen. You bonded with her because she was the only other person there your age - since you couldn’t be sure how old Rami was - and you had fun together. You wondered what brought her to the castle.

“Daisy,” you said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she replied, brushing some dirt off a carrot.

“How did you end up here?” you questioned. “You’re young and talented. How come you’ve committed yourself to serving Rami and a near empty castle?”

She placed the carrot in her basket and looked down.

“The master is a complicated person,” she said. “I don’t know all the details of his past - and I don’t need to - but he understood me.”

“Understood you?” you pressed.

She nodded. “In my home village, I…”

“You what?”

She met your gaze. “I fell in love. And I was driven out.”

“What?” you gasped. “For falling in love?! That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, the thing is…” she trailed off. “We’re friends, right?”

“Of course we are,” you said, brow furrowing. “What is it?”

“Just - swear to me you’ll never tell anyone what I’m telling you,” she said.

“I swear,” you promised.

She took a deep breath. “I fell in love with another woman.”

Your eyes went wide. “R-really?”

She nodded again. “The people of my village saw it as something evil. My mother told us there was a plan to have us arrested and tried as witches, so she packed us some things to smuggle us out.”

“I’m so sorry,” you told her. “That’s horrible. How could they punish you for loving someone?”

“I don’t know,” she said, eyes watering. “I still don’t understand. But the night before we knew they were coming, we arranged to leave. We planned to meet in the woods just before midnight and escape together.”

“Your lover, did she abandon you?” you asked.

She shook her head. “No. My father told the village about our plan, so they got her. All I could do was run for my life. I ran till I had nothing left in me. It was the master that found me in the woods. He brought me back here and had Mrs. Carson tend to me. The plan was to send me off afterwards, but then I told him my story. As an extra, I told him I could cook and would serve as a kitchen maid if he’d let me. He said they had no cook, he understood what it meant to be seen as something you’re not, and then gave me the job. I didn’t ask no more questions after that.”

You blinked, completely shocked. How could Rami be so understanding of someone like Daisy, but so irrationally angry over a rose clipping? You had to find out the truth about him. And you needed to find out as soon as possible.

“I’m glad you found a place to belong, Daisy,” you told her. “Um, I’m going in for a little while. I’d like to get some rest before dinner. Is that alright?”

She looked at the ground. “You see me differently, don’t you?”

“What? No!” you cried, pulling her into a hug. “Of course not. You’re still my friend.”

You pulled away and she forced a smile.

“I believe you,” she said, cheerful now. “Now, go get some rest. I’ll figure out dinner.”

You nodded. As you entered the kitchen, you removed your apron and started up the stairs. You jogged through the corridors, heading the opposite direction of your bedroom. You were going to the west wing.

When you climbed the steps, you hesitated. There was a door there that loomed ahead like a dark tunnel. Once you entered, it would be difficult to return. And if you found out that Rami was the cause of the deaths of the royal family, what would you do? Go back on your word? Risk re-imprisoning your father?

You took a deep breath. You had to know. With a shaking hand, you reached for the door knob. It turned with a click, and then the door swung open with a creak. Then, you stepped into the west wing.

It was much like the rest of the castle. It just felt different because you knew you weren’t supposed to be there. You briefly worried that Rami might find you. You had not seen him yet today, and that usually meant he was up in his room somewhere. His room was within the west wing.

You stopped at the first door that appeared on the right. It was locked. You moved on to the room across the hall. It was open, although dark except for the sun peeking through the window. It faced the north though, so it was still dim.

It appeared to be a bedroom, but it wasn’t grand enough to belong to any of the family. You guessed that it served as a guest room for when other members of that class came to stay. That had evidently not occurred in many years.

Dust covered most of the furniture. There was a desk in the corner, so you decided that was the best place to start. Any records would be in there. You opened the top drawer and sifted through the leafs of paper, but nothing was promising. Until you got to the last one.

It was a letter. The addressee was a Lady Marietta, which you didn’t recognize, but clearly it had never been sent. It wasn’t sealed.

You picked up the letter. It was in beautiful, scrawling cursive that you were certain a woman had written. With one more glance around, you carefully lifted the envelope flap and tugged the parchment out. You unfolded the letter and began to read.

“Dear Marietta,” it began. “It is wonderful to hear from you! I’m glad to know you and your family are well. The king and I are so thrilled to hear of your pregnancy! Perhaps if it’s a girl, we can introduce her to Prince Rami…”

You stopped reading. Prince. Rami. Prince Rami. Your heart rate accelerated so quickly you felt you had just run a one hundred meter dash. Rami was the prince? How could it be? He was a beast!

You jumped when you heard a dull thud and a hiss of pain come from the window. A second voice followed shortly after. The only other person allowed in the west wing was Rami. If there were other people there, they were not the household staff. And they were not you. Thinking it might be some villagers sent by your father, you went to investigate.

Crouching low you slunk towards the noise. You hid behind an old dresser and peered around the edge. Two men were standing just inside the window, dressed in dark clothing and looking around as they brushed some dirt from their trousers.

“Do you really think there’s anything of value here?” one wondered.

“I dunno,” the second one said. “But the royal family lived here. There’s bound to be jewels and stuff somewhere.”

“Unless others got here first, “complained the first one. “It’s been almost thirteen years since the king and queen were killed.”

“Even their old clothes are worth something,” insisted the second. “Let’s just take a look around. It’s not like anybody’s here.”

Fear turned your stomach. Robbers! You had to warn Rami. You started to get to your feet, only you banged your head into the top drawer of the dresser, which was hanging open. The wood smacked together, and you bit back a squeak as a bump started to form on your scalp. Eyes watering and head throbbing, you stilled, hoping against hope that they had not heard you. Judging by their acute silence, they had.

“Who’s there?” called the second one.

“Are you certain it’s a person?” questioned the first. “There’s rumors about this place being haunted.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said the second. “Those are just stories for children.”

You closed your mouth to quiet your breathing. You listened closely to the sound of their footsteps approaching. Your mind went wild with solutions. You could run, but they would catch you. You couldn’t fight two men all on your own. And you couldn’t exactly call for anyone since there was no guarantee that anybody was nearby. Just when you were going to make a break for it, a face appeared beside you. It was the second robber.

“Well, well, well,” he sneered. “What do we have here?”

You trembled as the other took his place in front of you. Their menacing laughter made you shrink back.

“R-Rami…” you began shakily. Then you screamed. “RAMI!”

Rami was in his bedroom, looking at a key in his paw. It was the key to the library. He was considering giving it to you since you told him about how much you loved books. That way, you could be more comfortable here. His only hesitation was that it felt like a betrayal to his mother. That was her safe haven as well, and he wanted to preserve it. He set the key down on his desk, deciding he would ask Mrs. Carson about it.

Beside the key was the mirror the enchantress gave him all those years ago. It was his one window to the outside world. With it, he could see anyone he wanted, just by asking. For years, he tried to use it to find the enchantress herself, but it never worked. So it mostly collected dust. On a whim, he picked it up.

“Show me Y/N,” he said.

The glass began to glow, bright and blinding for a fleeting moment. Then, the picture took shape. You were walking through the west wing, and exploring a guest room that his mother had used as her study.

He flared up, prepared to march down the stairs and scold you, but another movement caught his eye. You were not alone. Then, through the mirror and from the hall, he heard you cry out for him. He dropped the mirror onto the desk and hurtled out of the room.

He ran toward the guest room. When he was first transformed, he was alarmed by the speed he had, especially on all fours. He was also surprisingly agile, and now that he was used to this body, moving swiftly and securely was as natural to him as breathing. Only, he wasn’t going to bother being quiet now.

One of the robbers took hold of your arm and you struggled against him. His grip was like iron, though, and as much as you tried to wrench away, he had a firm hold on you. He clapped a hand over your mouth to keep you from crying out again.

“Quiet, you!” he warned, while the partner flashed a knife. “Or we might silence you permanently!”

You screamed into his hand and wriggled some more, to no avail. Then, the door burst open and a ferocious roar rang out. It shook the dresser that was now beside you. The robber dropped your arm, but it was right as you pulled away, so you toppled over.

“W-what is that thing?” the first robber stammered.

“I don’t know, but we should be rid of it,” the second said firmly, snatching the knife from him and brandishing it.

Rami fearlessly bounded over with a threatening growl, and the men quickly realized the size of the animal they were challenging. Only, Rami was no animal. He grabbed the first one around the throat so quickly you might have missed it had you blinked. His grip was steady, but he could clearly still breathe.

“Don’t kill me!” the man begged.

Rami started to answer, but just as he opened his mouth, the second robber slashed his arm. Rami howled and dropped the first one, who scrambled away. Blood seeped into Rami’s fur. He gathered himself and then rose up to his full height. With a fierce growl, he snatched up the man with the knife by his arm, forcing him to drop the weapon. It clattered to the floor and you grabbed it.

The first man saw that they were now without a weapon. He looked to his partner.

“I’m out of here,” he said, and he took off back through the window.

The second man was more persistent, struggling to get free, as you were doing just moments ago. Then, Rami grabbed him around the neck and dragged him to the window. Then, he held the man up so they were face to face.

“Get. Out,” Rami warned with a growl.

The man stopped struggling.

“O-okay,” he stuttered. “I-I will, just don’t kill me, please!”

“Tell no one what you saw here!” Rami insisted.

“I swear!” he returned. “I won’t tell anyone, just please let me go!”

Rami tossed him almost lazily out the window. He struggled to his feet and took off into the woods after his partner. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Rami -”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” Rami bellowed, rounding on you.

You stepped back, nearly stumbling, but Rami caught you by the arm.

“This place is forbidden!” he continued. “These are my private things!”

You shook him off and planted your feet, becoming defensive. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I only came here because I didn’t know where else to go!” you shouted back. “I needed answers!”

“Answers to what?!” he demanded.

“If I’m going to live my life here then I have a right to know who you are!” you cried. “I thought -”

You stopped yourself. Knowing now that Rami was the prince, you didn’t want to tell him you had suspected him of killing the king and queen.

“What?” he pressed. “What did you think?”

You looked at the floor, ashamed. “I thought you were the reason the king and queen were dead. I was trying to find evidence of what happened to the prince.”

When he didn’t answer, you looked up. His shoulders sagged and he refused to meet your gaze.

“You can imagine how shocked I was to find out that you…” you trailed off. You didn’t need to say.

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed. You wanted him to say something - anything to answer for what had just happened. You stared at him, willing him to speak. But he didn’t.

“Rami,” you sighed. “You’re hurt. Let me help you with that cut.”

“It’s fine,” he snapped, recoiling from you.

“Don’t be a baby,” you said. “It could get infected.”

“I don’t need to -”

“I’m not giving you the option!”

He met your eyes and you glared at each other. He heaved a sigh.

“Fine,” he conceded.

“Come on,” you said, offering your hand.

He took it in his massive paw, and you led him out. He told you how to get to his bedroom. There, he flopped down into a chair. You, however, were distracted immediately by the rose floating in a case on a side table that was pushed into the back corner. It had a soft pink glow around it, but it was wilting. Several petals littered the table’s surface.

“What is that?” you asked, pointing.

“None of your business,” Rami replied harshly.

You frowned. “If you don’t start explaining, I’ll just get more curious, and then we’ll have more instances like today.”

“I’m beginning to think I relieved your father of a most annoying housemate,” he said.

“Oh!” you gasped. “That was so uncalled for!”

“Well, listen to you!” he returned. “Demanding answers at every turn, walking around people’s private rooms!”

“My father didn’t keep secrets from me!” you shot back.

You glowered at each other for a moment before Rami caved once more.

“The rose...is a symbol of my curse,” he began.

“What curse?” you asked.

You knelt down beside the chair and started tending to the wound on his arm.

“When I was twelve, an enchantress came to the castle to collect a debt owed by my father…”

He told the whole story. The way she attacked the palace and killed his father. He and his mother’s escape attempt. And that he was paying the price the king owed. He did not tell you about the way to lift the curse.

“That’s ridiculous!” you cried, securing his bandage with a tug. “She punished a child for something his father did?! Who is this enchantress? I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind!”

You got to your feet, and started toward the door, only he grabbed your hand. You faced him. He eased you back to your place beside him.

“I admire your readiness, but it’s no use trying to find her,” he said. “I spent the first four years of my life as a beast searching. I tried using the mirror, but it showed me nothing. She just vanished.”

“It’s so unfair,” you said quietly. “Is there a way to break the curse?”

“There is,” he admitted. “But I won’t tell you.”

“Why not?” you wondered.

“It’s not something you can do for me,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

That was true. The last thing Rami wanted was for you to feel any sort of pressure to lift the curse. If he was going to earn your love, it would not be out of pity or obligation.

“Are you sure there’s no way I can help?” you asked.

He almost smiled at the sweetness of your offer.

“I’m sure,” he told you. “You’ve done enough.”

He placed his paw atop your hand, which rested on his fresh bandage.

“Please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s my fault you got this. I’m sorry, Rami. I shouldn’t have pried, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’re right, if you’re going to live here and we’re to be companions, I can’t keep my life so secret.”

“Thank you,” you said. “For opening up. And for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

You held his gaze. You suddenly realized why the eyes in the painting seemed so familiar. You had seen them before, only on the beast, and they were so bereft of their former joy that you had not seen the similarities.

“I should have known you were the prince,” you said.

“You should?” he questioned.

You nodded. “You have the same eyes. They’re just...sadder now.”

“Yes…” he trailed off. “Sadder.”

Another beat passed.

“Rami, I…” you hesitated. “Now that I know you better, I’d like it if we could be friends.”

He blinked. “Friends?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Is that alright?”

He did smile now, and his sharp teeth didn’t frighten you.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Good,” you replied. “And just so you know, friends give each other hugs after they share things like this.”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” you joked.

He didn’t argue any further. So you stood up, leaned over the chair, and put your arms around his furry neck. You had never really gotten to feel his coat before. It was soft and wavy, and beautiful in its own way. You felt his powerful muscles relax beneath your touch.

“There,” you said with a little extra squeeze. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I suppose not.”

“Good,” you said. “Now, I’ve got to go and change for dinner. I’ll see you in a little bit?”

He nodded. “You will.”

“Alright then,” you said.

You bid him farewell, and he listened to you cross the room and close the door behind you on your way out. Rami’s cheeks were burning, and it wasn’t from the fire in the hearth. Little did he know, you felt the warmth too.

Dinner went smoothly. It was a lighter conversation, which made both you and Rami relax. You even made him laugh. Twice. His laugh, though seemingly tainted by the rumble in his voice, was warm. It made you smile. He had clearly not laughed in years, because he seemed startled by the sound of it.

After the meal, Rami actually walked you up to your room. Anna was waiting for you, and her eyebrows shot up at the sight of you walking hand in hand with Rami. Or rather, hand in paw. She glanced quickly between you before lowering her eyes, but you saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Good evening, Y/N,” she greeted.

“Hi, Anna,” you replied. “You can go ahead in.”

Anna nodded and disappeared behind your door. You turned to Rami.

“I suppose this is goodnight,” you said. “Your highness.”

He shook his head. “No, just Rami for you.”

You shot him a questioning look.

“Because that’s what my friends call me,” he explained.

You beamed. “Well, then. Goodnight, Rami.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied. “I wanted to ask you if...um…”

“Yes?” you pressed.

“Would you join me tomorrow for my morning walk?” he asked. “Please.”

“I will,” you told him.

“Good!” he said excitedly, before clearing his throat and becoming dignified again. “I’ll come for you at nine.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said.

“Goodnight,” he said. “Again.”

You giggled. “Goodnight, Rami.”

You stepped forward and hugged him again. You felt him stiffen before releasing his breath. It broke your heart that affection was so jarring to him. But you were glad you could show it to him.

With one final look at each other, you followed Anna into your room. You smiled once more at him before closing the door. Rami stood there, for once grateful for his face being covered in hair. You couldn’t see the blush he was feeling.

Anna raised an eyebrow at you as you turned around.

“Not a word,” you jokingly warned.

She giggled. You joined her. Then, she helped you change for bed. Your head hit the pillow, and you drifted off, dreaming of warm paws and glowing roses.

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