#I did draw a few but only two drawings have survived over the several phone changes and moved I’ve done

[fagbearentertainment]

Drawing animation meme YouTubers is healing my inner child fr

[leeha225]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾PINK TINT☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ (2)

Hyunjin×Fem reader

⚠genre⚠: fluff, college scenario, teacher student relationship, maybe forbidden love, red strings attached, very very veryyyy sugar sweet, yet smut says Hi😈

Synopsis: Final year of art school and you still don't know what to do in life. Everything takes a turn when he stepped in, for better or worst. Worst is interesting sometimes. Make my rules sounds nice but feelings never lie.

(a/n: it's all fiction people no hate!!!!)

Warm cup of tea for the day, wrapping her hands around it for heat radiate through her skin, she looked out her apartment window. Evening sun set painting the sky with an array of colors. Wind blew fluttering her art material set for her now due assignment. Since it was the last year attending class everyday wasn't necessary and y/n being the best student never needed so.

Taking a sip of her tea, y/n sat over at her table and took a sheet of paper out. To warm up her hands, she quickly did a rough sketch of anything she thought of. Her pencil like it were possessed drew her pulsing emotions... A boy... No a man.... No... Hwang Hyunjin.

Y/n drew the very view she admired, his gentle smile with the cute crescent curve of his eyes. Looking at it made her flush up again, putting away the drawing quickly, y/n went over to start yer assignment.

Half way through her assignment with the base sketch, her phone vibrated on the table with a low buzz. It was Chungha.

C:Heeyyyyyyyy🤩

Y/n: ola amigo~✋

C: The university is hosting an Art exhibition and Mr K asked if you want to donate any of your paintings!!!

Y/n: I don't have anything exhibition-able

C: Then make one... You have time till next month. He asked you to come tomorrow.

Y/n: okay 😪

C: Seeeeya😎 Good luck 🤗

Y/n had to know the details about the exhibition, rushing up to the office, she couldn't help but feel excited. This was an amazing opportunity for her chance to Paris. Maybe she could even earn money if anyone bought her piece.

"Mr K?" Y/n knocked softly at his cabin door.

"Come in" Inside were decorated with old and new paintings, several paintings stacked in boxes at the side, well yes the place was rubbish but... Colorful.

"Ahhh Y/n, I was expecting you... Come with me" Y/n followed Mr K out to another cabin, to find a junior staff going through few sketches.

"Ms U this is y/n one of my best students" Brief greetings. "She wants to participate in the art exhibition donating some of her artworks"

"Do have anything that you would like to present?" The young woman maybe in her 20s spoke softly with a smile.

"Um... I was thinking since I have one month time, could paint a new one?" Fiddling with the hem of her blouse, y/n felt a sudden break of cold sweat.

"Well the thing is that we have to put up the artworks on the brochure and that has to be sent everywhere"

"O-oh... But I don't have any-"

"Let it be a mystery piece" Y/n jolted at the voice from behind, it was Mr Hwang right behind her that she could feel his presence towering over her.

"A mystery piece is only done with recognized artists to attract visitors" Mr K said while Y/n couldn't think straight. Too close was all she could think holding her breathe.

"It's fine I'll try next-"

"Use my name, I'll be her mentor and I'll produce a piece too with her" All three eyes went wide. Y/n finally turned to look at him, he looked straight at her with a smile. His hair was tied this time, and his usual casual hoodie was replaced with a white cardigan button that hung loose over his body, exposing ample of his collarbone. Paired with formal pants... Classic. Y/n quickly turned away to hide her naughty gaze.

"Great then, you both can use the art room as much as you want. I need to see the progress every week. Two paintings soon"

"Yes Mr K. Thank you Ms U" Y/n still blank slowly processing. Hyunjin walked away with a low chuckle to himself... Is he enjoying this?!

"Y/n a word" Mr K called for her to his cabin. To his dusty cabin again, how does he even survive here without a wheeze. "Sit down, I really need you to take this opportunity seriously, because your paired with one of the best renowned artist. I'm genuinely thankful because he denied my offer in presenting a piece, but now because of you he reconsidered. So, just go with the flow, any problems you can approach me. Okay?"

"He's famous?"

"That's a secret but yeah it's a golden opportunity, not to worry. Also don't ask him personal questions because he doesn't like being...talked about. Good luck then" Something felt off, because y/n felt like she was getting ready to babysit a grumpy kid.

"Thank you Mr K" Y/n walked out of the dust and opened the staff room door to find Mr Hwang leaning against the wall waiting for her.

"Mr H-Hwang" Y/n softly greeted and he came over to her.

"Ms y/n, Let's talk" Instantly he turned away and walked to the nearest empty classroom. Screeching two chairs to the middle face to face for them. Y/n sat down awkwardly adjusting herself as the man sat down casually legs crossed. "What is your art style?" He asked taking out his phone.

"Um...Minimalism? both impressionism and post-impressionism, aesthetics pastel colors and emotions" He peeked from his phone at her, inhaling sharply.

"You know what is my style?" He leaned forward, exposing his chest a bit. Y/n shook her head flushed every moment with the man "Realism, Baroque, expressionism, and emotions. What do you think we have in common?" She looked up at him and wondered, how their thoughts were completely different, he was more of beige guy while hers a more pink. But one thing sure did coincide.

"Emotions" His face lit up.

"Exactly. We are going portray our emotions...Romanticism" The last word was soft as a whisper. Hyunjin stood up to walk towards the board. Playing with the marker lid he leaned back against the board with his gaze fixed at the student up front. "What do you think is romanticism y/n?"

"Expression of emotions of an individual towards anything, like nature, music, art forms and-"

"People yes, very good. But I think it's felony. It isn't real romanticism" Hyunjin tried pushing y/n to the edge to get it out of her.

"Why do you think so Mr Hwang?" Y/n feigned innocence to bring him to the edge too.

"Because if you could love it then why should we learn to let it go" Hyunjin came over and bent to align his gaze with hers.

"W-well they say when person losses someone or something, they are given the most powerful strength of endurance. Love and loss are proportional to one another. Cannot be balanced because everyone will come across feelings of grief once in a while" Y/n bit make a tear as Hyunjin sharp gaze wavered as he was of loss of words.

"Well said" He clapped. "That will be our theme then" Brushing back his hair, Hyunjin went over to write that one the board. 'Love and Loss'. "We are supposed to produce two works, so one is Love and other Loss. Which do you choose?"

"Um, I don't know... Loss?"

"You do Love" Y/n nibbled on her lip because she wasn't familiar with it... Much... Maybe but maybe not. "Have you not witnessed love y/n?"

"No, just a crush but got over it" Hyunjin narrowed his gaze, inhaling deeply as he sat across from her again and whispered.

"Don't worry. I'll help you with that" He smirked to himself toying with her like he was with the marker in Hand.

"Y-yes?" Her questioning gaze was cut off by the bell. Y/n jumped up at the sudden siren, adjusting herself. "I have to get home. Thank you for the insight"

"Right, Thank you too. Tomorrow bring a normal scribble pad, pencil and eraser" Hyunjin stood up and followed her out.

---------

On her way home Y/n thought of... Love. Foreign as it sounds but she did get a taste of the feeling. Kai, a dance major, senior from school and friend who once helped through embarrassing times. Both first met when Y/n clumsy almost pushed all the bicycles, But Kai caught her in time. Since then she would always find him. Slowly they both started with Hi's, small sentences, exchange of numbers. But after a while, she found that her classmate Jenny made her move on him. Chungha guessed maybe he got close to y/n to just get to see Jenny. Trash, Chungha once exclaimed for them to hear and hid while Y/n was caught. Kai called her over and asked how she was doing and boasted about her girlfriend. Y/n herself said trash bluntly and left. Chungha felt super proud of her friend.

Dark and crushing it is... Love.. Scoff*

~~~~~~~~~~~

A scribble pad, stationary, water, purse, snacks... All set. Rummaging through her bag one last time before walking to class... No one. Hyunjin isn't here yet, y/n sat down continuing her playlist for a while. Slowly she turned to the nearby window and leaned on the sil. One hand pillowed for her face, while the other dangled outside trying to catch the falling leaves and petals off the nearby tree. In a distance people were playing and cheering for a basketball match. The crowd mingling with the breeze made y/n sleepy. Slowly her eyes fluttered shut as she drifted off to dreamland.

Soft weather continues, but it was night, the moon shone bright illuminating her path. Y/n was walking through her hometown streets, an unfamiliar tree stood in the distance, swaying to the wind and shining under the moonlight. A single petal from a flower on the tree brushed past her cheek warm. The warmth made her smile in peace.

Slowly she got up rubbing her cheek as though the dream were real she realised. Hyunjin! Looking around she found the man right next to her leaning against the wall. His hair all messy but cute, a simple smile looking down at her. Y/n stood up to greet the man, stumbling a little clumsy from the sleep.

"G-good morning"

"Good afternoon" He emphasised for her to check the time and yes it was 1:07pm. "Have you eaten?"

"No I haven't" Correcting herself averting her gaze to her back for her makeup. One side of her cheek had a soft pink touch to it, was it because of the rubbing?

"Me too, so let's go out for lunch, we can start our discussions their" Y/n eyes widened did he just ask her out for lunch. But who would deny the man.

"O-okay" Grabbing her stuff real quick both left out to have lunch at a local restaurant, quickly finding seats, Hyunjin the gentleman he his helped her to be seated. Y/n flushed distracting every brain cell to the menu card. Quickly ordering anything she thought was interesting and took out her scribble pad. Looking up to see the man was staring directly into her soul, running his finger on his lips softly. Gulp*

This is going to take a while...

~~~~~~~~

A rough sketch on what to be done was complete and so was lunch, both just about to leave.

"I'll pay" Y/n offered but Hyunjin chuckled walking to the counter.

"Another time. Let me be a gentleman today" Fishing out his wallet.

"And tomorrow?" Y/n blurted without thought. He thought for a while and smirked.

"You tell me" Y/n couldn't think straight and went out to find kids playing, giggles and care free vibe. Quickly capturing the moment when one kid came over to her.

"Unnie (elder sister) your pretty like a flower" She said tugging her dress, y/n in awe quickly picked her up and started laughing and asked her name. The little girl answered with her pinching Y/n cheek with a tiny fingers, to see if she were real. Just how contagious kids were with their happiness, quickly turning around to see Hyunjin smiling at his phone.

"I have to go now bye" Putting her down softly and adjusting her dress the little kid ran away waving shy. " Isn't she cute?" Y/n asked to the man who now stood closer. His hair brushing over his face effortlessly.

"Yeah. You like kids?"

"Yeah, How can one not?" Completely in love with the little one.

"Okay" Hyunjin said and walked away, eh...

"Um... Why don't you like kids? " Y/n catching on.

"Yeah I very much do" He said looking at her sideways to observe her reaction.

"Er... Thank you for the lunch" Y/n stammered

"Anything for my student"

Rest of the way they discussed on the later specifics like size, type of paint etc, to place the order.

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

The discussion went on for thre days, Mr K confirming and placing order for the materials, Y/n spent the rest of her time with her own assignments. Music, painting, Tea, cake... Regular routine.

Following week the materials arrived. Checking and setting things up, sometimes Hyunjin and Y/n would have that tension moment but eased out as the first priority was the exhibition. The site was set and going around to a get gist was mandatory. Y/n suggested painting a little on the wall to show a connection between the paintings. Hyunjin was pleased and so was Mr K seeing how they got along just fine.

Weeks went by as both sometimes both continued at home and got back to show progress. Yet both didn't dare to make a mistake. Finally as 80% of the art now finished Y/n stretched out, pulling out her headphones to look outside. It was raining and that dimmed out the room. Looking over her board to see Hyunjin full focused painting, studying his features to see his forehead scrunched cutely showing he's concentrating hard. His long slender fingers holding the brush and strokes all elegant. Wow he was an Art himself. Y/n stood up to get a closer look and my God it was amazing. How defined each stroke was representing loss. What made him portray it perfectly?

"It's amazing?" She mumbled, Hyunjin turned and oops he wasn't wearing headphones in one ear. "It looks amazing, love the blend and definition" She said bending over to get a closer look. "How do you bring to color blend without disturbing the base?" Y/n shot a few questions as a student.

"Here sit" She sat next to him as Hyunjin explained his tricks in a very detailed way and yes her intention to learn were genuine.

"How can you portray loss so well?" She whispered but the man again heard her. Leaning back, he loosened his hair tie and looked at the painting.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I-I mean it's perfect like you have really gone through that emotion-"

"Yes I have, I did lose someone dear to me" Y/n wanted to ask more but Mr K words echoed.

"I'm sorry to have asked"

"No it's alright, you were right though, one who experiences loss are given the most powerful strength of endurance" He looked at her, both were close leaned in. Just an effort and the space between could just disappear. He looked down at her lips then back at her but turned away. Silence as Y/n very well understood his emotion. Suddenly a romantic OST played out loud complementing the rain and the atmosphere. Y/n quickly got to her feet to see that her headphones went off and phone started playing out loud. Shoot

"Y/n" A low call as her name seemed to echo through her. Hyunjin was now on his feet too, one hand extended out. The room now super dark because it was after university hours, not many people in the building, is that why everything seemed to be heard like an echo? The pattering loud and clear. She went over and stood in front like she were possessed by the man, he softly pulled her close. Shiver ran down her spine like the room had got 5 times cooler. But the warmth from him eased. One hand on her hip lightly and other held her hand warm and firm. Both hands covered in paint looked beautiful to them. (Artists you see) Slowly both swayed to the music, starting with simple steps and slowly they twirled causing them to giggle. The sad atmosphere now better, Hyunjin looked beautiful smiling like a kid. His crescent eyes curved to complement his beauty mark. Like a moon and star. The tempo increased and steps became fast too, twirling about when both finally laughed out their hearts looking at each other and...

Peck~

Hyunjin softly brushed his soft lips over Y/n's making both flushed with a mild pink tint.

a/n: Just finished my exams, super sorry for delays people😘Love you guys for the support. ❤it 🔁it... ~

[drabsyo]

Drabs, I know that you usually draw Fleur with slightly darker blonde hair than Narcissa. Was it a choice so that it’s easier to distinguish them from each other or was your Fleur maybe slightly influenced by the actress from the movie who had darker hair?

In the books Fleur didn’t seem to have much description other than having long silvery hair (waist length?) and having this glow around her. So like with Narcissa, what works have influenced your design of Fleur?

It’s fascinating sometimes to read the artist’s perspective and your previous reply to the anon about Narcissa has been very interesting.

Thank you!!! 🥺

I was actually pretty embarrassed over how enthusiastic I got over the whole hair thing, but I'm glad it made some sense at least 😂 And now that I've been given even more reason to talk about it... (Let's face it, I shouldn't even be allowed on this website to begin with, ya'll have been way too nice to me.)

Only click on keep reading if you want to read Some Nonsense.

I did consider Fleur's actress when I thought about her hair color. Though I pictured it to be something of a mix between movie Fleur and Elsa’s (from Frozen) hair. But the way I drew Fleur's hair, the way it falls across her shoulders, that was more of... well, I imagined Fleur to have effortlessly perfect hair, like she doesn't seem to need to style it so much because it's already whimsical as it is, what with her being part-Veela. There were a lot of fanfictions that helped me to sort of see a better image of Fleur in my head so really, I owe it to all the talented writers out there!

It's also the same with Narcissa's case. Though I decided to give her paler hair, compared to Fleur's, because I wanted to emphasize that air of vulnerability Narcissa has—this image she conjures, like she's this fragile thing made of glass, which typically in fanfiction is what Narcissa uses so that Voldemort would overlook her a lot, hence why she wasn't given any "missions" or "tasks" while Voldemort was in Malfoy Manor. Slytherin preservation. This "fragile" image was something Narcissa capitalized on and maintained perfectly, but in post-war Cissamione fanfictions, she no longer has to put on that façade—she starts living for herself, but the quiet sadness about her never really goes away.

I really did struggle at first, I had to find a way where I could draw them without confusing people and myself.

So, again, I sifted through a lot of canon and non canon material about these two characters which funnily enough made me see some kind of parallel going on between them. I know. Fleur Delacour and Narcissa Black. Parallels?! It's nuts. But again, this is only within Fleurmione and Cissamione fanfiction, and it really helped me to draw them better. (At least in a way that made them distinguishable from one other at first glance, I’d like to think.)

These 'hair scenes' are mostly the bits where Hermione "first" sees Fleur. Hermione is entranced, a little curious, sometimes she feels indifferent, but the general theme is Hermione immediately finds Fleur beautiful—which probably explains why Hermione in fanfiction sometimes thinks Narcissa could be part-Veela like Fleur. And as you can imagine, that's where my struggle began.

You'll see what I mean in a minute. And just like last time, remember that this part comes with spoilers.

🔹 In Fighting is our form of Flirting by InsomniacAndBi in Chapter 2 Hermione sees Fleur for the first time. This is the first Fleurmione fanfiction I've ever read, and also the first time I've encountered Fleur's character. Tall, bright blonde hair, won the genetic lottery, aristocratic features, face held in a scowl, floats into the room with effortless poise, immediately starts demanding things out of people... Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it. Like some other blonde we know.

"Non!" A voice from the doorway said. "This is not what was agreed."

For a moment, Hermione thought about ignoring it but turned to glance over there if only to quell her curiosity. A girl stepped into the room and Hermione's phone call was forgotten in a moment. She knew that it wasn't nice to stare but Hermione couldn't help but do it because, in all honesty, this was the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She was definitely taller than Hermione was, with bright blonde hair and...clearly she had won the genetic lottery.

Her skin practically glowed and it looked so smooth and soft. It made Hermione wonder if she used those fancy beautification charms or had a very lengthy skincare routine. Or maybe, just maybe, this is what being rich did to people's faces. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that this girl was rich - like extremely rich, like even rich people thought she was rich. That kind of rich. That was the type of rich that this girl was.

Also, only super rich people curled up their lip like this girl was doing.

She breezed into the room like she was floating and Hermione hastily ended her phone call and promised to call back later.

"This is not what was agreed," The girl said again and Hermione felt incredibly small sitting in front of her. Not to mention, the girl's clothes screamed 'I'm rich and I know it' and Hermione's screamed 'I'm so out of place that I might as well be a bull in a China shop'.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione managed to get out when it became apparent that the girl was waiting for her response.

"You are English." The girl looked shock for a moment at Hermione's accent before shaking her head angrily. "This is not what was agreed."

🔹 In Oath of Silver by i_shall_wear_midnight immediately in the first chapter, when Witcher Hermione first meets Fleur, it's something Hermione quickly notices. Vivid sapphire eyes. Silvery blonde hair that shimmered in the torchlight. And once again, right off the bat, Fleur is pushy. She wants things done her way. It’s just so cute how she doesn’t even let the fact that Hermione is a Witcher, an extremely dangerous outcast in society, get in the way of that.

(I'm sorry for this but I just have to gush about Oath of Silver. Hermione as a witcher is just so fitting for her character; she possesses that natural eye for detail that remarkable witchers have, witchers like Geralt and Vesimir (a skill that gets even more honed through the Witcher Trials). Hermione even has Geralt's dry sense of humor, a bit rough around the edges, brilliant, snippy without really meaning to (because she asks a lot of questions and would rather get to the point), but has a good heart.)

The witcher figured that would be the end of her human interactions for the evening, but only a few minutes later, the stunning newcomer from before appeared before her. Upon closer inspection, Hermione couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t be conspicuous in any group of people she happened to find herself immersed in. The woman was looking back at her with vivid sapphire eyes, and silvery blonde hair that shimmered even in torchlight. Her attire was travel-ready, but elegant.

“Bonsoir. You are a witcher, oui? Or perhaps a ‘witcheress’ is more accurate? I am not familiar with all the terms…” She watched the beautiful stranger patiently while she fumbled through Hermione’s professional title. As if the distinctive, amber colored cat-eyes hadn’t given her away, the brunette mused wryly. Eventually, the blonde gave up and sat herself down at Hermione’s table, her medallion twitching faintly as the stranger got settled. Hermione filed that away for later. Her new dinner buddy seemed to be oblivious to the curious and concerned looks now being thrown her way at boldly taking a seat at a mutant’s table.

“I came from Ellander,” she began in a non sequitur. “The temple, and spoke to the priestess Nenneke, who told me about you.” Hermione continued eating her second serving of stew and waited for her to get to the point. “I would like to hire you as an escort as I travel back to Toussaint.” The witcher finally put her spoon down.

“Sounds like you ought to be asking some mercenaries to be your bodyguards,” she responded, eyeing the bow the woman was carrying on her pack meaningfully.

“A pair seems doable, and I’d prefer you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.”

“Yes, technically, I am aware,” she replied, beginning to show signs of impatience.

“Then why are you soliciting a monster-slayer?”

🔹 Witnessed here in Time and Blood by whistle.the.silver is probably the most interesting one because it uses the concept of Veela hair as a wand core brilliantly. Again, this comes with huge 🛑spoilers🛑. Read the italicized words at your own risk. I can't add the entire clip here, as the topic of Fleur's hair is littered throughout several other chapters. But this story shows us a Fleur who is willing to do anything in order to protect Hermione during the course of the war.

My memory is a bit foggy, I haven't read this story in months, but here's what I remember:

This takes place during the time of Shell Cottage, where Fleur is married to Bill and takes care of Hermione. Fleur didn't expect to fall in love with the young brunette and, as the Golden Trio's time in Shell Cottage comes to an end, she worries over Hermione's safety. Fleur, using magic only known to the Veela tribes, does her best to offer Hermione protection in any way that she can--even going as far as to study what Lily Potter did so Harry could live. At one point, Fleur cuts her own hair with a length now roughly above her shoulders to give Hermione a new wand. But this isn't the only bridge Fleur is willing to cross to make sure Hermione survives the incoming battle. Fleur's grandmother, Ron, and even Bill himself, is a little sceptic over the propriety of Fleur's actions, but Fleur is determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Hermione makes it out of the war safe and alive.

So that was a lot to wade through, I know.

But if you've skipped all those parts for the sake of missing spoilers then let me go ahead and explain why the parallel between Fleur and Narcissa are there. Sure, it's plain to see that they have similar physical characteristics, but they're also similar in other ways.

In Witnessed here in Time and Blood, Fleur is willing to do whatever it takes to protect Hermione during the war: sacrifice the secrets of the Veela, make Hermione a wand, make her marriage and friendship with Bill suffer, be scrutinized by her Veela tribe, etc. And didn't Narcissa do the exact same thing during the war to make sure Draco made it out alive? They both chose to 'betray' everyone else for the sake of this one person. Not to mention, in Extinction by rubikanon Narcissa even makes Hermione a wand. (I’m telling you, there are so many parallels between these two ships and I can probably list more but I'd rather not make this post longer.)

Here, I’m just going to go ahead and say it—it’s almost like Fleur and Narcissa in fanfiction have the same love language.

A glaringly obvious difference between them is their upbringing, and we could argue that this why Fleur tends to be more open with her emotions while Narcissa tends to be more carefully guarded with hers. And I don't know if writers realize these parallels but as someone who's a huge fan of both characters and as someone who makes the occasional fanart of them, it's a pretty difficult detail to ignore. This crazy conspiracy all started because I had to find a way to make both characters look distinct from one another... It's just so interesting that writers from two different ships unknowingly make these parallels with two completely separate characters who are often at the opposite ends of the seesaw.

But again, let's take a look at Extinction by rubikanon. (I know. Extinction?! AGAIN?! Always.)

Spoiler warning!

🔹 Extinction by rubikanon has a marvelous take on this, as it turns out Fleur and Narcissa are actually good friends, and if I remember correctly, occasionally exchange letters (I’m unsure about this bit, I might have read it in a different story). They just get along remarkably well; I imagine they both share a kind of mutual respect for each other, a quiet understanding for the way the other woman carries herself: poised, meticulous, they pride themselves in their work, they both know how to handle an Ocean Of Secrets™, they're both accustomed to being under the spotlight of the public eye, and they’re both dedicated to their loved ones. Needless to say, Fleur and Narcissa are both giddy over the prospect of being with someone they love and adore, and end up meticulously planning numerous (I think it was hinted) double dates (Fleur with Bill, and Narcissa with Hermione) with the same kind of endearing enthusiasm that leave Hermione and Bill with no choice but to agree to the whims of their respective lovers.

(Scene seen in Chapter 23: Build Up Your Defense 2 of 2)

Narcissa and (Hermione) I were sitting together on one of the couches when Bill and Fleur arrived later. They showered Teddy with kisses on his little cheeks. He'd gotten past his clingy phase and adored us all, struggling to walk around the room by bracing himself on everyone's knees.

Suddenly Narcissa reached up and grabbed onto someone's wrist behind her head. "Don't even think about it," she said.

"That's just scary. How did you know I was there?" George stood up from behind the couch, a toy spider dangling from his hand. Teddy shrieked with laughter.

"She has eyes in the back of her head," Draco said.

"Mothers," George grumbled, sitting down close to Angelina. "Dump her, Hermione. I need you to date someone more prankable."

Fleur looked in surprise at the two of us on the couch. "Oh, la vache! How did I not know zees? You are lovers?"

"We're dating," I said mildly, though we really were lovers. In every sense. I glanced at Narcissa and bit my lip as heat spread through me. My imagination started planning a middle-of-the-night rendezvous.

"No wonder she (Narcissa) was so adamant about healing that curse," Bill said thoughtfully.

"Adorable! Simply adorable!" Fleur exclaimed, sitting down on Narcissa's other side. "We must go out for a double date next week, all four of us. We'll dine at L'Escargot!"

Narcissa's eyes lit up.

"Oh, no," I said.

"You won't have to eat snails," Narcissa said. "Please, mon amour?"

"French doesn't work on me."

"Please?" She kissed my cheek again and again. "Please? Please?"

Laughing now, I pulled her in for a kiss on the lips and said, "Yes, alright. But only because I have fond memories of trying new foods with you."

"As do I," she agreed.

Then we realized everyone was staring. Narcissa cleared her throat and straightened up, blushing. Draco made a face. Ginny looked a little more favorable. Harry held in laughter, and Andromeda hid her camera.

"Adorable!" Fleur declared again.

🔹 Also, I just have to add Sugar and Spice by waltzlikeits1698 because Chapter 4: Happy Birthday, Harry is absolutely hysterical. During Harry's birthday party, Hermione sulks in a corner because Fleur has apparently been avoiding her. Ginny decides to do something barking mad, something Hermione typically falls for.

“Ooh, someone’s grouchy,” Ginny teased, retracting her arm and facing Hermione fully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione insisted, although even she could hear the pout in her voice.

“Sure seems like it,” she snarked, summoning two shots and offering one to Hermione with a waggle of her eyebrows. Hermione pulled a face and Ginny shrugged before downing both, one after the other. (...) “You know, I spotted a tall, blonde drink of water hanging around the stairs.”

“What!?” Hermione exclaimed, whirling around and leaning out of the room to look at the staircase. Sure enough, standing at the bottom and resting a slender hand on the bannister was a tall, blonde witch who made Hermione’s heart stop with her mere presence. She had started forward before she knew it, her heart taking up an even quicker beat as she crossed the few steps and reached out a hand to clasp her elbow. The woman turned, that beautiful blonde hair catching the candlelight as it moved in one long sheet.

Hermione retracted her hand in horror, her eyes widening. “Mrs Malfoy!?”

Narcissa Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the witch who had practically accosted her. “Miss Granger. Can I help?”

What was she even doing here?

“Uh,” Hermione said dumbly, “sorry, I just… need the loo. Can I-?”

She gestured lamely to the staircase. Both women stared at the perfectly reasonable gap that Hermione could easily pass through. The moment stretched on.

Slowly, Narcissa returned her inscrutable gaze to Hermione, who squirmed uncomfortably in response. She then took a small step to the side and gestured for Hermione to pass. She did so and, as she turned the corner of the staircase, sent a deadly glare at Ginny, who was practically pissing herself with laughter.

(...)

Fleur had arrived. Hermione couldn’t explain exactly how she could tell, considering she had been in the duplicated bathroom for the last ten minutes after humiliating herself in front of Narcissa, but she knew it like she knew that it was levi-O-sa.

(...) (Hermione) She tried to avoid eye contact with Narcissa on the way back down and was thoroughly unsuccessful: the witch had physically reached out and laid her own hand over Hermione’s on the bannister, forcing her to stop and look up. Then, with an intention behind her eyes that Hermione had neither the brain capacity nor the energy to delve into, she said “It’s Ms Black now.”

Then she had released Hermione’s hand and turned back to her conversation with Andromeda and two wizards Hermione didn’t recognise.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of people Hermione didn’t recognise.

Anyway, long story short, this is the result of reading both Fleurmione and Cissamione—

But RIGHT. At the end of the day, again, these are just some crazy little things I picked up on and I may or may not be right, no one has to agree with me, everyone can disagree with me. Actually, yes feel free to disagree with me. I need to get out of this damn site and you know, touch grass.

Okay. Well. I'm gonna stop here now. So. Bye. But thank you anon for this lovely ask!! I’m really touched that you wanted to know what inspired the way I drew Fleur 🥺💕💖 But still. So sorry for this massive word vomit!! 😂

[chansdimp1es]

Back to You - Bang Chan

summary: no matter what challenges the two of you faced, either together or apart, you would always find your way back to each other. 

pairing: bang chan x fem! reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end, 

warnings: swearing, mentions of depression, body image issues, implied eating disorder, mention of s/h scars

word count: 1k +

__________________________________________

cold.

all you felt was cold. 

it was late on a friday night, and you sat at your bedroom window huddled up in your duvet, staring out into the black night. 

“oh for life to always be this peaceful”, you thought to yourself before wiping your runny nose for the umpteenth time that evening. 

“y/n...?” you heard softly from the other side of the door. 

“leave me alone chan, I don’t want to see you” you muttered, before slouching further into your protective shell consisting of your duvet, blankets and multiple pillows - to hibernate from the world forever. 

bang chan. your best friend since you were toddlers. both of your mum’s were best friends when they were young, and his mum and coincidentally moved into the house next to yours only a few months after chan was born after moving to Australia resulting in the two of you becoming just as close as you mothers after countless play dates and birthday parties. 

you’ve done everything together really, from sneaking into each others rooms in the middle of the night to help each other sleep after either yours or his parents a had forced one of you to go home, to your crazy side when the two of you have your infamous sleepovers and you get just a little too excited at the idea of watching a shitty rom-com that both you and chan adore to make fun of. he’s been there for you through thick and thin, but this - this is the one thing you could never be honest with him about. 

you’ve always secretly struggled with anxiety and depression, and despite a few chats here and there, you’ve surprisingly managed to hide the severity of it from chan after all these years. 

from covering your scars with makeup and being careful to not wear revealing clothes around him, to him amazingly never questioning why you excuse yourself to the toilet after almost every meal, there’s no way he could truly know about the black hole that eats you up at every waking moment of your day. 

but this? the pure and utter hatred of yourself? you don’t know how much longer you can go on for, how much longer you can survive the ferocious waves in your mind that threaten to drown you at every moment. 

the truth is, you’re exhausted. who wouldn’t be? but you know that you can never show your true self to chan, or anyone for that matter. you love the fake persona you’ve created for when you’re around your family and friends, the bright, carefree girl who hardly worries about anything, and you don’t want that to change. you naturally don’t want them to start walking on eggshells around you and start treating you as if you’re a fragile china doll that may break at any moment. 

you knew chan would try do everything he could to help you if he found out, god of course he would, but you wouldn’t be able to survive the guilt if you unloaded your mental burdens onto him, it wasn’t fair to him. and besides, you hardly wanted to tell your long term best friend who you may or may not have a major crush on about how you don’t want to be here anymore. 

“c’mon y/n.. let me in. i’m really worried” chan says through the door again. “let me help”, he pleads. “please just tell me whats going on””. “no chan, leave me alone, please” you begged between soft cries. “i’ll call you tomorrow okay?” chan says softly, finally defeated. “bye y/n..”

“bye channie”

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

3:00 AM

you’d barely slept. you rarely did anymore, but on nights like this especially, you were left tossing and turning all night. 

the hurt and sadness that you had heard in chan’s tone earlier kept replaying over and over in your mind. you felt bad for shutting him out, but how could you explain yourself to him, and show him the true side of you? it’s not as easy as you’d think. 

suddenly, your phone went off, illuminating a small section of your room and making you squint away from it due to the brightness after all of your crying. 

freckles ;) , 3:02 AM

sorry in advance, i had no choice but to tell him.

he knows pretty much everything btw 

huh? what was that supposed to mean?

your confusion was shortly lived when you heard the familiar sound that you had heard thousands of times before of your bedroom window opening, signalling that chan was here, and you could only think of one thing;

you were going to kill lee felix.

sure you loved you crazy ray of sunshine of a cousin, how could you not? but he was the only other person that you had trusted enough with the shit show of  what your life was, partially because he always saw through you enough to know that you were really never ‘okay’ when you told him you were. he was the only person you allowed to be your true self to be around, and he witnessed nights like these and just held you more times than you care to admit.

you look up to see chan coming through the window, half hoping to see his signature warm, dimpled smile that you know and love, but was met with sorrowful eyes and a tear stained face instead. 

“y/n” he said sadly, making his way over to your bed where you were yet again bundled up in your duvet and blankets. “y/n” he repeats, gently getting into bed and laying down beside you.

“why didn’t you ever tell me” he whispers softly whilst wrapping his arms around you. 

“i just didn’t know how”, you replied, crying into his chest.

“shhh, its okay, i’m here now.” he soothes you, gently stroking your hair, and you quickly dozed off to sleep soon after in the arms of the boy who would never know how close you hold him to your heart, and somehow you knew that everything would finally be okay, because no matter what challenges the two of you faced, either together or apart, 

you would always find your way back to each other. 

__________________________________________

a/n : hey guys! thanks for taking the time to read my first ever fic! sorry for the kinda rushed ending, but I thought it was best to end it where I did instead of drawing it out 🙃

~ s <3

[wordsnwhiskey]

Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- …. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

[writingfromkitchenator]

Dean ~ Black

Alphabet Challenge Masterlist (700 Followers)

Masterlist

Based on an imagine found here by @spn-imagines-nation

Words: 1,126

Warnings: Female Reader, Demon Dean, mentions of torture/violence

Crowley watched disinterestedly, leaning on his hand, as Dean took on yet another bunch of idiots thinking they could outplay him.  He couldn't understand why Dean did this, especially with his new found powers, as it just seemed rather pointless.

He really was starting to wonder whether allowing him to go demon had been a good idea.  He seemed to remain just as obstinately stubborn and it was starting to frustrate Crowley.  This was not how things were meant to go.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out.  Anything was better than watching another round of idiots gawking at Dean.

Crowley still had to refrain from groaning when he saw it was Sam messaging him.  It seemed he couldn't escape brother.

The message was not what he'd expected though.

Y/N hasn't found Dean has she?

If there was one thing Crowley had promised in all this, it was to keep you away from Dean.

Of course not. I hardly need her angrily bursting through the door.  Dealing with you like this is bad enough.

Crowley smirked to himself when his phone remained silent, knowing that he had successfully annoyed Sam, one of his few enjoyments left lately.

It wasn't long before his phone buzzed again though, this time Castiel calling him.

"I seem to be popular today," He answered.  "What can I do you for Feathers?”

“Is Y/N with you?" Castiel asked, ignoring his comment. "We can't reach her."

"No," Crowley said, a little annoyed.  "I just finished telling Moose that.  Don't you think the two of you would be the first to know should that happen?"

Castiel sighed.  "I was just making sure.  I honestly wanted the rumour I'd heard to not be true."

For a brief moment, Crowley's gaze flicked to Dean, but seeing him still occupied, he returned to the conversation.  "What rumour?”

"Metatron has her," Castiel said dejectedly.  "Or, several angels that are helping him, at least."

"Why would they want her?"

"They're after Dean and the first blade, Crowley.  What did expect them to do?  They know how much of a threat he is."

Crowley thought this over for a long moment.  "He's not exactly attached to her as he used to be."

"Maybe not," Castiel agreed.  "But we both know that won't stop Dean going after them."

"That wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"It would mean-"

"Yes, yes, I know."  Crowley's fingers tapped on the table thoughtfully.  “I’m sure you and Sam can handle it."

"I'd rather keep Sam out too."

"Then I suppose you're out of luck Feathers, because if I leave Casanova here alone, things are going to go wrong."

“Y/N needs help Crowley. You owe her just as much as anyone."

Crowley pursed his lips, hating that Castiel was right.  "Y/N is a big girl, I'm sure she can handle herself."

Just then, the pressure changed in the room around Crowley, and he found Dean standing at his table, his expression impassive for now.

"What's this about Y/N?”

"Nothing," Crowley said quickly, Castiel sighing on the other end.  "Feathers and I are just talking, so toddle and, er, keep doing whatever it is you've been doing."

Dean held Crowley's gaze though, a growing discomfort settling over him.  "What's happened to Y/N?”

"Tell him." Castiel said.  "There's little point in trying to hide it now."

Crowley pursed his lips. "This is on you, I hope you know that.”  He meets Dean's gaze steadily.  "It seems several of Metatron's followers have taken her hostage to try and draw you out."

For a long moment, it was hard to tell whether Dean was having any reaction to this information or not, but then Crowley saw it, the struggle going on behind his eyes.

Dean was furious.

His mind was working quickly over multiple scenarios, of how he was going to get you out safely while ripping any angel he met to shreds.  If any of them had so much as put a finger on you, he would know, and any punishment coming their way was going to be ten times worse.

He couldn't explain it, it didn't sense to the demon part of him, but he still knew it was something he had to do.

"Where is she?" Dean asked, unable to hide the growl in his voice.

"Now Squirrel, I'm not entirely sure-"

"Where is she?" Dean took a threatening step forward.

“We don't know.” Crowley said irritably.  "Now if you would just listen for a moment-"

But Dean was already gone with a growl, the doors banging wildly as he slammed through.

"That's not going to end well.”  Crowley said.

"Stay with him Crowley," Castiel said.  "And keep me informed so I can help if he finds her first."

"Yeah, right," Crowley grumbled as he hung up and reluctantly followed after Dean.  “Like any of us are going to be able to actually stop him."

Dean was already long gone from the bar, his mind a blur as he went from location to location looking for you.  It was only now, as you were the forefront of his mind, that he realised just how much he had thought about you since becoming a demon.  He supposed it could've been normal, especially as the two of you were an item when he was alive, but what he knew definitely wasn't, was this urge to find and protect you.

If they had hurt you, or were hurting you, then he was going to ensure that they died slow.  He may even dig into his old memories of Alistair, for the fun of it, and he was actually curious whether or not an angel could survive as long as a human under torture.

His fingers itched the more he thought about it.  He wouldn't even need the first blade to do it.  His bare hands would do.

Finally, there was a hint of familiarity in the air around him, and he zeroed in on it, uncaring about whether he'd be detected or not.

As he appeared in the room, the angels startled, his gaze locked on you.

You were injured, badly, one of your eyes swollen shit, a trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of your mouth as you met his gaze.

"Dean..."

Your voice was weak and this was all you managed to say before your head slumped forward to your chest.

Dean bared his teeth, his eyes shifting black, rage pumping through, even more so at the sight of the angel blades being pulled out by the angels, one standing far too close to you.

His voice was a quiet, menacing growl.  “The dogs of war have come with howls and roars of thunder.  I hope you're all ready for the storm you've just brought yourselves.”

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 14 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Separated and terrified, Spencer and Reader rely on their unique skills to survive. The team, minus Penelope and Derek, don’t know who the strange girl in the bank is, but they find out very interesting things about her history.

A/N: I don’t know how banks work. Idk how heists work. I know nothing. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader 
 Category: ANGST. Just. All of it. All of the angst. Every bit. 
 Content Warning: Gun violence, discussions of death and dying Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

“Hello, my name is (y/n)(y/l/n) and I’m calling from the Bank of America on K St. Northwest to report shots fired. The shots sounded like burst-fire from multiple semiautomatics.”

When adrenaline kicks in, there are a lot of things that don’t feel real. Time seems to warp into some ominous presence weighing down on you, but your body has never felt lighter.

“Ma’am, where are you?” Her voice sounded so far away. My own just felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

“I’m inside the bathroom. Listen, I might not have a lot of time. There’s a federal agent inside the bank. His name is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Call...”

My mouth blanked on the names of the two men Spencer talked about the most. I’d met them both, why couldn’t I remember?

Several more shots rang through the building as an answer. It was enough to shake loose the names, which flowed from me before I could even comprehend where they came from.

“Call SSA Aaron Hotchner and… Derek Morgan.”

“Can you remain on the line?” She sounded insistent — which is against their protocol by the way. My eyes were glued to the bathroom door’s hinges.

“Only until the door opens.”

The sentence conveyed my thoughts without actually forming the words. Once that door opens, I’m probably going to die. It wasn’t a completely irrational fear.

“Okay. I need you to remain calm. Did you see any of the gunmen?”

Jesus, it was like everything I’d just told her had gone completely over her head. “No, I’m in the bathroom.”

“Does the agent have his service weapon?”

“No.”

If she didn’t ask me a question I could say yes to soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.

I tried not to think about Spencer outside, but I couldn’t help it. All of my thoughts were on him, even before the commotion.

Was he even still alive?

“Help is on the way, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

“Please hurry.”

My entire body shook from the hormones, my instincts telling me to do anything besides sit crouched on a toilet in a bathroom stall. I don’t even know why I bothered hiding. They would definitely kick them in, or just shoot straight through the doors.

“We’ve contacted Agent Hotchner and he’s also on his way.”

Finally, some good fucking news. I released my breath as quietly as I could, closing my eyes for just a moment to compensate for the fact I hadn’t blinked in several minutes.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the phone like it could actually do something for me past this point. But it couldn’t. No amount of breathing exercises would help me through this one.

Suddenly, there was movement outside the door. A crowd of people were shuffling past the door, and I heard the distinct sound of a toddler wailing.

“I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up—“

I couldn’t wait, though. With trembling hands, I erased the evidence that I’d ever called them in the first place. And then I resumed my position as a sitting duck; quietly and as ready as I ever could be.

I listened for his voice, but I never heard it.

—————————————————

Three seconds.

Did you know that a semiautomatic weapon can fire up to three rounds per second, depending on how fast the user can pull the trigger?

After the first shot is fired, no one moves. Puzzled and alert, people are paralyzed. Your first reaction is to look for the source of the sound. It’d been a second before I turned to see the three armed people and two dead security guards behind me.

It takes the average person one and a half seconds to cognitively process that they're in a potentially life-threatening situation. It takes another .7 seconds for a physical response to kick in.

Three seconds.That was long enough for a maximum of nine shots per person to be fired- twenty-seven shots in total; it was long enough for the air to be filled with the sudden outburst of helpless screams the patrons of the bank, and it was long enough for me to realize that I didn’t have my gun and that my girlfriend wasn’t by my side.

“Everybody get down on the ground!”

Amid the chaos, I felt that all too familiar twisting sensation in my gut that begged time to reverse just enough for this to be a dream. Enough time to reverse the decisions that led us here.

But time was a cruel mistress, and she did not plan to bend to the whims of mankind, no matter how desperate.

Another deafening burst of sound rang through the air, shots fired into the ceiling now as myself and the others fell to the ground.

My gaze was fixed on the bathroom entrance. I couldn’t breathe. Please, I begged, stay hidden.

“Listen up! If everyone does what we say, you can all go back to your boring fucking lives.”

Injuries occur in less than two percent of bank robberies. Deaths occur in less than one. Saturdays are the second to least likely day for a robbery to take place. In the past 5 years, less than 10 people have been killed in bank robberies, and most of them were the perpetrators. Statistics usually calmed me down and helped me focus.

But these people didn’t care about statistics. They were defying the odds I had just recited to myself. They had already killed two people. Our luck was already stacked against us.

“Take everything out of your pockets and put it in front of you.”

As soon as the order was given, I was running through an inventory of everything in my pockets. It didn’t take me long to realize that with a cursory inspection of the items, they would figure out who I was.

But what were the odds that they would actually scrutinize them? I figured they were fairly low; you don’t rob a bank to get cheap jewelry and petty cash, even in a bank. What were the odds they would notice if I left something in my pocket — especially if my wallet was in front of me. If it wasn’t large enough to be a weapon, and I put out my objects of value, why wouldn’t I put out the rest of the contents?

So I decided to take the risk, removing my wallet while retaining my separate identification.

Luckily, the attention seemed pretty far removed from me. If I wasn’t too busy being extremely grateful, I might have been offended that they didn’t consider me a threat in the building.

“Alright ladies, all of you get up and follow my lovely friend here. You’re going on a little trip. Fellas, you stay right where you are.”

The sound of my heart pounding drowned out the instructions that weren’t intended for me. It was fine, I hadn’t planned on moving, anyway. As long as I could see the door to the bathroom, I was perfectly fine right where I was.

But I still felt for the terrified women that were shakily rising to their feet. To my right, I saw a woman struggling to hold a small infant. My heart was fracturing at the struggle, wishing I could help her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk doing anything that might draw attention to myself.

I felt like a traitor. I felt useless. I was quite literally trained to handle this exact situation, but now that I was here, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t thinking about strategy or how to maximize efficiency; all I was thinking about was her.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice screamed from the other side of the room. When I turned, I heard the sound of a rifle cracking against bone before the man hit the ground.

“Jake, huh?” The man above him laughed, using the business end of the rifle to turn the disoriented man on his side. “Well, Jake, how would you feel about your girlfriend watching you die?”

“Please don’t hurt him!” The woman sobbed, scrambling up off the floor that she’d resisted leaving. I wondered if (y/n) would have refused to leave me, too.

The man prodded the woman with the gun, urging her to follow the rest while simultaneously providing easy enough instructions. The man apparently named Jake made a few noises of desperate protest as he watched her leave.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’m sorry,” Jake pleaded, “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt her. I’ll be quiet.”

Smart man. I understood his hesitancy, though. His girlfriend kept her neck craned back until she was no longer in sight, gazing back at him for as long as she physically could. I closed my eyes just for a moment, to try and combat their current strain.

Unfortunately, just like it always seems to happen, that’s when they spoke the words I had been dreading.

“Hey, you check the bathrooms yet?”

“Nah, I got it.”

I closed my eyes tighter now, scared that if I opened them, I’d give myself away. There was no possible way that I could hide the terror I currently felt. To be fair, I think it was only natural to be scared — but not like this.

There was a loud crashing noise of doors slamming, and the voice I knew better than I knew my own reached my ears, making sounds I’d never heard from her before.

Don’t fight them. I pleaded again, Please, don’t fight them.

“Let go of me!” She screamed as the door to the bathroom swung open. Unable to keep my eyes shut any longer, I opened them to see her clawing at the ground as she was dragged out by her ankle. “I can walk by myself! Let go of me!”

I wasn’t sure if she didn’t see me in the commotion, or if she’d just made the decision to act like she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful. Still, my worries were justified as one of the three unsubs walked over to me.

“Why are you looking at her like that? You know her?”

Craning my head up, I shook my head no. It must not have been very convincing; the rage in my heart at them for thrusting her into this situation evident in my eyes.

“You wanna play hero, kid?”

“Sorry. No.” I muttered, taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to regulate my heart rate or my voice, “She’s… very loud. I get headaches.”

“Yeah well, deal with it.”

That might have been the end of it, if I’d played my hand better. But it turned out that the risk I had previously elected to take was woefully miscalculated. I didn’t meet their eyes anymore, knowing that doing so might threaten whatever frail illusion of masculinity they possessed.

It still didn’t stop them from holding the gun to my head.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Okay. I can do that, but I have to put my hand in my pocket.” I explained, moving my shaking hand to my back pocket, “It’s not a weapon.”

For once, I was grateful that I was the resident wimp when it came to stressful situations. Sure, I could handle myself, but I definitely didn’t look like I wanted to be there. Had I been any more of a visible threat, I was certain they would have figured out my identity long before this point. They might even have killed me right away.

“Hurry up.”

Swallowing hard, I pulled the identification from my pocket, flipping it open and holding it up for him to see, my gaze aimed fully forward. He snatched the badge away, a cheeky chuckle and a smile in his words.

“FBI, huh? Well, aren’t we lucky. You just became our most valuable player.”

—————————————————

Morgan arrived on the scene relatively unhurried and mostly just curious. The information Garcia had sent over text message was vague, likely due to the crime being a local one. Nothing about this seemed to be the BAU’s usual fare.

It took him almost no time to find Hotch, dressed in casual clothing, surrounded by the massive response team swarming around the bank. But Hotch hadn’t spotted him yet, fully involved with SWAT.

“What’s going on?”

Finally turning to notice his arrival, Hotch gave his normal matter-of-fact report in his simple, succinct manner. “Three people stormed the bank approximately 20 minutes ago and killed two security guards. There are 19 confirmed hostages inside the bank.”

But there was one significant detail that seemed to be missing, and Morgan started to scan the crowd for familiar faces as he spoke. “Hotch, this doesn’t sound like anything we’ve been working on. Why are we responding?”

“The caller alerted us that Reid is inside.”

The words were so unexpected that Morgan actually did a double take, his eyebrows furrowed and bowed as he replayed them in his head. “Wait, how did the caller know that?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said with an equally perplexed look, gripping tighter to the communicator in his hand, “but she referred to us and him by name.”

‘She?’ Morgan thought, his heart stopping for a second as he excused himself from Hotch’s side, pulling out his phone and frantically calling Garcia, who had already made her way to the BAU.

“Hey there handsome.” It was a mild nickname for the famed Penelope Garcia, but Derek knew that she was probably already in a tough spot. After all, it’s not every day that one of their own is in these situations. At least, not unexpectedly.

“Hey Garcia, do you have eyes on the people in the bank?”

He could hear the feverish click-clacking of keys on the other end, followed closely by her equally frantic voice. “I’m working on it but so far I can only see the main lobby. They separated the women and the men for some reason. Why would they do that?”

“Just focus,” he calmly reminded, “Can you see the women?”

“No. All the women and children were moved to the back.”

Rubbing his face to try and relieve the tension that had quickly made its home over his jaw, Morgan glanced over at the entrance to the bank. It was strange to think that so much had happened so quickly.

Garcia had mentioned twice now that the women had been moved to the back, and he was trying to figure out why they would do that beyond the usual control mechanisms.

“I’m trying to see in the back now, but apparently banks take their video surveillance far more seriously than everything else. Last I checked, a camera never stole money or fired a gun!”

“Focus, babygirl.” It was an instruction for himself just as much as it was for her.

“Sorry, I’m nervous, and you know how I get when I’m nervous!” She squeaked, “I don’t like seeing you guys on my screens. I’d much rather see you in person, safe and sound and preferably smiling.”

Trying not to lose his patience, Morgan just sighed. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault, except that of the bastards who just had to go and ruin a perfectly nice weekend.

“Can you at least tell me who the caller was? Did they call from inside?”

“They were inside and, one second, let me check, it was... oh.” Her voice cut off abruptly, dropping into a high pitched, desperate whisper. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s... the girl from the movies,” Garcia’s voice got faster and more panicked, “Derek, it’s (y/n). It’s Reid’s girlfriend. Reid’s girlfriend is inside the bank.”

Now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he wasn’t really sure what to do with the information. Because now that he knew Reid wasn’t alone, he felt the need to tell Hotch.

A profiler with a loved one involved was in dangerous territory. It wasn’t just Reid, but Morgan had personally seen just how unhinged Reid could get when it came to (y/n).

“Can you see her?” He asked, his voice lower than it was before.

“Oh, god, yes! I can!” It was not the kind of excited exclamation Morgan had hoped to hear, but at least he had confirmation she was alive. “She was in the bathroom but… They’re dragging her away…”

Morgan had tried not to pry too far in his best friend’s life before, and he took a moment to consider whether his next request was honestly necessary, or if he was just trying to find a reason to snoop.

But he wasn’t. There was something off about that girl. It wasn’t that she was bad or wrong, but she was far too comfortable in situations that didn’t call for it. The way she carried herself told him that she had held her own hand too often.

“Garcia, I know I’ve already done this to you once but... I need you to tell me everything you can find on her.”

—————————————————

My entire body ached; the sensation of an unfamiliar hand clenched tightly around my ankle burned long after I was released. It was definitely sprained, at the very least. I didn’t dare try to touch it, though. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, and the bristling discomfort kept me where I was.

Which, for now was on my knees in the backroom of a bank lobby. Beside us was a large, heavily reinforced steel door with way too many different contraptions. I decided then that this whole arms race between burglars and corporate America had gotten a little fucking ridiculous.

But however annoyed I was by that, I was far more irritated by the hushed bickering between the man and woman holding rifles on the other side of the room. I could only hear every couple of words, but I got the gist of what they were arguing about.

Apparently, they’d never heard of an alarm system that’s connected to locks, which seemed extremely stupid for people who had gotten this far. In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that something was off about this entire situation.

Still, I couldn’t deal with them making the same fucking arguments over and over, so eventually I blurted out what I’m certain any millennial in the room would know. “The keycard won’t work if they’ve sounded the alarm.”

The statement earned me a gun to my face, and after a brief second of confusion, I flinched away from the cold metal of the barrel.

“What was that, sweetheart?” She was clearly looking to gauge my reaction rather than actually ask me to repeat the information. That was fine. I wasn’t exactly a talented actress, and I didn’t see the point in pretending to be meek.

If she was going to kill me, she was going to do it. Although I was certain Spencer would disagree, I chose to believe that our fate is dictated long before it happens. I was not a profiler; if I survived, it would be because I had been taught to survive through brute force and spite rather than calm negotiation.

“The keycard system is linked to the alarms,” I said, slower now, “Someone hit the alarm, so the cards aren’t going to work. You’ll need to use the old school keys.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a much lower register as she crouched down to my height. “How would you know? You work here?”

“No, my dad worked security.” It wasn’t a lie as much as it was an understatement, but she didn’t need to know that. I guess that’s one of those good things growing up with the dad I did; I got very comfortable speaking in vague generalities. Spencer hated it.

“Well, your daddy isn’t here to help you now.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth. But that didn’t mean I was alone, I reminded myself. Despite being dragged and my vision turned literally upside down, I had caught a glimpse of him in the lobby. He was alive. That thought alone was keeping me sane right now.

“The different keys you need for an override are probably kept on separate people so one person can’t do it alone. Probably the different managers.” I muttered, nodding to the side where one of the employees flinched at my words. Anything to get away from the fucking gun in my face.

“Is she right?” The woman sneered to the manager, turning her full attention to someone else. I felt a little guilty, since the poor manager seemed a lot less put together than I was. But hey, they needed her, too.

“Yes, I already gave you my keys,” she squeaked, holding her trembling hands up, “Th-There’s another set behind the desk I think.”

“Would you look at that...” It was the first time the man in the room addressed me since he had pulled me out of the stall, and I had to admit I wasn’t exactly a fan of his. But at the same time, I knew that he was going to be remarkably more receptive to me than the woman. She seemed to be the one who was actually in charge.  

“Little miss problem was actually helpful,” he cheered, raising his weapon to point to the ceiling as he approached me. I chewed nervously on my cheeks, trying to meet his eyes but finding them uncomfortably bare.

“You should turn off the camera too, I’m just saying.” This time I didn’t nod, using one cautious finger to point to the small device that was currently staring right at me. I understood that it was probably helpful to Spencer’s team to be able to see, but I wasn’t really keen on my death being videotaped... as well as anything else I might end up doing.

‘Never leave a trace.’ That’s what I’d always heard.

‘Keep’em guessing. Even if you think it’s gonna kill you, because you don’t want to live with that over your head.’

“Fine. Do that and go get the keys.” He sounded intrigued, and I felt his searing gaze against my face.

“I think you should do it.”

The tension from before, when the two were arguing, had quickly resurfaced. She clearly didn’t trust him to be alone in the room, which solidified my belief that she was calling the shots, and he was just being dragged along for the ride.

In another life, I might have respected her ability to order stupid men around.

“Why the fuck is that?” He snapped, earning a bored roll of her eyes. The next thing out of her mouth was expected, but unfortunately the last thing I wanted to hear.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

Great. And naturally, her idea of ‘talking’ to me included weaponry. Using the end of the gun to tilt my head up to her, she gave a suspicious smile.

“Why are you helping us?”

“I want to go home.” It was my immediate and instinctual answer. It was the truth. I was helping them because I wanted to get the fuck out of here.

But you know, people expect everyone to have a squeaky-clean moral compass, so I decided to give a few more reasons.

“And I don’t give a shit about a massive corporate bank. I was just here to go to the bathroom– I don’t even have an account here.”

Maybe that was too many reasons, because just as her hesitance waned, it was back in full force. Shoving the barrel against my throat, she sneered, “I don’t believe you. You’re too comfortable with a gun in your face. You a cop, too?”

Cop?

I tilted my head to the side, baring more of my throat to her as I drawled, “Who’s a cop?”

For once, I was glad that Spencer had made such a point of reassuring me that he was not ‘a cop,’ because otherwise I’m certain the terror would have been obvious in my eyes. But for now, I could trust the numb apathy that was washing over me.

Please don’t be talking about Spencer. Please don’t know that. Good things never happened to law enforcement in situations like this. Hell, the two security guards had been dead in seconds.

“I think you know.” She was smiling, and I realized that this fucking psychopath was sharper than she wanted me to think.

“I don’t.” The words were said through clenched teeth, and I prayed that she would see them as insistent anger over the fear that lie beneath them, “And why would you kill me if I was helping you?”

She smiled, drawing the weapon up and down my throat until it landed lower at my chest. The movements were slow and light, a playful glint in her eyes when they met mine again.

“For fun.”

I didn’t move a muscle, my body remaining tense under her ministrations as I forced myself to hold my gaze steady. If she wanted fear, she wouldn’t get it from me.

“Then do it.”

The look she gave me told me she had seriously considered it, probably a little annoyed with my presence. But there was something else there, too, that same soft recognition that in another reality we might have been friends. I’m sure she saw herself in me a little bit; or at least somebody useful.

This confirmed my suspicion that I’d never really be able to read a psychopath. I didn’t understand how Spencer could do it every day. It’d only been a few minutes alone with her and I could feel myself losing the happy memories of the day.

Luckily, the man returned at the same time I saw a plan developing in her mind.

“Hey, come help me,” he called to her. Her response was surprisingly swift, the metal that was tracing over my collar bones disappearing without another word. He was holding a small bag of money, which seemed to seriously irritate the woman.

“Did you get that money from behind the counter?” I asked it before she had a chance. I wanted him to trust me. Or at least look at me more. It wasn’t that I wanted his attention as much as I knew I could distract him fairly easily.

He looked over at me, a dumbfounded look on his face. Men are so fucking stupid, I thought. The pissed off expression on his partner’s face told me that she agreed.

“It’s going to explode if you mess with it or it leaves the area. Probably with tear gas. If you’re escaping in a car, you’re not gonna want it.”

“Yeah, we know about dye packs, bitch.” She snapped, grabbing the bag of money and tossing it to the side of the door they intended to use.

I stared at the locks they hadn’t even bothered trying to touch. The same locks they apparently didn’t look up or know anything about when they came. Suddenly it hit me why this all felt so very off.

It was strange enough that no one was wearing a mask, and as far as I’d heard, no one was really trying to get out of this situation. I was certain that by this point there was a large crowd of armored men outside.

“Just trying to help,” I muttered as I started to scan the room, looking for telltale signs of tampering. The anxious whispering of the man distracted me just long enough to get more information.  

“Won’t that set off some shit? Chain reaction shit?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the woman responded with a swift elbow to his gut as she started to walk away, “you are an absolute moron.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, I heard the faint curses that fell from his lips. As he picked up the bag just to toss it away again, I noticed the presence of odd packages in the corner of the room. He really did not want exploding dye packs near those boxes, which seemed remarkably out of place.

“Why does she think she’s in charge?” I asked, finally ripping my eyes away from the objects that now seemed glaringly obvious. “You two guys outnumber her.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

Relaxing my body as much as I could, I shifted back and forth on my knees, rubbing the tired muscles of my thighs. “I may have been told that once or twice.”

He actually chuckled; his eyes drawn to my legs like the absolute moron he so obviously was. She definitely had gotten that one right. The other women in the room were watching me, but I tried not to pay them any mind.

I didn’t know when or why they decided to let me do whatever I wanted, but I appreciated their apparent comfort in letting me try to kill myself. He made his way over to the boxes, each a specific size and shape. He carried them so carefully.

“I figure there’s no point in being scared if I’m going to die anyway.” I finally said. Shocked gasps and whispers filled the room, but I didn’t divert my attention to them– No matter how much I wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up.

They would distract me from the way his mouth curled into a smile when he closed the gap between us, his hand sliding down my head and over my shoulder to follow the braid Spencer had meticulously woven an hour before.

“How about you just shut up and sit pretty for me, sweetheart.” I tried not to let the disgust show as his hand slid behind my neck, holding my head so that I had to look up at him. “You seem like you’d be real good at that.”

Ha! If only Spencer could hear him say that. But I could play the good girl for just long enough.

“Do you need help?” I asked with a tiny shrug, “I might be little but I’m pretty strong.” Strong enough to break your fucking hand if you don’t get it off of me.

“Nah.” He ordered, his hand on my neck getting tighter. “But I don’t doubt that you could be useful. You look real good on your knees.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might be visible through my ribs. I just needed an excuse to move. If he could give me an excuse to move, I could do so many things.

“Please let me help,” I begged, raising my hand to his forearm against my shoulder. His eyes began to shift, moving just enough to tell me that he wanted to look to the hallway. He could hear her footsteps, too. She was coming back, and I only had a few seconds left.

Once both of my hands were on his arm, I got the feeling he knew something even worse was coming for him.

“I’d love a chance to get to show you how helpful I really am.”  

—————————————————

Hotch had spent the past five minutes on the phone with the male unsub in the lobby, and the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. For whatever reason, they just seemed to deflect any opportunity provided to them.

They didn’t seem to give a shit about anything beyond pushing the buttons of each person they interacted with. Which, they did quite successfully.

“Didn’t realize one pig would bring the whole flock of you here,” he laughed, clearly motioning to Spencer on the video, “How bad do you want him back?”

“What do you want?” He responded without hesitation or a surprise. It was such an expected question to ask that he’d barely even thought about his words before they came out.

“Easy. A chopper, and for you to fuck off.”

That was the equally stereotypical response, meaning it was entirely unhelpful to them. From what they could deduce, they were equally confused as to why this heist seemed to follow all the rules, but match none of the motivations. It was like it was a show, a game, rather than an actual attempt to maximize profits.

“We can do the helicopter, but we can’t give you a pilot.”

“That’s fine,” he responded with a shrug, “Don’t need one.”

It was the first piece of useful information he’d gotten so far on the call. Because if they didn’t need a pilot, it meant one of two things: either one of them possessed the skill themselves, or they weren’t ever intending to use the helicopter.

Briefly pulling the phone away, Hotch turned to Morgan. “Tell Garcia to check our list with people with pilot’s licenses or any other connection that might provide them the skills to fly a helicopter.”

He returned to the call, continuing the usual script for these situations, trying not to act like he’d learned anything new.

“Can you release the women and children?”

“Nah,” the guy said with a chuckle, “I’ll wait.”

Hotch listened to the sound of the receiver for a moment, staring at the entrance to the bank like it would provide him the answers he still needed. He had his suspicions of what might be happening, but with no eyes in the back anymore and the trigger-happy group that had formed around him, he wouldn’t have the resources to convince them not to go in guns blazing.

“We’re ready to move in.” Which is exactly what they had requested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stated before finally moving to look at the man next to him, “Something isn’t right here.”

“Yeah, a lot isn’t right here. There’s 19 innocent people in there.”

It didn’t really matter how many times he went through this situation; the results always seemed to be the same. No one listened, even when it wasn’t one of their men inside.

“Storming the building isn’t going to help them. There are three armed perpetrators inside, and they’re each in a different area. It would be impossible for us to take out all three at once. Especially now that we can’t see in the back. There could be explosives in there for all we know.”

The man was unpersuaded.

“If we can’t save them all, minimizing casualties is the name of the game.”

“Wait a few more minutes. I’m waiting to hear back from our analyst. If they have the capability of flying a plane, its highly likely they also have the knowledge and skills to create weapons that we aren’t currently prepared to handle.”

Although still unconvinced, the man grudgingly gave in to the request. Hotch closed his eyes, trying to be grateful for the extremely small victory; they’d gained a few more minutes. But the relief was short lived, with Morgan putting his phone aside for a second to mutter the same thing Hotch was thinking.

“Hotch, these people are way too confident. It’s like they know there’s a way out.”

As soon as he said the words, the two just looked at each other.

“Garcia, can you also check for any other way out of the bank?” He asked, walking back over to the table laid out under the nearby tent. This would have been a great time for Reid to be here, he thought as he stared at the ridiculously complicated schematics.

He understood they didn’t want people to be able to figure them out (so they couldn’t rob the bank), but this was just ridiculous. It looked ancient.  

“Sure thing, but… Morgan, I think there’s something else you should see.” The nerves dancing in her voice told him that they were about to switch subjects. “You know how the guy disabled the camera feed in the back room. I was reviewing the footage we do have and it looks like… (y/n) told him to.”

“Why would she do that?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he glanced over to the ornate bank doors. Part of him wanted to joke that things would’ve been a lot simpler if he didn’t have to worry about Reid’s weird girlfriend, but it didn’t feel as funny when they were both in danger.

Maybe later, he thought hopefully, when they were all together again.

“I… don’t know why. But I did what you asked, and I went through her record and found a ton of sealed files on her and also her dad…”

Morgan’s attention was definitely piqued at that point, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. In the stunned silence, Penelope spoke again.

“Should… Should I unseal them?”

It was the same question he was debating in his head, and he honestly didn’t know. Although a long shot, he hoped that she could provide at least the bare minimum of context before they made that kind of decision.

“What kind of files are we talking about?”

“I can’t be sure until I unseal them b-but, I mean, they’re sealed for a reason and I’m talking scary sealed. Like, it might take me a minute sealed. Giving me the heebie-jeebies sealed.” She grew more frantic as she continued. Morgan knew they were running out of time.

“I get it.”

“Is Reid okay?” She switched gears, recognizing that Morgan’s hesitance meant it was probably a bad idea. She wasn’t going to push it unless he did. They didn’t even know if she could help even if they unsealed the files. Especially without a visual.

“They know he’s with us,” Morgan sadly admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on. Did you find another way out of the bank?”

“Right.” The conversation was going to give everyone involved whiplash at this point. “Yes! There is an access way through tunnels underneath the bank but it would take a massive distraction for all three of them to be able to get out of there without us meeting them on the other side. I’m talking earth shatterin–.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, her tongue halting the second her mind caught up with her voice. Morgan was equally concerned, recognizing the kind of distraction that this might require and the perfect way to escape with maximum damage.

But that wasn’t what got his attention. There was no fiery explosion or shouted epiphany, because at that same time there were the muffled sounds of gunshots coming from inside.

“Oh my god, what was that?!” Garcia yelled, accompanied by frantic clicking as she filtered through each individual camera to try and locate the source of the noise.

“Garcia, do you have eyes on the main room?”

“Yes! But it wasn’t in the main room, Derek, it was in the back!”

It was a difficult and necessary job, to consider what those sounds might mean for the young girl they’d met only a few weeks earlier. Morgan’s thoughts went even further, not only worried about her safety, but his best friend’s sanity. Lord knows Reid didn’t need another thing weighing on his conscience. Especially not about her; it just might destroy him.

“What does the unsub in the main area look like? Does he look confused? Surprised?” The words were coming, but he didn’t know where from. His body was on autopilot, desperately seeking any validation that they could still save everyone.

“I-I don’t know! He looks grainy! The image is like an inch wide!” She was clearly growing frustrated, which was a feeling they all shared at this point. “This camera is from before I was even born!”

“Try, Penelope,” Morgan pleaded, “Give me something.”

But the other men weren’t willing to wait.

“That’s it. We’re moving in.”

Morgan turned to them, his hand clutching tighter to the phone just in time for her to speak.

“He’s calling for them but they’re not coming out. He looks… Oh no. He’s yelling at Reid now. And... And it looks like someone is coming down the hallway? But he’s not looking–”

It was impossible to focus on everything that was happening, heavy boots and massive commotion as people began to take their positions. But if someone was coming down the hallway, and the unsub didn’t know, that could only mean a few things. Either he was about to be proven disposable, or someone else had fired those shots.

Either way, one thing was clear.

“Wait! We can’t go in there yet!”

—————————————————

There was a point in time where I might have questioned whether I would ever get used to a gun in my face. There was also a point where I actually had gotten used to it. But nothing could have prepared me for this moment, this terrifying realization while staring down the barrel of an assault rifle that I didn’t want to die yet.

I used to think that my life was somewhat disposable. Sure, I was helpful and useful for my job, but ultimately, I considered myself replaceable. The next person to come might not have the same credentials, but they probably wouldn’t also have half the flaws I do.

But now I wasn’t thinking of work. I wasn’t thinking about how replaceable I was, because it wasn’t my life that mattered.

I didn’t want to die yet, because I wanted to see her again.

So I just stared at the weapon, trying to remember that it was still a great possibility that I could. I tried not to think about what was in front of me, choosing to use most of my brainpower to picture what it would feel like when I had her in my arms again.

The vision inside my head ended swiftly, with the sound of rapidly fired weaponry coming from down the hall. Through the commotion of screaming, I surmised that at least two guns had been fired.

Silence followed. It was a stifling, exhausting, painful silence.

What broke it was even worse, with the gun in my face smacking into the side of my head as the man holding it lost his grip at the sound.

“What the fuck was that?!”

He looked at me like he expected me to have the answers, but I didn’t.

“I don’t know. I-I don’t—“ Not only did I not understand why two guns would fire, I didn’t know who had shot them or for what reason. There was one thing I did know. “It sounded like your weapons.”

“Hey, what’s going on back there?!” He shouted, twisting his body just enough to see around the corner.

There was no reply.

“Did your people get in here somehow?” The panic was obvious, and I didn’t know how to calm him down without arousing suspicion. He was continuing to devolve, stepping closer to me as he stuck with his original thought, “How the fuck could they have done that, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you do know?”

It was a question I’d been asking myself. The longer the silence continued in the back, the more rapidly my anxiety rose. There are only a few reasons why we wouldn’t hear more screaming.

Either someone had managed to get remarkable control over the situation, or all of the hostages were dead. Including (y/n). I forced myself to consider the far less likely, but still possible third option: She was dying, and I could still help her.

“I know that there is still a way for you to get out of this.” I barely recognized my own voice as I rambled, “Is it possible your partners… Is it possible they were planning on leaving together?”

“What?” He sounded disgusted and exhausted, but simultaneously insecure. It didn’t take much effort to realize that he was the weakest of the crew. I’d already had my suspicions that whatever the next step in this journey was, he wasn’t going to be making it with them regardless.

“It was their decision to leave you out here, right? In the place with the most windows and the first access to the door? They put you with all the people most likely to fight back. And now it sounds like…”

I paused, my lips unable to make the next words without a deep breath. “It sounds like they killed the people in the back as a diversion to send in SWAT. Does that sound like something they would do?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was enough confirmation for me. It was definitely something they would do, and he knew it. He probably suspected it himself. Thankfully, it gave me enough courage to push back for the first time in this encounter. “Then go back there and see if they’re still there.”

“And just let you be hero and save all these guys? No chance.”

I wanted to laugh; if only he knew the real reason I wanted him to go back there. As terrible as it was, I didn’t care at all about the rest of these men right now. As far as I knew, they were relatively safe. In fact, they were in a better position if what I’d deduced was true. This man, while violent, wasn’t the kind to murder everyone in sight, even when cornered. He’d more likely be shot by SWAT.

“I’ll come with you.” It was a plea, a desperate attempt to get more information that I both wanted and feared. He watched me carefully, trying to read the terror on my face to determine where exactly it was coming from. He knew the hostages were useless to him if he had me, so I wasn’t particularly scared for my life.

At least, not just yet.

“Fine. Get up.”

I willed my legs to stop shaking; to just carry me far enough that I could see her face. I just needed to know that she was okay.

But then I felt a fine mist over my skin— it almost felt like the noise happened after, but I knew logically that couldn’t be true.

A gun fires before the bullets hit their target.

Time seemed to move slower as his body fell to the ground in front of me. My eyes followed him to the floor, but only until I saw the person holding the gun through my peripherals.

“...(y/n)?”

And there she was, clutching tightly onto a rifle, her body barely upright as she staggered forward. There was something remarkably off-putting about the sight of her holding on for dear life to something so morbid. A jarring contrast I would not soon be able to forget, if I ever could.

There was something even more unsettling about the ease with which she carried the weapon, and the fact that she had managed to fire something that powerful without a single stray bullet.

“They’re dead!” She boomed across the room, dropping the weapon onto the floor before she yelled again, “Everyone get out! Hurry!”

No one moved. All of the men, myself included, stared at the tiny girl who’d just saved all of our lives.

“Get out now! There’s a bomb in the back!”

Those were the magic words to stir a panicked crowd into action, people stampeding to the single double door at the entrance, but my eyes were fixed on her. She staggered forward, her arm around her waist and her eyes beginning to roll back.

Perhaps I was just clueless, my one-track mind too slow to navigate the scene in front of me, but it took me that long to see it. My brain rioted against the visuals it took in, the dark crimson dripping down her body. It looked like it would swallow her whole.

I tried to will my body to move, to run to her and do something, anything to help her. But I couldn’t, frozen in place as her small steps got weaker. It wasn’t until I saw her begin to sway that I lunged forward just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Wait!” I screamed to anyone who would listen, my eyes frantically trying to meet someone in the crowd, “Someone get a medic!”

The woman with a child was the last one to pass. She stopped among the commotion, looking down at the carnage in my lap before bolting towards the door.

I had to trust that she would care enough to do something, because from that point on my attention wouldn’t be leaving (y/n). Her eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance and wandering aimlessly despite my face being in view.

“Hey, hey little girl.” My voice crackled as I held her cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

She was finally able to meet my gaze, her eyes filling with love with a small, delirious smile gracing her lips.

“Hey old man.”

The grin didn’t last long, the sounds of her choking and coughing replacing it as blood filled her mouth. I tried to turn her enough that she could spit it out, but it was obvious she was struggling to get any air at all.

“We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” I said with a false confidence, the twisted curve of my lips not even barely resembling a smile.

“It hurts,” she sobbed, her hands slipping in the blood on her stomach.

“I know.”

There wasn’t anything I could do; all I could do was sit there and stare, trying to decide where my hands should be. She was applying pressure to her wound on the front, but I could see the wreckage that was once her back. My hands wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I know.” I was trembling, tears dripping from my face and mixing with the bloody mess; they still couldn’t dilute it, somehow make it vanish. “I know you’re tired. But you’ve gotta stay awake, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

At first, I wanted to say the innocence in her voice was surprising, but it wasn’t. She was innocent. She was just a young girl, trying to live a happy, normal life before she met me.

“You’re doing great.” I tried to convince myself this wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t work. She had said it herself — she wouldn’t have ever come to a bank on her own. The statistics of the rarity of this situation kept playing on a loop in the back of my head, but it was just a low hum beneath the sound of her pained whimpers.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something.” The newfound insistence in her voice twisted in my gut, and my hands held tighter to her arm.

“No, don’t,” I begged, already anticipating what was going to happen. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to tell you right now.” And then her voice was calm, a smile on her face as her blood-soaked hand left her stomach, trying to raise to touch me. It didn’t make it.

“No, you can tell me later.”

The words were so slurred and pathetic, I’m surprised she understood them. But she did, taking a deep, whistling breath. It was clear it hurt her to speak, and I wanted to tell her to be quiet, but the masochist in me needed to hear the words all the same.

“Spencer, please. Just listen to me.”

This sounded too much like a goodbye.

“I love you.”

Our bodies rocked as I realized I hadn’t taken a breath of my own in too long, the pain in my oxygen deprived lungs not nearly enough to distract me from the genuine softness of her voice.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, “Do you know that?”

I don’t know how she wasn’t crying, her eyes barely open but too tired to blink. That rosy complexion had faded, her skin blanching the longer she lay in my arms.

“Yes, I know.”

“I love you with my whole heart.”

My mind was flashing images from only a couple hours prior, her warm laugh as she laid on my lap, the way her hair slipped between my fingers while I wove it together.

‘You think you’ll still be around?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

The memories were blurring together, creating a symphony of promises that were about to be shattered in front of my eyes.

‘Forever,’ she’d said. ‘Forever.’

‘A white picket fence. Two little bratty genius babies. Just a normal, domestic life with Dr. and Mrs. Reid.’

Rejecting the thought, I shook my head, “You’re going to be fine.”

“I understand what you meant when…” Her voice was too quiet, too distant, to be this warm. “When you said it was nice to be able to say it.”  

The heavy footfalls and sound of a transport bed wheeling across the floor alerted me that I would have to let her go soon. Whether this would be the last time I ever held her, I couldn’t be sure.

“They’re gonna come take you now, but I’ll be right behind them. I promise.” I barely got the words out before their hands were all over her, those tired eyes shooting wide open as unfamiliar hands replaced mine.

“Wait, Spencer!” She cried out, her body too limp to make a meaningful attempt to stop them, “Don’t leave me!”

Her screams and sobs were ringing louder than the gunshots had, my body slowly making its way upright as I watched them place her on the bed.

“I’m not leaving you, I promise.” I tried not to let the panic bleed through, raising the volume as she started to be taken away from me, “Stay awake as long as you can.”

I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her attempts to scream. If she was calling my name, it wasn’t recognizable. I’m not sure which hurt worse— the sound of her tired lips butchering my name, or the silence that followed.

She wasn’t able to scream anymore.

When I emerged from the bank, the sun burned my eyes just as much as the sight of my team shocked to see me covered in blood. But I couldn’t focus on them at all, immediately bolting after the paramedics without another thought.

The extra time it took them to carefully load her allowed me to jump into the back of the vehicle before the doors shut. There were no words to describe this situation, nor make it any better.

So I just stared in horrified fascination, trying to gauge her odds as they rapidly changed in front of me. Of 107,141 firearm injuries last year, 31% died. How many of the 69% had assault rifle wounds? I couldn’t remember any other statistics. My brain had turned itself off, focusing only on the frantic beeping and scrambled voices.

“Where is he?” Her tiny voice cut through both the internal and external noise.

“I’m right here.” I nearly shouted from my precarious position standing in the back of the rattling ambulance. I wanted to move closer, but I was too scared. There were so many hands on her, and I didn’t want to get in the way.

“I’m scared.” She said, mirroring my exact thoughts.

“I’m right here.” I repeated, closing my eyes to hide from the carnage long enough to put words together that might make her feel any ounce of comfort, “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Taking an experimental step forward once the paramedics seemed settled in their places, I came to stand behind her. My hands were tinted red and trembled as they reached out to touch her cheeks.

She took a sharp inhale at the sensation, just barely holding her head up straight. I couldn’t tell if she was leaning into my touch or just couldn’t control her neck any longer. Her skin felt like ice, and although she was still beautiful, the blue tint creeping over her face struck fear in my heart.

“How much longer until we get to the hospital? Her body temperature is dropping.”

If she heard me, she didn’t respond. I stared at the paramedic who was obviously more concerned with other things at the moment. They were kind enough to give me a response, even if it wasn’t a satisfying one.

“Just a few more minutes. We can’t do anything until we stop the bleeding, sir.”

“Spencer…” Each time she spoke was simultaneously terrifying and comforting. It was confirmation she was alive, but also troublesome, because I knew that she should be reserving her efforts for staying alive.

“Hang in there, little girl. We’re almost there.”

She opened her eyes, staring up at me with clouded vision. I could see the pain so clearly it might as well have been me on the table.

“Please help me,” she sobbed, “help me.”

“I-I can’t.” They were the two hardest words I’d ever had to say. Frustration mounted in me, but none of it was directed at her. She didn’t do anything wrong. Myself, on the other hand, I hated myself in that moment.

She was begging for me to help her, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but stand here and watch as she bled out in the back of an ambulance, a stranger’s hands practically inside of her stomach.

“I don’t want to die.”

The way her voice cracked took whatever was left of my sanity with it, and I felt my fingertips slip in the blood as I pressed against her face.

“You won’t,” I tried to assure her, “You’re going to be fine. Just stay awake.”

“I can’t.” The usual spunk in her voice had faded, leaving behind the sound of a twenty year old girl with no fight left in her. “I’m so sorry, Spencer…”

‘Sorry?’ I thought below the horror, ‘for what?’

When her eyes shut, they couldn’t even make it all the way. It was an expression I’d seen before on the field. I wasn’t meant to see it on her.

“No. No, no, wake up.” I urged, patting her cheeks softly before closing my hands around them more tightly, “Wake up, little girl, please.”

I was talking to no one, because I don’t think she could hear me anymore. Absolutely nothing in her body changed, even as the paramedics became more rushed.

“I’ve located the bleed!” The woman beside me yelled as the ambulance began to rapidly slow down. “I’m sorry sir, but we need you to move.”

“Whatever you need. Please, just help her.” I’d said the words, but my actions didn’t follow. She stared down at my hands that were still tethered to (y/n)’s face, trying to provide the warmth that she desperately needed.

Somehow, I was able to wrench them away, only then realizing the bloody handprints I’d left behind. Her face still wasn’t moving.

“Please, I—“

Before I could say another word, they were already out of the ambulance. I followed as closely as I could behind them, trying to focus enough to ensure that every word said could be played again in my mind. Because the second she crossed the threshold into the surgery suite, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore.

I would have to wait. I would have to wait for her to be better, or wait for a declaration. And in that vast silence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop from torturing myself with every single word uttered in this building before the doors closed.

The doors were ahead of us now, and I wished time could slow down enough that I could give her one more kiss and tell her to be strong one more time before she went into the Schrodinger’s Box that was the emergency room operating table.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and when the thought crossed my mind, I realized that I’d never said it back. She’d said it three times, but in my adamant denial I’d failed to return it.

It was so much like us, I’d almost laughed. She’d made such a point of worrying about me leaving her, neither of us had ever stopped to think about how I’d live without her.

How would I live without her? The only person I trusted to have an answer was wheeled into the room, the door shutting abruptly in front of me.

In the reflection of the metal door I saw myself, drenched in the dark liquid. I tried to clean my face with my hand only to realize that they, too, were dirty with her blood.

The world had fallen silent, and I let myself be crushed by the overwhelming loneliness of an existence without her.

‘Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.’

It was too late.

—————————————————

| Part 15 |

[amatchinwater]

Did a little thing for Day 2 of Stackson Week 2021!

Day 2: Trapped together

Pairing: Stackson

Warnings: underage drinking

Word count: 2709

Rating: teen and up

Ao3 link

Stiles knew it was a bad idea to have a party at Lydia’s lake house in the middle of hurricane lever rain and a goddamn flood warning. What’s even worse is he’s the first person to show up! Lydia herself isn’t even here yet. The banshee was kind enough to tell him where they put the hide-a-key so he could get in and out of the storm. Scott and Isaac aren’t picking up or answering his texts. If they’re not here because they’re too busy fucking and Stiles has to be here soaked and alone, he’s going to kill them.

When Stiles gets in the house, he stomps his shoes on the mat to not track in any mud. Lyds would castrate him for that, so he takes them off just to be safe. Slipping out of his jacket, Stiles hangs it on the hook, careful not to let it drip anywhere other than the little rug underneath it. The house is empty and eerily dark. Then again, why wouldn’t it be? He’s the only fucking one here. Making his way into the kitchen, Stiles’ preturbrance only grows. 

It doesn’t even look like the place is meant to house a party in the next twenty minutes. Nothing is set up. There isn't a single bag of chips or other snacks on the counter. No pizzas and sandwich platters like her birthday. A keg is not beside the island either. Just two bottles of wine with a sticky note that reads-

“Have fun?” 

Oh my god! Stiles jumps and flails, nearly knocking the bottles over on the counter. 

“What kind of fucking game is she playing?” Jackson snatches the note, rereading it before flicking it back towards the island. 

Still clutching his wildly beating heart, Stiles gasps, “could you maybe announce yourself next time?” He collects himself- mostly. “Not all of us have your little wolf senses. You almost gave me a heart attack, you fuck.” 

Jackson snorts and almost playfully bumps him with his shoulder. “Not my fault you left the front door unlocked, Stilinski.” 

Fuck this. “I’m leaving.” Stiles stalks back towards the front door, yanking his jacket off the hook and grabbing his shoes. Whipping the open the door, the teen groans loudly, dropping his head back, “you’ve got to be kidding me!” 

“What are you bitching about now?” The wolf steps beside him and looks outside, his eyes widen drastically. “Holy shit!”

The lake has officially overflown since they’ve shown up and the driveway is at least three inches deep with water. Jackson’s care looks like it’s barely  capable of surviving if it gets too high. Stiles almost cares enough to wonder if they should move it. This fucking storm! Now he’s stuck here with nowhere to go. Yes, he has a jeep, but the road out is no doubt a muddy mess that even Roscoe can’t navigate. 

Closing the door and putting his clothes back where they were, Stiles whines, “why would she pick today to do this?” Thinking about the weather his dad forced him to watch this morning. Most cities were calling in downed power lines and massive branches flying through the streets. 

She knew this storm was coming. So much so that Lydia even reminded him to wear his boots rather than his sneakers. “I guess I better call Scott, tell him not to come. No use in him getting stuck in the woods like this.” Sures, having his best friend here would make this exceptionally better. But Stiles doesn’t want to break up any fights between a stir crazy Jackson and Isaac. Fishing in his pocket, Stiles pulls out his phone and smashes the call button in annoyance. 

“Stiles, hey. I’m sorry I did-” Scott answers on the second ring only to be cut off by Stiles.

“I don’t care if you and Isaac were fucking,” Jackson chuckles at his jab. “Don’t come to Lydia’s. The lake flooded and now Jackson and I can’t leave.” 

“Okay,” Scott draws out the word and if Stiles wasn’t mistaken sounds a little confused. Jackson’s brows knit together at the response too. Okay, so it did sound weird then. “I’m sorry you’re stuck there, dude. But maybe this will be a good thing?”

Is he serious? “How the fuck is it supposed to be a good thing to be stuck in a goddamn house with someone who hates my guts?” Stiles’ hand slaps his thigh in exasperation. Not to mention the asshole in question was hotter than hell fire and makes it incredibly hard to be in the same room with him. Not thinking about that when Jackson can smell his chemosignals. 

“Well,” Scott drawls, “you did say you had a crush on him.” Stiles blanches and goes stalk still, forgetting how to fucking breathe. Jackson snorts beside him. Stiles is going to kill Scott. “Oh my god! He’s right next to you, isn’t he?”

“I hate you so much right now.” Stiles makes a point to stare at the floor and not at the shuffling wolf beside him. “Well, thanks for getting me killed. Great best friend job, truly. See ya probably never, Scotty.” He promptly hangs up before Scott can answer. 

“So,” Jackson purrs and Stiles can’t help but turn and face the wolf. His arms are crossed from where he leans against the wall, one foot propped behind him. Jackson’s face holds that stupid, sexy, douchbag smirk, “you like me?”

He’s not even going to entertain that. Stiles squints at him with his mouth slightly parted. It only makes Jackson chuckle. “I need a drink,” Stiles uses every ounce of self control not to literally run away and back into the kitchen. Sifting through the drawers until he finds the corkscrew, Stiles grabs a bottle. Once the cork is out- that actually had already been opened- Stiles could give fuck all about a glass. He takes a sip directly from the bottle, regretting it at the extensive bitter taste of wolfsbane.

Clearly that one’s for Jackson. He’s courteous enough to slide the wine across the island when Jackson is back in the room. The wolf stares at him as his lips wrap around the mouthpiece and drinks from it, not giving a damn to wipe it after Stiles’ drank first. The other boy just watches before his brain recovers and he opens his own bottle. Setting the cork and opener aside, Stiles grabs the wine and leaves the wolf in the kitchen to go sit in the living room where Lydia keeps the playstation. 

Plopping on the couch, Stiles lets himself sink into the cushion and takes several swigs. Actually rather enjoying the slight burn and the warmth that quickly settles in his belly. He can very easily just sit here and watch tv like Jackson doesn’t even exist. Stiles can go to literally anywhere else to be away from the wolf if need be. He cannot believe that Jackson found out he likes him. 

Fucking Scott.

It takes a few minutes for Jackson to join him. Stiles already has Supernatural playing and has killed a good third of his wine before the wolf is sitting next to him. Like right next to him. One nervous leg bounce and their thighs or knees will touch. Seriously? Lydia has two couches, a chaise lounge, and two armchairs in her living room. So why is he so close?

Scratch that initial thought. There’s like six other rooms in this big ass house that Jackson could’ve gone to. Why here? Stiles drinks more. 

Jackson takes another small sip, looking like he’s barely drank anything from his own bottle before saying, “I have a secret to tell you.” 

He fights the eyeroll only just, “what information could you possibly have that I would care about?” Amber eyes stay glued to the flat screen.

“I don’t hate you, Stiles.”

“Oh?” He asks with mock interest. Even though there’s something tickling at his heart that Jackson didn’t call him ‘idiot’ or ‘Stilinski’. He can’t allow himself to fall for the wolf’s tricks. He won’t let the rug get yanked out from under him. 

“Quite the opposite actually.” 

Stiles snorts and turns to make some smart ass retort. But his ‘yeah right’ gets stuck on his tongue finding Jackson’s face mere inches from his own. He gulps. Clearing his throat, Stiles takes a big sip before putting his bottle on the small table beside him. Too fuzzy and warm to process this, Stiles scooches until he’s pressing against the armrest. 

Jackson also places his bottle on the coffee table before sliding closer. Forcing Stiles to half turn into the couch while the wolf puts an arm on either side of him, completely encasing Stiles. “I like you,” he presses further, “a lot.” Jackson leans in until their noses brush, “tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Blame the wine. Blame his hormones for not wanting him to stop. Hell, blame everyone and everything, Stiles included. But he does have a massive crush on Jackson. Even though he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. The guy’s a prick. He has no problem letting people know that he’s better than them. Making damn sure to flaunt his money too. As if that makes him hotter or something. It doesn’t. 

No, it’s the icy blue eyes that make Stiles want to learn their secrets and harvest the knowledge. The wolf’s stupid jaw that’s perfect and Stiles just wants to bite it. He;s seen Jackson naked numerous times- thank you locker room shower’s forgotten concept of privacy. But god damn, when Jackson smiles- not his asshole smirk, but genuine smile- Stiles’ lungs and knees forget how to function. Despite his actions earlier, the teen is actually pretty happy to be stuck here. 

Only acting as though he hates Jackson because he was simply following the wolf’s lead. His eyes flick to Jackson’s bottle of wine- its contents too hard to see in the dark green glass from this distance- and back to hooded baby blues. There’s only two reasons Stiles can believe that this is actually happening right now.

Jackson’s drunk. Because Stiles doesn’t understand the extent in which wolfsbane affects werewolf's tolerance. Which would mean the ex-kanima has no idea what he’s doing and should go sleep it off. Stiles hopes it’s this because the latter is just too painful. 

Jackson’s fucking with him. Surely he doesn’t have actual feelings for Stiles. Maybe the wolf found out he’s bi and wanted to tease him about it. Although, something tells him that Danny would murder Jackson if he ever found out. Still. This is Stiles. Lowest on the lacrosse totem pole and not the wolf’s best friend. Is Jackson that cruel though?

Beautiful, parted pink lips get closer, so Stiles whispers, “you’re just drunk,” and turns his head away, hoping that’s the case here. Waiting for the joke to play out.

“I’m really not.” Jackson reaches over to grab his drink. There’s maybe three sips missing when he dangles the bottle for proof. “See?” The wolf puts it back, returning with a smirk and a cocked brow, “now will you let me kiss you?” Jackson chuckles, it’s a breathy sound, but doesn’t make to move closer. Leaving it to Stiles.

He’s not falling for that trap. The prove-to-me-you-want-it-so-I-can-kick-you-down trap by making Stiles lean in. “So you’re fucking with me then?” He should’ve known better. 

The other boy looks confused and a little offended. Jackson leans back farther, still sitting close, but no longer in Stiles’ personal space. He actually wants him to come back, but how could he ever tell the wolf that when this is just a game? “Why would I fuck with you about this?” Jackson’s voice is soft and full of so much emotion that Stiles almost believes him. 

“Uh, because that’s what you do?” Stiles gestures wildly like it should have been obvious. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that we’re not even friends. You were literally my bully when we were kids. I don’t- and i-it only got worse when I developed a crush on Lydia. Which I get, she was your girlfr-”

“What’s not why I was a dick.” The wolf cuts him off with a shake of his head. Stiles squints an eye at him, mouth still hanging open from the word that didn’t finish. “I was jealous.” 

“Why the fuck would you be jealous of me?” Stiles scoffs and Jackson ducks his head with a chuckle. “Lydia never even looked at me while you were together.” 

Jackson flashes a bemused grin when he looks back, “I was jealous of Lydia, you idiot.” The name usually bitten out comes with a tone that suggests it’s meant to be a term of endearment. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t fawning over you like your little fan club, okay? My bad. You’re right, you’re incredibly hot and I should’ve stroked your ego by putting you some fucking pedestal-” Jackson swallows whatever other words and the surprised squeak from Stiles’ lips. He stares bug eyed at the wolf’s closed eyes. Jackson presses closer, his hand cupping the other boy’s cheeks while his tongue slides against Stiles’ bottom lip. Entrance isn’t given, he can’t really, Stiles is too shocked to do so. 

The wolf pulls away, still holding Stiles’ face, “I didn’t care that you thought she was attractive.” Jackson drops a hand and lifts his hips, pulling one of Stiles’ legs until the human gets the massage and- for some fucking reason- lays on the couch. The wolf’s hips immediately settle into the space created and Stiles can feel just how much Jackson wants this. Him. “I wanted to be the one you had a crush on because of the massive one I have on you.”

That’s a lot to process. If Jackson liked him then- “why did you make my life hell?” 

Jackson’s free hand falls to Stiles’ hip, rubbing softly and the other props himself on the armrest behind Stiles’ head. “I didn’t know how to handle the fact that I suddenly like guys. Well, a guy.” The wolf sighs, “Lydia knew and agreed to keep my secret as long as I needed her to. I’m sorry I treated you like that.”

Stiles has never seen him act so soft. Having Derek as an Alpha and a proper back must really be working for Jackson. It makes him charming in a way that his jerk persona never could. Being emotionally balanced and all that. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time. And I’ll know if you’re lying. So don’t do me any favors and don’t hide from me either.” The warning is evident. Don’t say it and not mean it. And don’t mean it but not day it. Otherwise he’ll walk. “Will you please, let me fucking kiss you?” 

Stiles fists his fingers in the wolf’s shirt- half expecting Jackson to snap at wrinkling his expensive clothes- to push him away or pull him closer, the other boy really doesn’t know. Until his arm moves of its own volition and Jackson’s mouth gets drawn to him. 

The wolf chuckles against his lips, “finally.” The hand on his hip grips tighter and the other comes back to his jaw. Jackson tilts his head up to deepen the kiss. Jackson kisses like he wants to swallow Stiles whole. Maybe he does. Maybe Stiles would let him. Panting he pulls away again, and the other teen bites back a whine. “I have one more question and then I promise I’ll shut up.”

The human playfully rolls his eyes, “what is it?”

“Be with me.” Jackson states. Stiles cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, that wasn’t really a question. But his heart skips a beat nonetheless at the implication of the wolf’s words. “Will you be my boyfriend?” 

Stiles is nodding before the request is completely out of Jackson’s beautiful face. “Fuck yeah, dude.” The wolf breathes out a laugh at the ridiculousness. “Now just kiss me. Please?” 

“Whatever you want,” Jackson grins and presses his body in further, claiming Stiles’ lips as his own. 

Stiles is now stupidly happy about this storm locking them in Lydia’s lake house. He got a boyfriend out if. 

[justmypartner]

Make it Work: Chapter 7

Summary: When offered a permanent position with the FBI, Hailey agrees to take it under one condition: Jay comes too. As their personal lives and work lives begin to change, the two partners find it increasingly difficult to navigate their complex relationship and manage their feelings for one another.

Writer’s Note: Angst, angst, and more angst! Please push through it though, because next chapter will make up for it. I promise ;) 3 more chapters after this one! As always, thank you so so much for reading!!!

Tagging: @angelsjedi , @brookerz122493 , @cpdfan2014 , @the–carousel , @maya-asturias , @itsdesiree86​ , @tvshowsaremyhappyplace 

Read on AO3 or below

It wasn’t a dream, was the first thought in Jay’s mind when he woke up the next morning. He laid in bed, squinting at the shadows on his ceiling created by the sunlight creeping in through the shades on his window. A slew of curses fell from his mouth as memories from the night before flooded his mind. He became increasingly aware of the lingering effects of the liquor as his head pounded and the room seemed to spin around him. The deep desire for a glass of water was the only motivation getting him up and out of bed. He skipped his usual morning coffee, downing a few large glasses of water and painkillers in its place. As bad as managing a hangover at work sounded, nothing seemed worse to him than having to face Hailey. It should have made him relieved to see the feelings he had for her be reciprocated, but it wasn’t enough to ease the pain that came from leaving her all alone with those feelings up in the air.

He dragged himself into work, knowing his hangover was written all over his face. He didn’t care. All he cared about at that point was surviving the day and making sure he and Hailey were okay.

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to see her desk empty when he entered the bullpen. He felt like he needed a few more moments to prepare himself before having to face her. He quietly made his way to his desk, slumping in his chair and taking a breather.

“Long night there, Halstead?” Walker asked over the monitor on Jay’s desk. His face scrunched up at the high volume of the man’s voice.

“Would you keep it down,” Jay said with a groan, eliciting a low laugh out of both Walker and Daisy who sat across from him, watching him suffer with amusement.

“Looks like it was a long night for Blondie there too,” Walker called out as his eyes tracked someone over Jay’s shoulder. He didn’t have to turn around to know he was talking about Hailey, but the nickname caught him off guard. She wasn’t big on nicknames, especially one like that. Reluctantly, he turned his head to see her walking in sluggishly as she tried to rub away the tired look in her eyes. She waved Walker and his teasing comments off before settling in her chair the same way Jay had.

“What’d you two get into last night?” Daisy questioned.

“Huh, wha- What do you mean?” Jay stuttered out nervously, the memories of the night before flashing in his mind. Memories so vivid he felt like he could still feel her breath against his face and her touch on his skin.

“What do I mean? I mean, why are you two rolling in here like a bunch of frat boys on a Sunday morning?” Daisy questioned with a laugh. Jay swallowed hard, looking over at Hailey whose eyes met his briefly before darting away.

“Right… that would be a bottle of tequila,” Hailey said plainly before busying herself on her computer. Jay did the same and their two fellow agents took the hint, shrugging off the pair’s avoidance and settling back at their desks. It was obvious she remembered the night before just as clearly as he did, and that made him nervous.

They were assigned a string of robberies that had taken place at a few high-security medical facilities around Midtown. Drake sent the two pairs out to a number of the facilities to interview witnesses and canvas. Jay was happy to be out of the office, but he knew the second the two of them were alone in the car, the awkward tension that existed in the office would only be ten times worse.

They climbed into the car quietly, driving in silence for a few minutes. However, it wasn’t their usual comfortable silence. The silence was deafening and Jay was distracted, something he knew could pose dangers in the field. He knew they had to air things out.

“Hailey, about last night-“ he began before she cut him off.

“Jay, no. It’s fine. We were both… very drunk,” she said with emphasis on the last two words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ this time Jay cut her off.

“What? No, I’m the one that should be sorry. I didn’t want you to think that I…” his voice trailed off as he shook his head. How did he tell her he wasn’t fleeing because he didn’t have feelings for her, but the direct opposite of that? How did he tell her he wanted nothing more than to kiss her? That being with her was something he dreamt of for years, but not while his body and mind were drowning in tequila? These thoughts flipped through the forefront of his brain as he tried to piece together words he actually wanted to say to her.

“Jay, it’s fine. It’s a new day, we’ve got a pretty pressing case, let’s just focus on that, yeah?” She finally said, using his silence to shut down the conversation completely. He nodded, mentally kicking himself for his inability to put his thoughts into words.

When they arrived at the facility, they interviewed a few of the techs who were present at the time of the robberies. The men came in with rifles, threatening them to open cold storage containers before taking several experimental treatment vials and loading them into transport coolers. They then locked the techs in one of the backrooms before making their exits. The agents asked if there were any other facilities nearby that could be potential targets. The individuals named two companies nearby that would have similar facilities that possibly housed the same vials targeted by the offenders.

Jay and Hailey arrived at the first location, flashing their badges to the front desk worker and asking to be let up to the floor with cold storage. The man refused, insisting the pair must have the wrong place. Jay noticed blood on the collar of the man’s shirt, as well as a rip where a nametag should have been. Something didn’t feel right to him, and he looked over at Hailey to see if she had noticed it too. Her eyes confirmed this, and she pulled out her phone, checking the screen before looking up at Jay.

“Hey, boss got the address wrong. Sorry for the trouble,” she said. Jay nodded and they turned to make their way to the exit. His heart rate picked up as they turned their back to the man. They were vulnerable in that position, and they had no tactical advantage if their hunch was correct. A few steps from the door, Jay heard a click of metal from behind them. It was faint, but before he could even react, a gunshot was going off and Hailey was shoving him behind a large cement pillar to their right.

“Jay, get down!” She yelled as their bodies slammed against the ground and bullets rained down around them.

“You good?” she asked, hovered over him as she drew her weapon.

“Yeah, yeah, good,” he confirmed, trying to catch his breath and reaching for his own weapon.

Hailey called for backup as Jay drew cover fire from around the pillar. He retreated to reload as the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder behind the cover of the barrier.

“On three, cover me, I’m going to make my way to the other side so I can get a better shot,” Jay said to her. She nodded nervously as he started the count down.

He got to the number three, and she began firing at the man, drawing enough cover for Jay to successfully make it to the other side of the lobby with a much clearer shot. Jay got the man in his sights, adjusting slightly for the distance, and fired 3 rounds. Silence filled the lobby as the man fell to the floor with a thud.

“You good?” He called out to Hailey. There was a brief pause.

“Good,” she replied, sending a shock of relief through Jay’s entire body.

The next thing they knew, Walker and Daisy were bursting through the front doors with tact guys behind them.

“You two good?” Daisy called out as her eyes surveyed the room for the two partners.

“Yeah, all good,” Hailey replied as she and Jay made their way to their fellow agents.

“Nothing like a shower of bullets to knock the hangover out of you, am I right?” Walker teased as Hailey and Jay sent him a shared snarl.

Daisy knocked the man in the head jokingly as she handed Hailey and Jay a vest to put on before they made their way up to the higher floors to take down the rest of the offenders. As they secured their vests, Jay’s eyes remained on Hailey, reassuring himself that she was okay after being uncertain just a few minutes prior. Before they headed up the stairs with the rest of the team, he stopped her and pulled her to the side.

“Thank you… for pushing me out of the way back there. Pretty sure you saved my life,” he told her sincerely, as his hand found its way to her arm just below her shoulder. She smiled down at the floor before shaking her head lightly.

“It’s what partners do,” she nodded, bringing a hand to rest over his briefly before walking past him towards the stairs.

With that came a flood of relief. The avoidance, the tension, it all disappeared for a split second with her touch, and he felt like he was finally able to breathe for the first time that day. Despite what happened the night before, they were able to prove that no matter what, they were good together. He knew they still needed to talk. Whether that was just airing out what almost happened the night before or fully putting their feelings out on the table, he wasn’t sure. He was sure, however, that their partnership was unbreakable and no matter what happened, they were always going to be okay.

They followed the team up the stairs to take down the rest of the robbery crew. A shootout and multiple arrests later, they were on their way back to headquarters. On the drive there, it was mostly silent. From the corner of his eye, Jay saw Hailey release her hair from the tight ponytail it was in, shaking her curls loose as they fell to the sides of her head. He looked over briefly before bringing his eyes back to the road. It reminded him of earlier when Walker called her Blondie, and curiosity got the best of him.

“You know, earlier Walker called you Blondie,” he said with a quizzical tone. “I’m surprised he got away with it. If Adam would have ever called you that, he would’ve lost an arm or something,” he half-joked. She stifled a smile and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, we were at a bar the other night. I was a few drinks deep, and I may have gotten a little too enthusiastic when the band covered Heart of Glass. That and more obvious reasons led to the nickname. I’m not very fond of it, but the more I protest, the more I know he’ll want to use it so… non-reaction is the name of the game,” she told him with a shy smile. He raised his brows with a teasing smile that quickly fell at the thought of the two of them alone at a bar.

“You two, uh, you go out a lot, yeah?” He questioned, despite already feeling certain of her answer.

“A few times, yeah. He’s a good drinking partner when all you want to do is forget about the day and have a little fun. You should come with us sometime, he’ll challenge you to a game of darts and I’d love to see you kick his ass,” she told him with a large smirk.

“Yeah, maybe,” he responded.

The thought of destroying Walker in a game of darts sounded appealing, but he knew he’d never take her up on the offer if he could help it. He could barely take Walker’s flirty looks and comments for Hailey at work, let alone while tipsy in a crowded bar. He knew those feelings weren’t reciprocated from her end, but it was something Jay couldn’t stand to be around regardless.  

Once back at headquarters, Jay and Hailey spent hours in interrogation with the men, trying to figure out why they were after the vials and how they knew about them in the first place. By the end of it all, they were able to find out that the leader of the crew had a sick wife. One of her doctors had mentioned an experimental drug treatment that was in the works, but it hadn’t yet hit the market and was only open for trials. His wife was denied entry into the trial, and the more her condition progressed, the more desperate he became. In a support group, he met a man who had recently gotten out of prison with connections to a former robbery crew. Being that they all had loved ones that could benefit from the treatment, the plans for the heists arose.

“I just wanted to save my wife. And those guys? They wanted to save their loved ones too,” the leader revealed to Jay and Hailey in the interrogation room.

“I get that, man. You just went about it the wrong way, and now your wife is going to lose not just the treatment but her husband too,” Jay said before rising from his chair and gathering the file from the table. Hailey was mostly quiet during the final portion of the interrogation, and she silently followed as Jay made his way out of the room.

“This sucks,” she said aloud as soon as the door to the room was closed. Jay questioned her silently, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It’s just… he was doing what he thought he had to do to save his wife, and now he’s probably going to lose her and everything else because of it,” she said in a defeated tone.

“Yeah, but Hailey he broke the law. He tried to cheat the system for his own benefit and hurt innocent people in the process,” he said, a stern look on his face.

“I know, I know, it’s just… Isn’t there some part of you that would want to do the same thing if you were in his position? If it were someone you loved?” she asked him, her eyes looking up at him, melting him in all of the ways only her eyes could.  

The question opened something in him. He’d like to think he was strong enough in his morals to have made the right decision in the same situation, but then he thought about his mother. If there were a treatment that could have saved her, he probably would’ve gone to every measure necessary to ensure she got it. Then he thought about the woman before him. If Hailey were the one that needed that treatment, what would he do? He swallowed hard before nodding slowly as he bit the inside of his cheek. She had a point. He looked down at her, her eyes peering up into his, and that urge to tell her how he felt was back. Except, this time it wasn’t driven by a buzz and lowered inhibitions. It was driven by a deep feeling in his chest that seemed to pull his heart to hers. A feeling clearer than anything else in his life.

“Hailey, I think we-“ he began before a deep voice interrupted from behind him.

“Hey, you two! I know you went a little too hard last night, but how about we make it a streak and carry the party on to tonight? Huh? Beers, a game of darts, maybe some billiards?” Walker questioned as he threw an arm around the two of them.

“Uh,” Hailey let out as her gaze remained on Jay with with a look he was guessing to be curiosity surrounding his interrupted sentence.

“What do you say?” Walker asked, turning his head between the two of them as he waited for a response.

“Only if you let me choose the bar this time, that last one reeked of cigarettes. I was sure I got lung cancer just from opening the door,” Hailey finally said with a laugh.

Jay’s mood deflated quickly, and he wriggled out from the man’s hold.

“Uh as much fun as that sounds, I actually have plans tonight,” he lied. Hailey sent him a questioning look as Walker shrugged his shoulders.

“Just the two of us once again, Blondie,” Walker said with a wink that created a sick feeling in Jay’s stomach.

Every time Jay thought he was ready to tell her how he felt, something seemed to stand in the way and discourage him immediately. He was beginning to question whether or not it was worth it. Wondering if all of the roadblocks were just signs from the universe that they were better off as partners. He watched as she walked back to her desk and grabbed her coat, turning to look back at him briefly. It was a lingering look, a glimmer in her eyes he knew all too well. Then, Walker interrupted her to ask if she was ready to go, and the look was gone instantly. Yet, that one look was enough to send every bit of doubt he had right out of his head. As hard as he tried to fight it, he was in love with her. He wasn’t sure when or where, but someday soon he wasn’t going to be able to hold it in. One way or another, he knew they were meant to be together, and in that moment that was enough hope to make him smile through the ache of watching her walk away without him.  

[laypis]

rating: mature pairing: bakugou katsuki x gender-neutral reader word count: 8.2k warnings: swearing, violence, medical imagery note: crossposted to ao3 here

masterlist • next

summary:

A comet will only truly shine when passing by the Sun. After a mission for the Hero Public Safety Commission goes terribly wrong, you're taken in by Bakugou Katsuki, your former high school rival, to recover. However, when you’re forced to confront a brewing conflict between two sides of the Hero world head-on and fend off a criminal organization hellbent on slaughter, will you die out or burn bright? A Pro-Hero Bakugou x Pro-Hero Reader fic, featuring a reader with a slug Quirk. Reader is gender neutral/nonbinary but AFAB. All characters depicted are 18+.

Chapter One

It was raining.

It often rained on your missions. You've never been sure of why, but it did. That wasn’t a surprise to you.

Most of those missions didn’t involve you laying on the ground and bleeding out, that part was new. You can’t say this is how you foresaw your end to be. You’d hoped it’d be more peaceful, perhaps a bit warmer. You watched with bleary eyes as your bright, smashed phone screen next to your head blinked frantically with an onslaught of messages from your last known contact. A serene smile befell your face. You’d worried someone. You hoped he’d forgive you, in the end.

Your eyes closed.

You were surprised again to wake up not to the soothing, ethereal light of the afterlife, but to the obnoxious lights of a hospital room instead. You blinked several times, looking about in dull alarm. Was this a mistake? Was Heaven taunting you? Around the room, bundles of flowers and well-wishes spilled from every corner. Bouquets of all shapes and sizes, stuffed animals, and get-well-soon cards with words you couldn’t read from this distance. Your eyes settled on a figure sitting in an armchair towards the corner of your small room. The figure was slumped over like a ragdoll, a soft snore emanating from them.

You ached to call out to them, ask them if this was truly what the end looked like. You’d always thought it would be much more tranquil than the beeps of heart monitors and the gnawing pain in your side from where you’d been slashed.

“Where...?” you managed to rasp out. You heard the figure snort, then grunt before straightening up. After a pause, a low, masculine voice met your ears. It was astonishingly familiar.

“About damn time.”

⁠—

As it turns out, you hadn’t passed away and gone to the afterlife. According to Bakugou Katsuki, you’d almost died, and he’d carried your nearly lifeless and bleeding body to the closest hospital while you were unconscious. He’d explained all this once you’d awoken from what you understood to be several days of drug-induced slumber.

Now, the two of you sat in his fancy car, a carry-on bag at your side full of the meager toiletries you’d convinced the nurses to let you take. The orange and red glow of the underlights in his dashboard illuminated your feet as you stared downward at nothing.

“Oi, Snot-For-Brains, you alive over there?”

Bakugou’s brusque question brought your eyes up to meet his for the briefest of moments. You tilted your head, the medicine left in your system making it difficult to speak. You fought the all too familiar delay in time that seemed to grow by the second.

“Still here,” you offered softly, the corner of your lip quirking upwards into something akin to a smile.

“Good. I don’t need anyone dying on me in this car,” he answered before his eyes returned to the road ahead. "Just paid the damn thing off."

You smiled.

“I’ll try not... to.”

Besides the soft music from the radio, the car was quiet. It had turned dark before the hospital got all the paperwork finished in order to release you. You didn’t mind. The dark was where you thrived, after all. Where you’d almost died. The moon was peeking out from the clouds among the silhouettes of lighted buildings. It was barely noticeable past the streetlights that would pass, but you noticed it. Your eyes locked on the little semicircle, drawing strength from its willingness to shine. Bakugou broke your trance when he spoke again.

“What happened, slug?” was all he said.

“A lot. I’ll... tell you more when I... can,” you murmured. Bakugou accepted your answer more easily than you’d expected. He didn’t pry, his eyes turning back to the road after glancing at you a few times.

“Do you, uh, need anything special? A humidifier, or whatever?” he asked. The question made you chortle.

“No...” you smiled, lifting a hand to hide your mouth. “I’m not... that frail.”

“Tch, no kidding,” he agreed in a low voice. When he caught you looking at him oddly, he glared at the road. “I mean, you did just survive nearly getting cut in fucking half!” he sputtered. The smile behind your hand grew.

“I’ll... be okay,” you told him. “Look.” To make your point, you wiggled the two sets of antennae atop your head gifted to you by your Quirk. They were slower to respond than you’d like, but they moved to your command, with the smaller set twitching and the larger set pivoting like ears. Bakugou had glanced over in time to see you move each pair separately. You saw a shiver run up his spine.

“Creepy,” he muttered. The insult didn’t bother you much. You were used to hearing it. Having a slug Quirk wasn’t considered flashy or beautiful, but you knew the extent of your own capabilities. Your gaze lingered on his profile, outlined by the streetlights above. His jawline had filled out over the years, but there was still a hint of his former boyishness in his face.

You looked down at the broken phone in your lap. It barely maintained a charge, it was basically ruined, but you’d managed to message Mina Ashido. She was overjoyed to hear from you. You could tell she was holding in her questions about what had happened to reassure you. You’d asked a favor of her, and she’d obliged without any hesitation. You wondered if you’d ever be able to repay her for all her kindness over the years of your long friendship, the two of you had been attached at the hip since middle school. You loved her dearly, though had never said as much out loud. The lingering warmth the conversation brought you was enough for you to stay awake during the remainder of the car ride.

When you arrived at Bakugou’s apartment complex, you weren’t expecting squalor, but nor were you expecting the lavishness that assaulted you at every turn. The delicate organs peeking from your long hair were bombarded with new information. Your companion had earned his place in the hero world. Being the up-and-coming number 2 Pro was nothing to sneeze at. At the same time, you never pegged Bakugou for the rich living type. Some part of you was relieved when you came upon his actual apartment. A penthouse suite, but furnished sparsely and simply for a practical person. Much of the furnishings were black, but again, that could be expected considering who lived here.

As Bakugou swept you further into his place, you peered around. It was meticulously clean, of course, and the kitchen was weirdly enormous. Well, considering who it belonged to, maybe it wasn’t all that weird.

“You’re taking my bed. And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ smart about it,” he barked as he started moving around to pick up odds and ends. “You need more blankets, they're in the hallway closet. It's the second door to the left. Bathroom’s connected to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Now get your ass cleaned up and go to sleep. You’re a fuckin’ mess.”

Ah, so even his bedside manner was deplorable. Good to know you were in such capable hands.

You had to resist the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes. Though, you couldn’t deny you were weary. Your disastrous wound and the medicine they’d pumped you full of the past few days had taken an enormous toll on your body. Recovery hadn’t been easy. Not to mention the effect all the drugs had on your Gastropod Quirk.

The protective layer of mucus that normally covered your hair was watery, and threatening to stick to everything it touched. It felt as disgusting as it probably looked. Bakugou had already warned you back at the hospital not to get any of that “snot” on his things. The fact you felt like you were underwater didn’t help either. Your head hadn’t stopped swimming since you’d woken up properly for the first time in the hospital room. You usually liked the water, but not when it was all in your brain.

“Right,” you drawled, your dark eyes watching Bakugou in distant fascination as he swept some stray mail into a pile on the table next to the door. He either noticed your hesitation or got tired of it, because as soon as he finished, he took a hold of your shoulders and began to guide you toward his bedroom down the hallway.

“What the hell did I just say? You got more snot in your ears than usual or something?”

You shot him a glare that was promptly ignored.

“Look, just clean yourself up and if you’re hungry I’ll fuckin’ feed you, but then it’s bedtime. Got it?”

“Oh, is it... past your... bedtime?” you remarked. You were spun around with such force you thought you were going to pass out. Once the dizziness faded, your eyes locked with bright ruby hues.

“Listen here, slug. If I’m gonna play babysitter to your ass for who knows how long, then you go by my damn rules. Don’t make this more fucking difficult than it already is.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. You couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that, his choice of phrasing odd. However, even you knew when it was time to back down. You heaved a long-suffering sigh. You were too tired to pick his brain. Not only that, but you'd walk away with more questions than answers, that you were certain of.

“Your... flair for... drama... has not left you,” you mumbled. Bakugou’s grip on you tightened minutely, as if he were holding in the urge to blurt something obscene like he usually would. To your astonishment, he kept it together.

“Whatever. Go wash up, you smell like a wet dog that rolled in hell knows what.”

With that, his grip on you ceased. He sharply turned away from you, returning to the living room with a low huff. You tried shoving aside the strange feeling of missing those large, rough-hewn hands encompassing your lithe shoulders as you trudged to where he told you the bathroom would be.

Being alone in the bedroom of your former high school rival was an experience. Whether it was a good experience was up for debate, but at the moment all you could focus on was the door connected to the room that was slightly cracked open. Light was flooding out from it, signaling you to pull it open and reveal a spotlessly clean master bathroom. It had both a shower, and a tub.

How fortuitous for the man who can’t seem to get over calling you playground bully level insults. It was still a welcome sight, however, knowing you had private access to the entirety of the room until Bakugou would inevitably darken your door wanting to know if you’d finally passed on.

Without hesitation, you carefully peeled away your old clothing and bandages to reveal what you’d not been wanting to confront since you left the hospital. The whole reason you’d be holed up with your own personal nurse shark for the foreseeable future.

It was stitched with all the care in the world, an ugly blemish dyed with yellow iodine and old blood, staining your glossy tan skin with a sickly and unpleasant tinge. It split you from the top of your left hip upwards until the final end met the bottom of your sternum, spanning the whole width of your abdomen. You stared at it in the mirror for a long minute, absorbing every detail of it.

That criminal's blade had torn you asunder. Yet, here you stood in Katsuki Bakugou’s bathroom with breath still in your lungs.

By all rights, you shouldn’t be alive.

The thought echoed in your head, foggy and perpetual in the darkness of your mind. Onyx irises met each other in the mirror as you peered through pale bangs at yourself reflected inside the glass.

You looked like a ghost. And, truthfully, you should be one.

Eventually, your logic caught up with you to helpfully remind you that staring at your life-threatening injury in the mirror wouldn’t get you clean or fed.

Resigned, you padded toward the shower to start the water. It fell cold on the hand you held out to check the temperature. You had no doubts Bakugou probably liked his showers hotter than the devil’s teat, but you certainly did not. As soon as the water wasn’t cold enough to make you shiver, you shook the moisture from your hand to grab your bag. You plucked the sample-size shampoo bottle from the top of the pile inside and slithered under the waterfall.

You kept your mind empty as your body went through the motions of cleaning. You did, however, come back to reality long enough to watch the protective layer of mucus covering your hair slough off into the drain.

You hoped, somewhat bitterly, Bakugou had good plumbing. A new layer would form in its place, a stronger layer,  protecting your hair properly instead of acting like a sticky hand fresh from the package at an arcade.

You sighed when you felt the appropriate amount of time had passed before your host would inevitably come looking for you. You were clean enough. You’d managed to wash away the sterile hospital scent and replace it with something lightly floral and refreshing. Your natural scent of wet leaves would make its return once you dried and rested, you imagined. A small comfort. The only good scent was your own.

Though, the strange sweetness permeating all of Bakugou’s home was becoming familiar to you. Albeit reluctantly.

I should give Bakugou more credit, you thought. He did save me from the clutches of death, and all.

Once you’d had enough of ogling your wound again in the mirror before wrapping it up, you came upon a dilemma. Dilemma being the mildest of words to describe the problem.

You had no clean clothes.

Mina had promised you in a text earlier in the day she’d drop by your apartment and grab you enough clothing to cover your, hopefully, short stay at Bakugou’s place and bring it to you. You’d agreed, stupidly perhaps, that she could do that tomorrow when she had a chance.

Your hand wiped over your face, a scowl affixed on your expression, and heaved a sigh. You’d have to borrow something from Bakugou.

Finding a towel big enough to wrap around your willowy figure wasn’t an issue at least. You steeled yourself for facing the owner of the house, taking in a deep, calming breath. Could things really get that much worse?

As it turned out, yes, because the moment you opened the door you were face-to-face with your gracious host who looked like he’d seen a ghost the minute he laid eyes on you.

“For fuck’s sake, where the hell are all your-!”

“Gone.”

He paused, his expression frozen in a contortion of both anger and ... embarrassment? You hadn’t seen that look on him very much in all your years of knowing each other, but he still wore it about as well as a fish wore pants. He reached up to run an agitated hand through the short, buzzed locks of his hair.

“Before you... lose your temper... be reminded I came with nothing but... the clothes the hospital so kindly let me... take. Mina... promised me she would bring more. Tomorrow,” you explained, painstakingly slow as you fought exhaustion, irritation, and pain to form coherent sentences. Bakugou stuttered out something under his breath that sounded strangely like an apology before shaking his head and tearing around his room to find something for you to wear.

“Right. Fine. Whatever. I’ll give you something of mine, but it’s mine, got it? I get it back whenever Racoon-Eyes brings you your own shit,” he grumbled as you watched him rifle through a drawer for something that was even close to small enough to fit you. “And try not to get any damn slime on it!”

An amused smile tugged at your lips. You leaned heavily on the door frame of the bathroom, eyes never leaving Bakugou as he finally pulled out a pair of shorts and an oversized black t-shirt from his dresser’s bottom drawer. As soon as he checked them over (for cleanliness, you assumed), he tossed them your way.

“Here. I don’t wanna hear any complaining about size. It ain’t my fault you’re a stick,” he said, pointing a finger at you with the usual scowl on his face. Compared to you, he’d beefed up in the time you’d spent apart. You noticed it whenever you caught the ripple of muscle through his toned arms.

“Me? Complain...?" You did your best to sound scandalized at the very idea. "You may... have bad manners... but I don’t,” you chided, clumsily catching the bundle in your arms.

You cursed the slip, because you heard Bakugou scoff instead of taking the bait. Were you so wrong for wanting some normalcy between the two of you? You’d traded barbs like cards back at U.A. but clearly Bakugou had other ideas at the moment. You didn’t catch the deepening of his scowl at the comment, too occupied with looking over the new clothing you held.

“Just get dressed, dammit,” he said before storming from the room. Well, at least some things never changed.

Once you were finally settled in fresh clothing, you sat at the edge of Bakugou’s huge bed, tying up your hair into a looping ponytail so that it would be out of your way. It would hopefully also prevent your hair’s natural slime coat from getting onto Bakugou’s clothing while it reformed.

How he slept in such a monstrosity was a mystery to you. The bed was easily three times the size of your own at home. Looking at it closer, it seemed it was fit more for someone like Hawks, whose quirk made it tough to fit in a normal bed. Not really an angry bachelor, as was Bakugou.

The thought of him sharing a bed with anyone but the covers was a funny thought to you. But it turned sour when you felt an odd pang of jealousy at the idea.

Had he shared a bed with anyone else in the five years you’d not seen each other? It would only be reasonable to expect as such. He may be gruff and have all the charm of a bulldog, but he had needs… or so you thought.

Right?

You shook the thought from your mind, bringing a hand up to hold onto your aching head. What had he mentioned earlier before marching you to his bedroom? Food? You hadn’t eaten a decent meal since before you were hospitalized, and that had been… Oh. That was several days ago, now. If your fuzzy memory served right, Bakugou was an... adequate cook. You hated admitting that much, but if he was offering to make you something, then you’d be a fool to turn it down.

Picking yourself up from the edge of the bed, you shuffled out of his bedroom and into the dim hallway leading out toward the main part of his penthouse.

“You ask... if I’m dead... yet you disappear like... a ghost?” you muttered to yourself as you saw not hide nor hair of him in the living room.

A cacophonous rattling of plates and a curse in the direction of the massive kitchen drew your attention. It seemed he was a step ahead of you on the matter of food.

You strolled to the kitchen’s ample island, sitting yourself in a bar seat as quietly as you could while you focused your gaze on Bakugou’s form hustling about the stove top. The drugs remaining inside your system were dulling your senses and your pain, so you hadn’t smelled the food before. However, now that you were close enough, the enticing scent of something light and hearty met you like an old friend. It reminded you again how long you had gone without food, evident by your stomach lightly rumbling.

At first, Bakugou didn’t acknowledge you directly. He must have realized you’d slipped in somewhere along the way though, because he addressed you as he stirred something on the stove without turning to you.

“Pinky told me you don’t eat meat,” he stated, his voice even and, surprisingly, calm. “I’m making vegetable curry. I’ll make sure your portion is up to your wimpy standards, so I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about how hot it is.”

You blinked. You hadn’t realized Bakugou had spoken with Mina at all, let alone about your diet.

When did that happen? While you were effectively dead to the world? How long had Bakugou been thinking about becoming your personal nurse? You suddenly had a lot of questions for your host.

Still, it was true, meat was near indigestible for you. Spicy food rarely agreed with you either, but you knew Bakugou liked everything as hot as his temper.

“I... see. That’s... uncharacteristically considerate... of you,” was all you could think to say.

"Hah?" Ah, there it was. "You really think I'd be such a selfish asshole after all this?" he growled, still not looking at you as he picked up fervor in beating the vegetable sauce in the pot instead.

"You do not... have a fantastic track record... of doing so, no," you pointed out. "You made... Kaminari cry... by giving him that... abominable ramen you enjoyed... in high school. And laughed."

Bakugou was quiet at that. When he did speak again, he stopped stirring.

"That shit was funny, and don't you try and act like you didn't laugh like the rest of the peanut gallery," he grunted. "And it wasn't 'abominable'," he mocked, "it was the only good, cheap ramen at that shitty school!"

The familiarity and comfort of his banter won a tiny smile from you as you rested your head against your arm. You watched as his movements slowed back to a more professional pace.

"Fair enough," you relented. Bakugou gave a hum of satisfaction.

“Drinks are in the ‘fridge. Get whatever you want,” he told you. You slipped off your chair, moving to the large, double-door refrigerator. It was filled with clearly fresh groceries, vegetables of all kinds spilling out from various places, and packages of what seemed to be seafood, and tofu. A shelf in the door was full of nothing but a plethora of hot sauces of every label and brand. You wrinkled your nose at the sight, trying to focus on finding the drinks. They were located in a plastic drawer at the bottom, but you merely selected a bottle of water that’d caught your eye before closing the fridge.

You stood for a moment, watching Bakugou at the stove. From here, you could see the steam rising from the pot of rice. You also saw that he had set aside a pan of curry from the main portion. Was that for you, or him? You couldn’t quite tell. You had apparently stared too long, because Bakugou turned his usual glower on you.

“What?” he barked. You clutched your water bottle to your chest, the cool plastic bleeding through your shirt.

“Nothing,” you replied. “You just... look at home among all the... pots and pans.”

“The hell? You tryin’ to say I belong in the kitchen?” he pointed the large utensil in his hand at you accusingly, a vein popping in his neck at the insinuation.

“Of course... not.” You held up your hands in surrender. “You’re the one who... always brags... about your cooking. You seem... comfortable... when you’re making food.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at you as he tried to think of a reply, but when something simmered in front of him, he turned back to it with a disgruntled sound. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer with anything more than a scowl in your direction, you decided to make your way back to your former seat at the island with drink in hand.

The kitchen grew quiet after that, barring the sounds of Bakugou working and the gentle bubbling of the curry. You’d noted that he didn't use an automatic rice cooker, he did it all himself. Impressive, but likely just another detail of his skills to boast about.

In the silence, you remembered the manners you'd boasted about earlier. Specifically, being thankful to your temperamental host. Despite his bedside manner needing improvement, he'd truly done a lot for you. More than you'd thought him capable of. You hated owing people, but there's comfort in the way Bakugou made it so you couldn't protest his "kindness" as he knew you might.

After some thought, you finally eke out the phrase that had been on the tip of your tongue since Bakugou had offered to take you in until you were healed enough to return home.

“Bakugou?” you asked tentatively. He stopped stirring the rice to turn around, pinning you with his usual wrathful stare as he obviously expected another snarky comment.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him with your hands clutched in your lap, eyes downcast. A faint blush dusted your cheeks, and of course it would. Your sensitive antennae gave the smallest twitch. You hoped that he understood you meant more than just the food. You didn’t see him turn back around, nor did you see the slight softening of his expression in reply to your gratitude. A beat passed before he answered.

“Yeah.”

⁠—

A plate of fresh, steaming curry with a side of rice was placed in front of you on the counter, along with a spoon. You raised your head to look at the cook and thank him, but he was already moving to sit across from you as he pulled a barstool to the other side of the island.

He set his plate down, bombarding your senses with the frankly offensive amount of spice he liked in his food. His curry was much more red than your own, which, by all rights, looked to be a tolerable level. You both mumbled a quiet thanks for the meal, then you picked up your spoon to start eating.

It was hot, but only in temperature. He’d managed to keep the spices to himself, it seemed. You found yourself smiling a bit at that. The taste was nice, but you still ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t play with his food, but you noticed him hesitating in taking a bite. You’d felt his eyes on you since the first spoonful. You put down your silverware.

“If you’re... expecting a review...” you started, a gentle, teasing lilt to your voice.

“Shut up and eat!” he bellowed, then began to wolf down his curry like a starved man. It drew a soft chuckle from you.

The dinner continued in the silent way that dinners do, the clinking of spoons against porcelain being the only noise that cut through it. You had other things on your mind besides him, all of which were beginning to surface with more clarity as the food helped the medicine in your system recede. You were drifting when you heard Bakugou clear his throat.

“I know you said you’d tell me when you can, but what the hell happened?”

You shifted in your seat. That was sooner than you’d thought it’d be.

“I was... caught infiltrating a... criminal organization. One of the other... members... lured me out on a fake errand... and left me to die,” you explained. You didn’t want to go too far into details about your work for the Hero Public Safety Commission, not right now.

“You’re a stealth operative for the HC, right? Racoon-Eyes mentioned it once or twice.” You could hear the barely contained anger threatening to spill out in his voice. It was clear he wanted to know more, but he shoved a spoonful of curry into his mouth instead.

“Yes.”

“And still holdin’ number 7? Can’t imagine the public knows a whole lot about you, though,” he snorted. “You’re better off that way, trust me.”

You stopped eating to cock your head, fixing him with curious eyes.

“You’re... number 2, right? Is the public so... bad?”

Bakugou huffed.

“Nah, but they’re nosy fuckers. The media ain’t much better. Worse, if anything.” There was a pointed note of disdain in his voice. It reminded you of something.

“Yes... They make... quite a big deal... of the fact Endeavor is still... active,” you said, lifting a spoonful to your mouth. You’re startled by the sound of Bakugou’s own spoon clattering against his nearly empty plate.

“Yeah, I know. That stubborn old bastard says I ain’t ready for it yet and won't even tell me why! It’s bullshit,” he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest and staring you down. “I don’t know what the hell his problem is, but I’m gettin’ real tired of it. He’s gonna be pushin’ 60, what’s the damn point?”

You blinked a few times at him, then put the bite you were holding into your mouth. You chewed slowly. It’s a long enough pause that Bakugou raises a fine brow at you questioningly.

“People are... stuck in their... ways,” you replied. Your answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. If anything, it appeared to anger him further.

“What about you? I don’t see or hear shit from you for five damn years, and then you text me outta nowhere for help? The fuck is that about, slug?” You froze. The irritation at having the conversation turned on you once more was enough to make the delicate stalks on your head twitch.

“The HC is... hellbent... on keeping me a secret. In case... you hadn’t noticed,” you stated coldly. “Besides... I knew... your and Red Riot’s... agency... patrolled that area. You were... my first thought.” Your brows knit together behind your curtain of hair, and you were thankful he couldn’t see it. The reply made him bark out a cruel-sounding laugh.

“But me? Why not fuckin’ Pinky or, hell, even the Tape-face?” he growled as he angrily took a bite of his food. “Ain’t like they don’t work for me.”

You bid yourself to calm down as you racked your brain for an answer. Why did you text Bakugou of all people? You found yourself slightly regretting the decision.

“I knew... you would be... the one to know... what I meant in my message,” you finally said. He grunted.

“Texting someone the word help with coordinates attached ain’t exactly as mysterious as you think it is, slug,” he said, shaking his head. “Where the hell was the Hero Commission anyway? Didn’t they send you with any damn backup? Couldn’t you see that whatever dumb villain did that to you was gonna snap?”

“It was... too dangerous to send... more operatives,” you explained. “I was... a good fit.” You left it at that, his other questions hanging in the air. He noticed, because he stood up from his seat abruptly to lean over the island, braced on his palms, to glare at you from above.

“A good fit? That’s a fuckin’ laugh! You were bleeding out in a shitty alleyway, and no one would’ve found your corpse if I didn’t get there in time! What the hell were those higher-up idiots thinking, putting you in that kinda situation all by yourself?”

You gritted your teeth, temper boiling up through your veins. It felt like ice coursing through you. You calmly placed your spoon down on your plate, your half-finished food turning to ashes in your mouth. You rose slowly from your seat, and it seemed Bakugou had finally caught onto the fact he’d angered you. He withdrew a bit, but his glare was still just as piercing.

“I live in the shadows, and... that's where I'll die,” you clenched your fists at your sides. “It must be... so nice, to not have to... worry about that," you replied to him, voice low and frigid. "If... it's such a big deal to you, why... did you... come for me? Why... go through all this... trouble?" You gestured widely to the meal, the apartment, and yourself, clothed in his spare wardrobe.

Your questioning leaves Bakugou looking stunned. He gave an owlish blink, his scowl wiped away temporarily as his lips hang open without retort. You can practically see the hamster wheel turning inside his head, complete with a furious-looking rodent.

You fought an oncoming wave of stress-induced dizziness and nausea. You brought a hand up to your head to steady yourself and squeezed your eyes shut to block out the increasingly incessant lights, wrapping the other arm protectively around your middle. You give one last glance to Bakugou's deepening frown.

“Thank you for... the food, Bakugou, but I think... I need to... rest.”

"Oi⁠—!"

With that, you turn and stalk off to the dark reaches of his bedroom, leaving Bakugou with only his thoughts and the dirty dishes.

⁠—

You hadn’t left Bakugou’s bedroom since you closed the door behind you. Normally, you’d have been polite enough to at least help with the dishes, but the whole ordeal had upset you enough that you couldn’t think of anything more than your own spinning head. As the calm of the darkness settled over you, you felt yourself regretting your words to the man. After all, he had helped you. Yes, you were in pain. Yes, Bakugou had likely overstepped. At the same time, you’d practically thrown his kindness back into his face and spat on it.

You physically cringed at the thought. It wouldn’t surprise you if he threw you out the next day. Better enjoy this ridiculously huge bed while it lasted, you sighed.

You were sprawled out atop the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. It'd been a few hours at least since the dinner. Once the nausea had passed and your head no longer ached, you were left only with echoes of your fraught conversation to plague you. Needless to say, you hadn't gotten any sleep since you'd laid down.

It certainly wasn’t as if you wanted to die the way you almost did. However, Bakugou made it hard to understand why he’d do all this for you. To his credit, he’d never been an easy person to understand. You knew his temper, you knew his bluntness, and you knew from your years together at U.A. what drove him, considering he never shut up about being the number one. The memories made you smile, the smallest quirk of your lips. At the same time, there was a part of him that he was good at obscuring. He was a straightforward person, that much was certain, but there was a piece of his puzzle you’d never quite understood.

You sighed miserably, rolling onto your uninjured side as you stared out into the darkness of his room. How did he sleep in this bed? It felt so incredibly empty. Perhaps he liked the space. Knowing what you did about him, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you. He seemed the type to toss and turn until his body finally gave over to slumber. How he maintained a strict bedtime was a mystery to you with your chronic insomnia coupled with horrendous paranoia.

You buried your nose into his comforter, immediately breathing in that strange and sweet scent that lingered in the air throughout his penthouse. You’d finally figured out what it was.

His Quirk.

You’d read, somewhere, long ago, that nitroglycerin gave off a distinctly sweet scent. Some likened it to caramel, but his smell wasn't nearly that pure. Likely because whatever caused his sweat to be explosive wasn’t pure nitroglycerin. Still, the composition was similar, right? It would make sense. You closed your eyes. It wasn’t all that different from the damp foliage smell that your slime created, though you much preferred that smell over his at the moment. His was merely a reminder of whose house you were in.

You reached up to rub your temple. You’d have to apologize to him. You weren’t sure if that’d save you from being swiftly booted from his door in the morning, but you had some faith that Mina would be willing to take you in.

Lost in your drifting thoughts, you snuggled against one of his pillows and were assaulted by his scent. And a memory. A memory?

In your second year at U.A., you and Bakugou had formally faced each other during a mock battle at the Sports Festival. You’d lost by a hair, mostly because it was warm that day, and you’d dehydrated from both the fight and Bakugou’s fiery explosions. It was a pitiful defeat, in your mind, even if you’d placed 3rd in the end. It was also the first time you’d ever caught a glimmer of the side of himself Bakugou hid so expertly.

You looked at the scar on your arm. It was one of the few you had, now counting the one that would likely form across your abdomen from the villain attack.

In the dark, it wasn’t difficult to see. A faded, bright patch of skin over your tan complexion. In many ways, it resembled a star streaking over the night sky. It was long, stretching in ragged lines over the back of your forearm and ended in a distinct shape on the back of your hand. It was formed when you took a point-blank blast from Bakugou in a poor attempt to block the only way you knew how in the heat of the moment. You thought you could take the impact of the blast to throw that force back at him with your rubbery body. Instead, you were sent sprawling with a bloody arm onto the concrete stage.

You remembered trying to get up, struggling to get to your knees, not realizing the extent of your injuries. You were determined to let him see what you could really do. To let everyone see what you could really do. It was almost funny to look back on when your mere existence was so clandestine nowadays.

He’d stopped you by placing a firm, hot palm over your back and pressing you down into the hard stone. You were sure he was going to blast you into the ground, then and there. You’d watched with glassy eyes as the surrounding crowd was awash with jeers and calls for the referee, Mr. Cementoss.

Bakugou didn’t throw all his weight onto you, nor did he blast you. He only said three words that you barely heard before you finally passed out from the pain and exhaustion of the match.

“You did fine.”

After that, you’d woken up in Recovery Girl’s office with Mr. Aizawa at your side to tell you not to push yourself so hard next time. He’d drawn your attention to your now bandaged arm, pointing out that it was going to scar. You’d begrudgingly accepted his advice about understanding your limits. Sometimes, the best trick in a hustler’s arsenal, you knew, is when you should fold.

That being said, you never had been sure how you ended up in the nurse’s office. Your brows furrowed at the thought. Back then, you had asked Aizawa if he’d taken you, but he’d just scratched his neck and told you that he was watching from the stands without any indication of who had taken you. You’d later learn from Mina that she’d rushed to the stage to offer to take you. You assumed all these years later she was the one to haul you there. However, with your antennae surrounded by Bakugou’s scent, you were remembering a different version of events.

You hadn’t entirely passed out after Bakugou had claimed his victory. You were conscious in flashes, mostly from the pain in your arm. You do remember hearing Mina’s desperate voice, but she wasn’t yelling at you. She was saying something to someone else.

“Let me do it! Please Bakugou, you hurt them enough already!”

“Shut up, Racoon-Eyes, and get outta my way!”

The feeling of being braced over a large, muscular shoulder as you were carried. The growl in his voice as you were berated for your damned recklessness.

The next time you heard anything, you were being laid out on a bed while Recovery Girl frantically worked in the background. She was scolding your carrier.

“I’m fine, old hag! Just take care of them.”

A door slammed, and all was quiet at last. You finally succumbed to fatigue at the sounds of bandages rustling and kissy noises. Mina hadn’t carried you to Recovery Girl that day.

Bakugou had.

You jolted up, letting out a seething hiss as your wound reminded you that it was very much still there. You slumped, looking out into the dark bedroom with a grimace. You glanced at the closed door leading out into the hallway.

Compelled, you scooted off the bed, coming to stand in front of the door. You opened it quietly and were greeted with nothing but darkness. The tentacles atop your head swiveled as they took in your environment, allowing you to navigate the pitch black with ease until the hall opened out into the living room.

The only sounds were the distant hum of the city, and a ticking from an analog clock somewhere in the background. The soft noise of someone breathing was coming from the large, leather sectional that Bakugou had, the dim light from his windows allowing you to make out a figure bundled in blankets atop it.

You approached on silent feet until you were standing next to your unconscious host. You felt your expression soften. He was far more peaceful at rest than any other time in his life, the angry lines in his face nonexistent as he snored quietly.

You hesitantly reached out, wondering if you should even bother until morning. You had no idea what time it was, you’d been laying in bed drifting in and out of consciousness but failing to fall asleep properly. Your hand hovered over his shoulder, but you pulled away when you heard him snort.

Red eyes fluttered open at the interrupted snore, unfocused, before they settled on you and grew wide. In an instant, Bakugou was on his feet, his hand wrapping around your slender wrist and crackling ominously. You braced, ready to accept your fate when he finally rasped out your name in question.

“Fucking Christ. You’re goddamn lucky I didn’t blow your hand off, Snot-for-Brains,” he growled, voice husky with sleep.

“I suppose... I would deserve it,” you countered softly.

“Hah? What the hell are you talking about?”

You tilted your head. Did he not remember your little tiff earlier? At the gesture, it clicked into place for him.

“Oh. The dinner thing,” he said. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, assessing. Then, he shook his head, his gaze drifting to the side. “Don’t fucking worry about it.”

This was when he noticed he was still holding onto your wrist. He withdrew his hand like he’d been burned, leaving you to rub the spot while checking for damage. Thankfully, the only thing that remained was a warm sensation. It was a remarkable bit of restraint on his part. Bakugou cleared his throat, but you spoke first.

“I’m sorry. About... all that. I really am... thankful for all you’re doing for me. I... also realize you’re not obligated to... do any of it,” you murmured, hanging your head as you set your eyes on the floor. You heard him huff.

“Well, duh. I wouldn’t be doin’ it if I didn’t want to,” he stated, his arms folding against his chest. “But from now on, try not to kill yourself. I’ve seen enough of your dumb, passed out ass to last me a damn lifetime.”

Again, another strange choice of words from him. You lifted your gaze, dark eyes narrowing at him in the dimness. He wasn’t looking at you, determined to keep his eyes on something to his right.

“I’ll try,” you replied, letting yourself relax. You could feel a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You were relieved. At least it didn’t seem like Bakugou was going to shove you out the door in the morning. “Did... you want your bed... back?”

Bakugou looked at you in disbelief.

“Hell no! Which one of us almost got gutted like a damn fish, huh? You take the bed, idiot,” he stated sternly.

“I hate it,” you said bluntly. “It’s far... too big... for one person.”

“Yeah, if that person weighs less than a paper sack soakin’ wet, like you,” he retorted. He let out a frustrated sigh, letting his arms drop to his sides. “I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but would it make your stupid ass feel better if I was there?” You were taken aback by the question. You stared at the ground, then him.

It wasn’t a stretch by any imagination to say you’d had less than a few purely friendly thoughts about Bakugou in the ensuing years you’ve known him. For as atrocious as his attitude was, he was attractive, well-built, and had a decently handsome face. In your mind, one would have to be blind not to see that much. The idea that he’d be in the same bed as you in the real world, however, was not one you’d ever thought you’d confront.

“I...” you stuttered, uncertain of exactly what to say. In the darkness, you thought you saw the beginnings of a flush in Bakugou’s neck and ears. You had to wipe away the immediate idea you had about how pretty it looked on him.

“Just answer the damn question!”

You swallowed.

“That... might help. Yes,” you managed. You fiddled with the hem of your borrowed shirt, not looking at Bakugou directly anymore. You tried to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, hoping the darkness would cover for you should you lose the battle.

“C’mon then, we ain’t got all night,” he commanded as he started making his way to the bedroom. You followed in a daze, unable to believe you were about to share a bed with Bakugou Katsuki. Sure, you’d had something of a crush on him in your later high school days despite the rivalry the two of you maintained, but that was years ago, for God’s sake. Some higher power was clearly getting a laugh from this, and you cursed their name in your head.

You hesitated at the doorway to the bedroom, watching as Bakugou turned over the covers.

“Did you even fucking sleep?” he grumbled, more to himself than you.

“Not... really,” you answered from the door frame. He whipped around to look at you, pinning you with ruby eyes of disbelief that nearly glowed in the darkness of the room.

“Shut up, and get in,” he pointed to the bed. You strolled past him, feeling his glower on you as you climbed into the plush cocoon of blankets with a creak of the mattress. This was indeed far more comfortable than laying atop all the covers, you’d give him that much.

As soon as you had arranged yourself on one side of the bed, Bakugou laid himself on the opposite side. You were forced to face him due to your injury. He didn’t cover himself completely with the sheets as he sprawled out on his back. He tucked his hand under the pillow beneath his head, eyes closing. You couldn’t help but notice it left an empty, enticing space against his side.

Before you realized what you were doing in the haze of your pain-addled and weary mind, you’d wormed your way closer to him. You tentatively reached out to place a hand on his chest. He was so warm beneath your palm, the feeling of his heartbeat against it reminded you he was very real.  

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled without opening his eyes. You blinked your way back to reality, about to remove your hand when he let out a low huff.

“If you’re gonna do this shit, at least follow through,” he groused.

You had to hold back the incredulity in your expression, even if he wouldn't have seen it anyway. Too tired to argue, you could figure out the meaning of his words. You mustered your courage. Keeping your hand against his heart, you slid over until you were tucked against his side with your face buried to his black wife beater. He was practically a furnace, his warmth permeating from where the two of you met against each other. You fought the urge to peer up at him and gauge his expression, fearful of what you might find there. You focused your gaze on his chest instead.

“Relax, idiot. I don’t bite.”

You didn’t realize how tense you’d been. He let out a deep breath, and you could feel his body relaxing alongside yours.

“Are you finally good?” You could feel the rumble of his low voice against your cheek. You nod.

“Good, now go the fuck to sleep. Tomorrow, you're helping with the dishes."

"Fair... enough."

You yawned softly. With eyes closed, you focused on the sound of his breathing. You were all too aware of the rise and fall of his chest under your hand, the slight quickening of his heart when you’d sidled up to him. A tiny smile graced your lips. Feeling safer than you’d felt in a long time, you allowed the gift of slumber to claim you at last.

[thirstyforlulu]

They kidnap reader / fem / omega of alucard / alpha, when it is in heat, then alucard goes after his kidnappers and saves you, a lot of blood and sex.

Most people know better than to fuck with what belongs to Alucard

Even an old pen is safe if it belongs to him

Your scent permeated through the entire manor, making every other alpha hot under the collar

No matter how badly they wanted to go after you, they knew better

Alucard would rip them to shreds if he caught even the slightest scent on you

He knew you were in heat, but unfortunately he had to go to work

It was painful to leave you there, his pants felt so unbearably tight

You whined as the door to your room shut behind

The promise that he’d return and turn you inside out was the only thing keeping you sane

You curled up under the blankets, making yourself a little nest where you could wait for him

Sleep was all you could think of to occupy the time, but you were way too horny

His smell was still present on the pillows and covers, you buried your face in them to keep you calm

That helped you a little, but you never did fall completely asleep

That’s why when someone pulled you from your bed, you were already half awake

You tried to fight them as they dragged you away and into some truck, but your heat had made you weak

They took you to a warehouse and tied you to a chair then they set up a camera in front of you

Meanwhile, Alucard was dealing with the aftermath of the raid

All the stragglers had been dealt with, he was now assessing the damage and trying to figure out what their goal had been

The men he killed told him nothing, they did a good job of keeping their plan a secret

The majority of them had come in through the front, but he suspected that was a diversion

He was calm, until he saw the boot tracks heading toward your room

Dropping everything he ran to check on you, when he found the door ajar he lost his shit

“Y/N?!” He yelled as he ran in, nearly tearing the door off its hinges as he pushed it out of his way

The room was a mess, it was clear they’d taken you

He knew then that the attack at the front was nothing but a diversion, you were the real target

On the nightstand was your phone, when he picked it up he saw several missed video calls

When he called them back, he was met with a video of you tied to a chair with several cuts and bruises on your face

“Finally! We were wondering when you’d figure it all out,” a voice came from behind the camera

You looked up, giving Alucard such a pitiful look

“So, I suspect you have some demands for me?” Alucard began

“Clever vampire, we need you to kill the surviving members of the Hellsing organization, in return we’ll give back your omega,” the man explained

“How childish, you went through all that trouble, and my poor y/n had to suffer.”

“Are you saying you won’t do as we say?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then that’s fine, you’ll come around I’m sure, and while we wait I think we’ll play around with your omega. She’s in heat, we’ll help her deal with that,” the same said, reaching out and grabbing your head

You yelped, his fingers digging into your scalp

Alucard hung up, unable to stand another second

He would have no trouble finding you, when it comes to you he’s a bloodhound

It only took him a few minutes to get to the warehouse

It took even less time for him to kill everyone guarding the doors

The room you were in was off to the side, more than likely an old office

He kicked open the door and found you surrounded by a group of men

When Alucard hung up the phone they quickly moved in on you, reaching out to take handfuls of your hair or attempting to kiss you

Some of them were alphas but they did nothing for you, their scent was nothing compared to Alucard

Seeing those men with their hands on you pissed him off to no end

He opted not to use his guns on them, instead he ripped them apart with his bare hands, wanting to make sure they suffered

You watched with growing excitement

He always looks so handsome and powerful when tearing people apart

When the final man fell, Alucard was covered in blood and breathing heavy

He was already worked up because of your heat, the fight added even more heat to the fire

You whimpered, trying to get closer to him but all you did was tip yourself over, falling to the floor at his feet

“Look at you, my poor neglected omega. I could smell you before I even walked in here, you must be in so much pain~” he teased, bending down to free you

The men from before did nothing for you

There were several alphas among them, but compared to yours they were worthless

Even when some of them exposed themselves you felt nothing, all it did was make you want him more

As the ropes fell from your sides, you quickly attempted to climb up Alucard’s body

Your hands desperately reached for his belts

All you could think of was him finally taking you

“Fuck, y/n. I need to bury my knot in you,” he said, lifting you up as soon as you had his pants unbuckled

Your pants were quickly pulled out of the way as his own fell to his ankles

There was no need for foreplay, your legs were dripping

Several drops fell onto his cock as he adjusted his grip on you

“Get ready,” he laughed in your ear

Without another warning he entered you, easily slipping inside thanks to your arousal

You shouted for joy, burying your head in his coat

There was so much you wanted to say, but your mind was too preoccupied

Drool dribbled out from your mouth, creating a wet spot on his chest, but no worries, he thought it was adorable

You bounced up and down from the force of his thrusts, forcing you to fall back down onto his cock and push it even further inside

His swelling knot spread your entrance slightly, not having enough force to fully slip inside

You wanted so badly for him to hurry up and put it in, but he wasn’t ready yet

“Please, please give me your knot,” you begged, tongue rolling to the side

“What was that my little omega?”

“Please, knot me. Alucard, my alpha I need you,” you cried

With a satisfied grin, he pushed you up against the nearest wall, using it to help him insert his knot

That heavenly feeling of being stretched flooded into you before it finally popped inside

“Yes!” You screamed

The added girth was too much, you came, squeezing hard on him which in turn finished him off

He bit your neck as he came, filling you as his knot continued to swell

As you two relaxed, he carried you over toward the chair and placed it upright

He set you down on the edge, holding you steady until his knot shrunk

While you waited, he kissed you, biting your lip and drawing a tiny bit of blood

Finally he got to taste something delicious, all the soldiers tasted nasty and sour

When he pulled out, his cock made a loud pop sound as the suction released, leaving you feeling so incredibly empty

You gave him your best puppy dog eyes and whined

“Don’t worry, your heat isn’t over yet. There will be plenty more chances for nights like these,” he said as he straightened himself up

He carried you out before the police could arrive and see the carnage

His shoes were a bloody mess, but it was nothing compared to the floor

[mortimer-writes-sometimes]

If you are still taking requests, *clears throat*

Sans just wakes up with two cracks in his eyes (just like Gaster's) and he is completely blind + a bit of Sansby(because I can't help myself-)

Did someone say a n g s t? I love the idea of Grillby crying steam!

I know you said a bit of Sansby. You’re getting a lot of Sansby. As in they're married and living together.

Note: Translating the wingdings is not essential to the story! They’re mostly for dramatic effect and some vague exposition as to how/why Sans got hurt. Like, really vague. So you’re not really missing anything if you don’t translate them!

Cracks

Word count: 1296 Warnings: Sudden injury, being blinded, panic Summary: Sans suddenly loses control of his magic, permanently injuring himself. Grillby is there to assure him he isn’t alone.

✂︎💧︎✌︎☠︎💧︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ 💧︎🕆︎☼︎☜︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ 🕈︎✌︎☠︎❄︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👎︎⚐︎ ❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎✍︎✂︎

💧︎♋︎■︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎♎︎♎︎♏︎♎︎📪︎ ⧫︎♋︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎ ♎︎♏︎♏︎◻︎ ♌︎❒︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎♒︎📬︎ ✂︎✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ●︎□︎⬧︎♏︎ ♒︎♓︎❍︎📪︎ 👎︎♓︎■︎♑︎⬧︎📬︎ ☠︎□︎⧫︎ ●︎♓︎🙵♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎📬︎✂︎

✂︎✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ 💣︎✌︎✡︎ ☠︎⚐︎❄︎ 💧︎🕆︎☼︎✞︎✋︎✞︎☜︎📪︎✂︎ 🕈︎📬︎ 👎︎📬︎ ☝︎♋︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ◻︎□︎♓︎■︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ □︎◆︎⧫︎📪︎ ⧫︎♓︎●︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♒︎♏︎♋︎♎︎📬︎ ✂︎✌︎☠︎👎︎ ✋︎☞︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ 👎︎⚐︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ✋︎❄︎ 🕈︎⚐︎☠︎🕯︎❄︎ 👌︎☜︎ 🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎⚐︎🕆︎❄︎ 💧︎👍︎✌︎☼︎💧︎📬︎✂︎

✂︎✋︎ ⬥︎□︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ❒︎♏︎❍︎♏︎❍︎♌︎♏︎❒︎ ⬥︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ✋︎ ♎︎♓︎♎︎ ♏︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎ ⬥︎♋︎⍓︎📪︎✂︎ 💧︎♋︎■︎⬧︎ ⬧︎♋︎♓︎♎︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ♋︎ ⬧︎♒︎❒︎◆︎♑︎📬︎ ✂︎💧︎□︎📪︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♑︎□︎■︎■︎♋︎ ♒︎♏︎●︎◻︎ ❍︎♏︎ □︎❒︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎✍︎✂︎

☝︎♋︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ⬧︎♓︎♑︎♒︎♏︎♎︎📬︎ ✂︎✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ ✌︎☹︎☼︎☜︎✌︎👎︎✡︎ 😐︎☠︎⚐︎🕈︎ 💣︎✡︎ ✌︎☠︎💧︎🕈︎☜︎☼︎📬︎✂︎

🕈︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎📪︎ ♒︎♏︎ ♒︎♏︎●︎♎︎ □︎◆︎⧫︎ ♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♒︎♋︎■︎♎︎📬︎ 💧︎♋︎■︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎□︎🙵 ♓︎⧫︎📬︎

Sans woke up to searing pain in his soul, screaming as his magic released itself uncontrollably. The bright blue light enveloped Sans’s body, the burning sensation searing every bone before the sensation suddenly concentrated in his skull. The magic coiled tighter, burned brighter, until…

Both of Sans’s eyes flared brightly. The coil snapped, the burst of energy vibrating in his skull. He heard bone shattering and screamed again, hands coming up to his head as blood started to seep from the cracks. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the bedroom door slamming open and Grillby’s panicked voice begging him to stay awake.

0.00001 HP. Sans had survived with 0.00001 HP left. Grillby had never seen a more terrifying number in his life, pulling his husband into his lap as gently as possible. The fire monster nearly gagged as he did. There was blood everywhere, and Sans was covered in burns from where his magic had overwhelmed his body. The worst part was the cracks. There were two long, vertical cracks in Sans’s skull, one for each eye. This was far beyond Grillby’s healing abilities. His hands shook as he pulled out his phone, dialing the number for Dr. Alphys. “Pick up, pick up damnit! Oh my god… Oh my god, Sans…!”

The line connected. “Dr. A-alphys speaking. What can I-”

“H-help,” Grillby stammered out, nearly sobbing in desperation. “Sans, he- we need help- I can’t- he’s dying, I need help!”

“Hey, whoa, slow down! Sans is- is hurt? Okay. I’m- I can come to help, just breathe and tell me where you are.” Dr. Alphys put Sans and Grillby’s address into the GPS on her phone as Grillby rattled it off, nodding. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops. J-just hang on!”

It was the longest ten minutes of Grillby’s life.

✂︎💧︎✌︎☠︎💧︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ☼︎☜︎💣︎☜︎💣︎👌︎☜︎☼︎ 🕈︎☟︎⚐︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎🕯︎☼︎☜︎ 👎︎⚐︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ ❄︎☟︎✋︎💧︎ ☞︎⚐︎☼︎📬︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ ☟︎✌︎✞︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 🕈︎✌︎😐︎☜︎ 🕆︎🏱︎📬︎✂︎

A soft beeping caused Sans to stir, groaning softly. “Grillbz, your alarm…” Huh, that was funny. Did Grillby change his alarm sound? Because it certainly sounded a little off. The blankets felt weird too… and his head…

Sans lifted a hand to his skull, fingers coming in contact with several thick bandages. Vague memories of the morning came together and it clicked. He was in the hospital. His magic had suddenly gone rogue and almost killed him. Why? Sans felt like there was a reason, but he couldn’t remember. The headache he had and the painkillers that were trying to get rid of it certainly weren’t helping.

A door opened somewhere to his right, a few footsteps drawing near before something- a plastic coffee cup, maybe?- hit the floor.

“Sans!” Grillby gasped, fighting back tears of relief as he approached the bed. “You’re awake! I thought I was going to… you wouldn’t… I almost…” He lost the battle against his tears, taking Sans’s hand and sitting on the bed while he cried.

Sans reached out towards him, managing to guess where Grillby’s shoulder was before pulling him down into a hug. He rubbed the Grillby’s back as he let him sob, shushing him gently. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m alright. You didn’t lose me.” He sighed, touching the bandages again. He felt around the edges of them, tracing them up towards the top of his skull, then down to…

The skeleton froze. “G-Grillby…?”

Grillby sat up, immediately concerned. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

Sans took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. He already knew the answer to his question, but he still had to ask. He had to hear it from someone else. His voice was shaking when he spoke. “Are… are there any bandages… over my eyes?”

“No?” Grillby tilted his head. “By the time we got you to the lab, the cracks closest to your eyes had already started to heal. Do they hurt?” He noted for the first time that the lights that made up Sans’s pupils were still gone. Oh. Oh no. “Sans, you have your eyes open.”

Sans couldn’t breathe. He was starting to feel faint. He was going to be sick. “Heh, that’s funny,” he managed…

“Because I can’t see you.”

Alphys did everything she could, but nothing worked. No amount of medicine or healing magic could bring Sans’s vision back. While other cracks in Sans’s skull healed, the ones crossing over his eye sockets were permanent scars, keeping the magic in Sans’s soul from fully restoring his body.

“I-i don’t know what- what happened,” Alphys stammered as she flipped through Sans’s charts. Sans was still in the hospital bed, Grillby sitting by his side and holding his hand as he listened to the doctor speak. “Permanent fractures like that can only be caused by an immense amount of magic,” she continued, “B-but your soul is- it’s stabilized all on its own!” She sighed and lowered her clipboard, wiping at her eyes as she forced herself to deliver the news that Sans and Grillby already knew was coming. “I’m sorry Sans. Th-there’s nothing more I- I can do. You’re… you’re blind.”

Grillby felt Sans’s grip on his hand tighten. He gently squeezed back, watching his husband with immense concern. “...darling? Are you going to be okay?”

Sans didn’t respond for a long moment, just letting the news sink in. He was blind. He would never see another sunrise. He would never see a rainbow. He would never see Grillby smile again. “I-” Sans tried to respond, but his voice cracked and his words turned into a sob, the skeleton beginning to tremble. “No,” he gasped through his tears. “Fuck, no.”

Grillby didn’t need to hear anything else. He got up and sat on the side of the bed again. “I’m going to put my arms around you now, alright?” he asked softly. When he got a nod, he gently pulled Sans into his embrace, telegraphing his movements as he pulled him close. “Sans, just breathe. It’s going to be alright.”

“Alright?!” Sans gripped Grillby’s jacket, his entire body shaking as he sobbed. “How the fuck is it going to be alright?! I’ve lost my vision, Grillby! I can’t read, I can’t get around on my own- I’m a sentry, for fuck’s sake! My entire job relies on me being able to see!” Tears dripped into the crack beneath Sans’s left eye and he cringed. “You can’t spend all day taking care of me and still take care of the bar. I can’t help make dinner or run errands or even wash my own damn clothes anymore. What am I supposed to do? What are we going to do?”

“Listen to me,” Grillby said softly, wiping Sans’s tears away in small puffs of steam. “I don’t know what we’re going to do yet, but we’ll figure it out. No matter what happens, we’re going to make this work, and we’ll manage it together. You’re not alone, Sans. You’re going to get through this.” He gently kissed the top of Sans’s skull. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Sans nodded, sniffling. “Hey, Grillby? I love you.”

Grillby held him closer, trails of steam coming off the corners of his eyes as he cried with him. “I love you too, Sans. I’ll take care of you.”

“I promise.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! If you did, consider reblogging/leaving a comment for me! If you have your own prompt idea or if you just want to ask me something, my asks are open!

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.2

Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Again! Massive shoutout to @pirateismywayofspeaking​ for the constant support and ideas! And lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist!)

—————————-

It’s a well known fact that there are three certainties in life; death, taxes and the willpower of one Penelope Garcia. In less than an hour she had somehow organized to get all your clothes and personal possessions delivered right to the BAU, packed in your favorite suitcases and all. A couple of things had to be kept in evidence because the UnSub might have come into contact with them, but all the important stuff was there. It was comforting, having your stuff safe with you and, as you sat through the long and rigorous process of being interviewed, you felt better.

“And you’re 100% sure that none of your employees could have possibly done this?” Rossi asked, “Maybe someone you recently fired? Or someone who has a history of violence?”

You gave him an incredulous look, “Rossi, come on. Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hire someone with a violent past?”

“You checked everyone out?”

“Full background checks on all three employees,” you agreed, “the harshest thing on any of their records was a parking ticket and a decade old charge for underage drinking.”

Hotch sighed, rubbing his temples right where you knew he got headaches.

“We know the poem is significant to the UnSub. It’s an old love poem, so it’s got to be someone who has some sort of connection to you,” he repeated, “it's personal.”

You shook your head, “Hotch, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t had a romantic relationship in years. There’s not a lot of time when you work 14 hour days.”

“Don’t we know it,” Rossi agreed, “so, a stalker, maybe?”

“That’s a hell of a way to make first contact,” you scoffed, “a phone call would be less risky.”

“And less effective.”

You conceded the point with a head tilt, and then looked back at Hotch, “Hotch, can we take a break? We’ve been at this for hours.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “get some rest, Y/L/N.”

“No, it’s okay, there’s work to be done here. I can stay,” you assured, stretching your stiff limbs.

Hotch shot you a look, but said nothing, obviously sensing that you weren’t going to give in without some sort of fight. Instead, he just gave you a terse nod, and walked out, leaving you with Rossi.

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?” He said.

You smiled, shrugging, “What can I say, Ros? I learned from the best.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling your hair as he walked past you, “Good to have you back, kid.”

The bullpen was busy when you walked back in, suitcases in hand, striding your way over to your old desk. It’s scary how little had really changed in the year since you’d been gone. Aside from Spencer’s semi-annual hair evolution, everything was the same; the smells, the sights, even the comforting clack of Garcia’s heels against the floor. It was comforting, almost painfully so but, as you reached your old desk, you noticed something was wrong.

“Whose stuff is this?” You asked, gesturing to the stacks of files and piles of paper scattered all over the surface.

“Mine,” Emily said, not even looking up from her work.

“But...you have a desk,” you pointed out.

“And now I have two,” she replied simply, “you can sit somewhere else.”

She was being stubborn and you felt a lick of irritation flare up inside your chest. Emily Prentiss had been one of your closest friends for years and, when you’d left the BAU, she’d taken it the hardest. Any other time, you would have understood her resentment but, given the circumstances, you weren’t feeling particularly generous.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “And where do you suggest I sit?”

Emily shrugged and gave you a sickly sweet smile, “You can share with Reid.”

You felt yourself flush with heat. Emily had known about your feelings for Spencer, she’d even encouraged you to act on them. You knew she’d never actually betray your trust, but even that subtle dig was enough to make you want to argue. You opened your mouth but, before you could say anything, Spencer interrupted.

“Here, Y/N,” he smiled, patting a spot beside him, “I’ve got space.”

You pressed your lips together, but relented when he took the time to pull an empty chair over for you to sit in.

“Thanks, Reid,” you said, taking the offered seat.

“So, did you and Hotch figure anything out?” Spencer asked.

You shook your head, “Nothing we didn’t already know. Rossi thinks it might be some kind of stalker?” You offered.

Spencer frowned, “A stalker? That doesn’t make any sense, what kind of stalker starts off their pursuit with a murder?”

“A very, very desperate one.” Emily offered.

You wanted to snap something like; ‘oh, so now you’re talking to me?’ but you bit your tongue. You knew you were on edge, and now wasn’t the time to lash out at the only people who could really help you.

“Or very deranged.” Spencer suggested

You shuddered, picturing a faceless man in all black running his blood soaked hands across your walls, drawing a jagged smiley face above your bed, memorizing the faces in your pictures. You exhaled and pushed the thought away.

“Does this even count as an escalation?” You asked, “I’m not sure there’s really anywhere to go from here.”

You were met with stony silence as Emily and Spencer inspected their respective files. You knew what they were thinking, what everyone was thinking; whatever this was, it was bad news.

“Do we know who our victim is, yet?” Spencer asked.

“Nope,” you sighed, “the UnSub burned off his fingerprints and removed several of his molars before he dumped the body, the ME is doing her best to get a DNA match, but it’ll take time.”

“The mutilation is odd, considering there wasn’t any evidence of torture on the victim before they died,” Spencer said.

“It’s gotta be a forensic countermeasure,” Emily agreed, “but it’s extremely sophisticated. Our UnSub must have experience with law enforcement.”

“But as a perp or a cop?”

You sighed and buried your head in your hands, letting the familiar back and forth wash over you like white noise. You’d had this conversation before, many many times, and it never got any easier. Usually you lived for the puzzle but, now that you were the one under scrutiny, it felt like your brain was rebelling against you.

“Y/N/N?” Spencer asked, touching your shoulder gently and snapping back to reality.

“Mm?” You replied.

His face softened as he took in the exhaustion radiating off your body.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, “Just a little drained, that’s all.”

The clicking of heels against the floor drew your attention and you looked up just in time to see Garcia swooping in with her purse.

“You ready to go, crime fighter?” She smiled.

“Go where?” You asked,

“Home!” She smiled, “I have the honor and privilege of hosting you tonight.”

“Garcia-“ you started.

“No! No arguing.” She insisted, “I’ve already found us a lovely little Thai place for dinner, and there’s a bunch of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer lined up on my DVR.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes fondly, “I hate how well you know me.”

She smiled devilishly, “Sounds good, right?”

“It sounds incredible and you know that because you’re a super genius who knows literally everything.” You teased, pushing yourself onto your feet, “Okay, Wonder Woman, let’s go.”

As you made your way out of the office, you cast one last look over your shoulder, smiling when Spencer met your eye and gave you a small wave.

————————-

“Okay, Sugar Plum, spill,” Penelope pushed, handing you a full glass of wine, “how’re you really doing?”

“With what?”

Penelope shot you an incredulous look, “With, you know, all of it. The murder, the mystery, being back at work, the Spencer Reid of it all.”

You spluttered through a sip of wine, “The what? ‘Nel, you can’t be serious.”

“What? I’m just asking,” she insisted, “he followed you out earlier, you’re sharing a desk now...it wouldn’t be crazy if maybe your old crush came creeping back in.”

“Penelope” you started, “some creep dropped a dead body in my bookstore and broke into my apartment and you think I’m thinking about Spencer?” She didn’t answer, just raising her eyebrows and you sighed, sliding down the couch, “Okay so I’m pathetic.”

“No you’re not!” She insisted, “You guys were like two peas in a pod, back in the day. Plus, you’ve seen like a thousand dead bodies, you’re probably just desensitized.”

“Still,” you sulked, “I can’t believe I’m still thinking about Spence.”

“Naaaaaaaaw,” she swooned, squeezing your knee, “you called him ‘Spence’, you haven’t done that in ages.”

“Fuck off, Nel” you said without any real malice, burying your face in your hands and sighing again, “please tell me I’m being ridiculous.”

Garcia smiled, a knowing glint in her dark blue eyes as she sipped her wine and watched you squirm. She’d kept in touch with you when you left the BAU, insisting on weekly brunch meetups and girls nights and a million other things that you’re not sure you would’ve survived without. She’d been like a lifeline in those first few months and, because of that, she was the only one who really knew how hard leaving had been for you. She’d been the one who sat through the hours of crying and panicking and wondering who you were without your job, who’d held your hand when you went to get a small business loan, who’d sampled your cookie recipes and helped you design uniforms. Penelope Garcia had been there for all of it. You had a photo of the two of you together at the bookstore next to your bed. It was one of your most treasured possessions.

“Now, Sugar Plum, you know I’ve always had a soft spot for you and the Boy Wonder. He’s lovely, you’re lovely; he loves you, you love him, I love you both, it’s a match made in FBI heaven as far as I’m concerned-“

“But?” You prompted with a rueful smile.

“But,” Penelope agreed, “he took it really hard when you left, and I’m not sure how he’ll handle losing you a second time.”

You frowned, “He never lost me. None of you lost me, I just got a different job! It’s not my fault that basically no one bothered to keep in touch.”

Penelope’s face softened and she smiled at you sympathetically, “Pumpkin, you know it’s not like that. When you’re in the BAU, it’s like we’re living in our own little crime bubble, everything outside just kind of….fades, you know?”

“I know…”

“And with Spencer, well, you know he’s never been the best at dealing with abandonment, the poor thing’s been through so much already,” Penelope continued, “he tried to keep in touch. He really did, and he talked about you all the time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. I guess I just-“ she shrugged and squeezed your knee again, “I don’t want you to think that he forgot about you, that’s all.”

You felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, and you gripped Garcia’s hand.

“Thanks, Nel.”

You knew she was right. Life in the BAU wasn’t like life on the outside; you lived by different rules, took different risks, valued different things. It was strange and intoxicating and you really couldn’t fault your teammates for continuing to play the game the way they always had. You’d chosen to leave and you had to live with the consequences of that.

“Can we talk about something besides boys now, please?” You asked, “I want this girl’s night to pass the bechdel test.”

She smiled and clapped her perfectly manicured hands, “Oh do not fret, ma Cherie because I’ve got so much to catch you up on-“

You listened with rapt attention as Garcia filled you in on the last twelve months of FBI gossip. You laughed together, ate Thai food and just relaxed together. With every Perfectly Penelope story, you felt a little more of your tension slip away and, by the time you made it to bed, you were feeling almost normal.

Penelope had made up the couch for you, complete with pillows and blankets and a homemade quilt. It was comfortable, too comfortable. So comfortable, that your brain had way too much time to mull over what Penelope had said earlier.

Spencer hadn’t just forgotten about you. What did that mean? He’d taken it hard when you left...the questions bounced around your mind like wasps, keeping you awake. Without meaning to, your mind started to drift, sifting through the years worth of memories you’d kept locked away in a box in the back of your mind.

————————

“You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met,” you laughed, “I’m fine, Spence.”

“You’re not fine, Y/N, you got shot.” Spencer reminded you, his eyes still sparkling with the relief of seeing you alive and in good spirits.

You were sitting in the back of an ambulance, a throbbing pain resonating from the wound in your shoulder as the police searched through the nearby crime scene and Spencer inspected your face. It was cold and dark, but the sirens and flashing lights meant that it was anything but peaceful, and you knew it would still be many hours before either you or Spencer got any sleep.

“Yeah well, we’ve all been shot,” you pointed out, “and, statistically speaking, we have a 100% survival rate.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he was smiling so you knew he wasn’t too mad.

“You’re bastardizing my beautiful statistical analysis and using it for evil. Remind me why I’m bothering to check on you, again?” He teased.

“Because you loooooove me,” you teased back, jostling his shoulder with yours, “and because I just took a bullet to the shoulder for you.”

He chuckled but avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes, “Yeah that would explain it.”

Something in the atmosphere changed and you looked over at Spencer, noticing the way he worried at the inside of his cheek with his hands in his pockets. His brow was furrowed too, like he was sad, and something in your chest pinched.

“You alright there, doc?” You asked.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, looking up and catching your eye.

You paused, “don’t do what?”

“Take a bullet to the shoulder for me,” he explained, “get hurt trying to protect me. Promise me you won’t do it again?”

You pressed your lips together, recognizing the same feeling of fear and guilt in Spencer that you, yourself, felt any time someone you cared about was in danger. You reached out, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. Spencer held on for a second longer, his dark eyes filling with something as he took you in.

“You know I can’t promise that, Spence,” you said gently, “if we’re ever in a situation like this again….no way I’m just letting you die to avoid a couple of stitches.”

“No, you don’t-” he paused, getting himself worked up, “you don’t get it. I watched my girlfriend get shot right in front of me, I-I’ve lost so many people that I care about, Y/N, and I can’t lose anyone else. Not for something as stupid as my own life.” 

“Your life isn’t some insignificant thing, Spence,” you insisted, “it’s important! To me, to the team, to everyone. We’re a family, Spencer, families have each other’s backs. Always.” 

He took a deep breath and nodded, carding his fingers through his hair like he was agitated. 

“Just-” he started again, “just promise me you won’t do it again.” 

“I can’t.” you insisted, “I can’t make that promise. 

He turned to face you, looking more tired than you’d seen him in weeks, “Then promise you’ll be careful. Promise me I won’t lose you too?” 

Your heart ached, and you longed to reach out and wrap him up in your arms, but you restrained yourself. 

“How about this; I’ll promise that you won’t lose me, if you promise that we’ll always be best friends, and that you’ll try to start valuing your own life as much as you value mine or Morgan’s, deal?” You offered, extending your hand for Spencer to shake.

Spencer frowned, opening his mouth to argue but, before he could, an agent interrupted.

“Agent Y/L/N? Dr. Reid? Agent Hotchner is looking for you.”

———————————-

You snapped back to reality with a jolt, and realised you were lonely. So much time had passed since that night, but you remembered it all perfectly, every detail. It wasn’t an especially meaningful night, there were a million moments just like it, but something about it had stuck. Maybe it was the potential, the wondering, that thing that he never got to say. You wish you’d gotten to hear it now.  

You fumbled around in the dark for your cellphone, typing out a message and pressing send before you could think better of it. It was short, and to the point, and you would be shocked if he responded but, once it was done, you felt something in your chest loosen, like maybe you’d been wanting to send that message for a really long time.

To Spencer Reid:  Hey, Reid? I’m sorry I left, I never meant to break my promise. 

With the heavy weight of remembering suddenly lifted, you realised how tired you were, and you let sleep drag you under. If you’d stayed awake a little longer, you might not have missed the way Spencer kept typing, typing, typing away some message he never sent. Or the eventual response, which only came in three hours later: 

You never broke your promise, Y/N. I broke mine.

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu​

[soulmate-game]

It had been a trip to Metropolis. Why would Francois-Dupoint go to Gotham, a crime-ridden city crawling with danger and supervillains, vigilantes that toed the line of being bad influences, and a really high chance of lawsuit, when they could go to the city of Superman himself?

Exactly. No good reason.

At least, that was what they all thought. Marinette’s parents even volunteered to chaperone, deciding that they could survive shutting the bakery down for one week. Marinette had helped raise enough money for the trip that the school could compensate them a bit for their time, and their food, hotel, and plane were all paid for. It was supposed to be a great trip. One to remember. And yeah, Marinette would never forget that vacation.

Because she stood with the rest of her class, watching smoke and dust rise off of the pile of rubble that just dropped on top of her parents. The fight was over. Marinette couldn’t even remember who it was. But even with his son by his side, Superman and Superboy couldn’t save everyone. Nobody could. It was asking too much, to expect any one or two heroes to save everyone when an entire city was being attacked and buildings reduced to rubble.

But that wouldn’t soothe the sight of blood creeping out of the rocks.

That wouldn’t soothe the scrapes on Marinette’s knees when she dropped to the ground.

It wouldn’t smother the sound of her agonized cries.

It wouldn’t heal the burns and scrapes and bruises, the chipped fingernails and bleeding fingertips that Marinette gave herself as she tried desperately, sight blurry through tears, to lift each and every piece of still-hot concrete off, shove it to the side, in an attempt to unearth them. They could still be alive, right? Right?

The fact that she was shoveling what amounted to pebbles off of a hill of rubble argued with her. No. No, they weren’t.

It wasn’t until gentle, but unyieldingly strong hands clasped hers, making them still.

“You’re hurting yourself,” that soft, deep voice came from whoever owned the foreign hands, but she didn’t have the mental strength to look up and identify them. Instead, she resorted to kicking rubble away. The voice sighed. “Back up. I can help. Okay? Will you let me help?”

It had been so long, Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. When was the last time someone had actually asked her that question? When was the last time someone ever offered her help? Legitimate help, not just something superficial.

She couldn’t remember. How should she respond?

Marinette’s tongue darted out, wetting her dusty lips. Her deep breath came in with a disconcerting rattle. Somehow, she managed to nod. The foreign hands loosened slightly.

“Okay. Good—“

“I can’t stop,” Marinette finally managed to choke out. “I can’t— I need to—“

“I know,” the voice said again, endlessly patient. Endlessly understanding. “But you’re hurting yourself, so put these on first. Then you can keep digging.”

With his help—yes, him. She vaguely managed to pin down that the voice was male— she was able to slip on thick gloves. They were several sizes too big, probably belonged to one of the firefighters nearby, her mind numbly supplied. She didn’t care. As soon as they were on, she dropped down and began to dig again. The man who had offered to help did just that, moving just a foot or two away and lifting up impossibly large chunks of concrete before placing them down gently in an open area.

With his help, they were uncovered. They were carried away, under blankets, as best as they could be. Marinette saw none of it. Hands covered her eyes, younger than the voice-man’s hands but almost as strong. The only thing she saw was whatever was left once most of them was taken away. Later, she would thank him. But in the moment she was furious.

“I’m not a baby!” She growled at him, her voice lower and scratchier than usual because of all the smoke and dust clogging her throat. “I need to look at them! I need to remember!”

“Not like this,” the new voice said. When he removed his hands, Marinette saw Superboy. He was probably just about her age, but that offered little comfort for her. At least his eyes were understanding, calm, and empathetic. “You don’t need to see them like this. Remember them like they were, not how they ended,” the young hero advised gently, keeping a respectable distance between them now that he was no longer covering her eyes. He wasn’t even floating, staying on solid ground to stay closer to her eye level. “Today will be hard enough on your mind as it is. You don’t need to make this more painful than it is.”

Marinette could only bite her lip at that, her shoulders trembling. Is this what it took to have someone worry about her? To have people realize that she wasn’t superhuman, that she wasn’t infallible or mentally indestructible? Is this what it took, to finally have people try to help and care for her?

Because if it was, she would gladly deal with Lila Rossi and be held to far too high a standard for the rest of her life. She would rather suffer quietly for decades with that much more gentle pain than deal with this agony right now.

She finally let the tears fall, but they were mostly silent. Only hiccups and gasps for air added sound to her sobs. Superboy gently removed her hands from her arms before she could draw blood on herself, and when she lunged into the touch he drew her into the hug she clearly needed. When she pretty much collapsed into his hold, getting snot and tears over the symbol on his chest, he said nothing. He just held her and shared a glance over her shoulder with his father.

—*—*—*—*—*

Lois Lane was an investigative reporter. And when her husband and son asked her to make sure the girl they had sat with for hours after the latest attack on their city would be taken care of, she did not cut corners in her research. What she came up with was less than reassuring.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. With her parents gone, she didn’t have much in the way of possible guardians. Her paternal grandfather was dead, just a few months earlier of old age. Her paternal grandmother Gina was consumed with wanderlust, not very responsible and not likely to be able to win custody. Even if she did, Lois doubted Marinette would do well in such an unstable, constantly moving lifestyle. Some people would, but Marinette was much like her son from what she gathered from her investigation. She would need stability before anything else. There was her Uncle from her mom’s side of the family, but he only spoke Mandarin so the language barrier was not promising either. The last thing Marinette needed was pressure to learn a new language. If she hyper focused on anything to deal with her grief, it should at least be something she chose on her own. Lastly there was her maternal grandmother, but she had gotten in an accident and passed away almost two years prior.

Luckily, Lois Lane was also a woman of extreme, if mostly secret, political power. She knew several billionaires with political sway, international superheroes, and politicians. Also, not that she would ever tell her husband, but she might have squared away some blackmail and favors that she might cash in with some folks in the legal system if it decided to fight her on her new personal mission.

Nobody got in the way of Lois Lane and lasted long.

But first, she ran her idea past her family. It wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t agree with her, after all. Luckily enough, her offer seemed to be exactly what they had hoped for. Apparently Marinette was the type that was easy to get attached to.

And that was how, after twelve hours of intense phone-call sessions and very, very many in depth discussions, arguments, debates, bargains, and subtle manipulation, Marinette Dupain-Cheng ended up in the temporary custody of the Kent family.

The process itself was extremely complicated and in normal circumstances would have taken anywhere from days to months to complete, but as mentioned before Lois Lane is a secret political superpower in and of herself.

Officially, Marinette’s grandmother Gina assumed custody. Unofficially, her grandmother had plans to enroll her in school abroad in, you guessed it, Metropolis, so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the melancholy memories that Paris would supply her. In doing so, she contacted the Kent’s who were apparently old family friends and asked them to take her granddaughter in for the time being. She was oh so busy traveling the world, after all. And that’s no life for a teenager recovering from grief.

After two weeks to allow Marinette to go back to Paris for the funeral, pack up her things and say goodbye to her friends, she ended up on the Kents’ doorstep with her grandmother by her side. Any attempts to get more information out of the old woman were futile, she refused to say a word on why nobody had mentioned these “family friends” before.

(Lois figured out fairly quickly that Gina Dupain was not somebody to take lightly. The fact that Gina answered the phone thinking that Red Hood was calling was a giant tip off. Lois was pretty sure that Gina knew damn well who her son and husband were, but wasn’t saying anything about it. It really was a shame that she wasn’t exactly prime parenting material at the moment.)

Lois and Clark opened the door together, having been double and triple checking that everything was set up and ready for their new addition. Sure, Marinette wasn’t being adopted or even officially fostered by them, but they would still treat her like a Kent.

“Marinette, hi,” Clark greeted, smiling warmly down at the short girl. “I’m Clark, and this is my wife Lois. If you need absolutely anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Okay?”

The small girl nodded, her hair flopping behind her a bit. Normally she would have it held back in pigtails, but she just didn’t have the energy for that anymore. Maybe she would regain it one day. With that, Gina and Marinette said their goodbyes and she started her life with the Kents.

—*—*—*—*—*

It took a while. Luckily the trip to metropolis had already been in the early summer, so Marinette could be excused for the last few weeks of the school term and relax over summer before being forced back into society. Her grades at Francois-Dupoint were finalized, Marinette doing all the extra work during her two weeks in France for the funeral. She had been told it wasn’t necessary and that she could take her time with it but, as the Kents soon learned, Marinette hated being idle.

But even though Marinette was nowhere near healed, it only took a week for her to warm up to the youngest Kent. Jon was a very much welcome presence in her new life. Just about her age, he was always patient with her and never pried for information or asked about why she occasionally couldn’t bring herself to talk. Words just failed her sometimes, she couldn’t get her throat to work. Something would remind her of her parents, or that day, and she would just feel the dust in her throat again and the blisters on her palms and she just couldn’t say a word.

All three of the Kents helped her through these episodes as best as they could, but Jon always stayed close by so she could tug him into a hug when she was ready. As a very tactile person, she really appreciated that.

And somehow he and Clark, despite being very awkward and physically unsure of themselves on the surface, gave the best hugs.

But, even though Jon and Clark had resigned themselves to being slightly more on-guard about their identities than they usually would be at home, they hadn’t quite anticipated just how hard it would be to keep a secret identity. Not necessarily from Marinette, since the girl spent most of her time out in their backyard or in her room, or occasionally going out for short visits to the city with Jon. No, it was the other way around.

Because of course Marinette couldn’t just give up being Ladybug and the Grand Guardian. Fu wasn’t there to take over for her anymore, so she took it upon herself to watch over Paris twice as vigorously. Mostly through keeping an eye on news channels and texts with her friends, general media stuff. She didn’t want to tire Kaalki out.

And this was how, two months after Marinette started living with the Kents, she walked through a portal into her room and was met with Clark and Jon staring right at her. The elder Kent had his arms crossed, posture oddly confident for the man she had come to know, and one eyebrow raised. Jon looked like his smile was about to rip his face in half, and he was bouncing a bit on his heels. Even then, though, Marinette could pick out the slight worry in his blue eyes. In both of theirs.

She immediately jumped backwards and closed the portal. Trapping herself back in Paris.

And instantly crumpling down to moan in despair on top of a random Parisian rooftop.

She was sitting on the very top of the Eiffel Tower when Superman and Superboy found her, and it didn’t take much for her to guess that they had flown straight over from metropolis. Stupid super-speed flight. She drew her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as they floated to her side of her patiently. She had long since separated Kaalki, and sat in just her Ladybug costume.

“I knew Lois could contact you guys, but this is a bit too quick even for you don’t you think?” Ladybug drawled monotonously, looking over at both of the heroes dryly. Now that she was mostly of sound mind and not in the middle of a traumatic situation, she was able to make connections she couldn’t before. She was able to actually observe their faces, whereas before she hadn’t really been in the right mind frame to really commit anything about them to memory. But now?

Ohhh, she knew those faces.

Marinette’s eyebrow twitched as she did a double-take, followed closely by a deep breath. Maybe the glasses and, for Jon, baseball cap, would be a good enough disguise for most people. Especially when combined with the frankly impressive body acting they both pulled off on an apparently daily basis, they felt like totally different people in and out of the suits even if they looked the same.

But Marinette was not a normal person. She was a designer, she had a very critical eye, and she had just spent the better part of the last two months living in the same house as these two. And now she realized that they severely toned down the body acting and general “disguise” of their civilian selves when they were at home rather than outside. She had shrugged it off as them simply relaxing at home and, while she was right, it wasn’t until this moment that she put everything together.

“No masks, seriously? Some day, someone with eyes as good as mine is gonna figure you guys out,” she told them blandly, earning shocked blinks followed quickly by soft grins.

“I would normally sit down next to you at this point, but you haven’t exactly left us any space,” Superman— Clark, Marinette reminded herself— joked lightly. Marinette looked down to the small tip of the Eiffel Tower and back up to him, pointedly raising both eyebrows. Jon giggled.

Rolling her eyes and fighting a smile, Ladybug stood up without any apparently care about her footing. Somehow, balance seemed to just come naturally to her. It was so different from the usual Marinette that Clark and Jon had seen literally walk into a wall on multiple occasions that they had to grin. Seems like she fit right in on their acts-clumsy-and-awkward-but-isn’t trope.

(No, they later realized, that was completely Marinette. Ladybug just brought out a different side of her, but the awkwardness was still there. Just better hidden.)

“I was kinda trying to stay somewhere that nobody else could join me on purpose. You know, I was a little busy catastrophizing about you guys wanting to get rid of me now.”

“What?!” Jon asked, horrified. “No way! Even if we were normal, we wouldn’t just toss you away because we found out you’re a hero. That just— do you honestly think we would do that?”

“No,” she admitted softly, crossing her arms and sighing as she looked down over Paris. Over her city. It was a bittersweet view nowadays. “No, but I always freak out over things like that pretty easily. I’ve had people leave me over less. Sometimes it’s hard to convince myself that anyone else will be different.”

“Marinette—“

“Ladybug, actually,” she corrected with a small smile. “Don’t wanna slip up here. You never know who’s listening.”

Clark blinked, needing a moment to let that sink in before forcing himself to continue. “Ladybug, then,” he paused to gently lay a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to meet his gaze. As always it was soft. Patient. Just like his voice had been that fateful day. And, oh, there were the memories. They had both been there, helped her, and they stuck with her. Even though it hadn’t been their fault, even though they could have easily stepped back and let her deal with own problems and who had her custody on her own, they didn’t. She would have blamed them if they did, who was she to expect heroes to care about her like she was their child? That would be horrendously selfish of her. They saved hundreds of people every week.

And yet here they were, treating her like family.

And there was the phantom dust, clogging her throat. Strangling her words. She opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. Clark understood, he always understood, and his grip just tightened slightly. It tethered her.

“Ladybug,” he repeated even more softly. “We are not going to toss you out. Not for something like this, not for anything. You’re family now. You might not have the Kent name, you might not be kryptonian, but you’re one of us. Lois understands. Heaven knows she’s put up with both of us long enough, one more hero in the family is probably not that surprising. I just hope that… that you knowing doesn’t—“

“I don’t blame you,” there we go, her voice finally decided to work again. It came out a little hoarse, so she cleared her throat and started again. “I don’t blame you. I never did. It’s stupid, blaming a hero for things that never would have happened if the villain hadn’t attacked in the first place,” she told them, ripping her gaze away from his to trace over Paris again. “Maybe it’s because I understand that not everyone can be saved. I get it. But I never blamed you. I was actually grateful from the very beginning. You helped me dig them out even though you very well could have just carried me to the sidelines and stopped me from digging at all. And you, Jon, you didn’t complain once when I pretty much tackled you in a hug. You both sat with me as the paramedics looked me over. You didn’t leave until you were sure I was back in my hotel and in good hands. You never got impatient with me. That’s more than I could have asked for,” suddenly her mask was wet, and she roughly swiped away the tears that had leaked from her eyes. “You guys being Superman and Superboy isn’t going to make me treat you differently. It’s… actually nice. Not having to hide anymore, I mean.”

Jon grinned and flew over, enveloping her in a tight hug. Ladybug only chuckled and returned it, never once faltering in her balance. “I know exactly what you mean!” He said happily, making Ladybug laugh even more. It quickly devolved into Jon having to compensate for Ladybug’s balance, since she was suddenly leaning all her weight on him as she laughed her little heart out and no longer seemed to care about her balance at all. Not that it mattered much, Jon was more than capable of keeping her safe at close range like this, but it was cute to see. And for Clark? It was really relieving to see the girl he had come to think of as a daughter laughing so genuinely for the first time. Not a chuckle, or a soft huff of amusement, a full blown belly laugh.

It was amazing.

“Come on. I think you have some explaining to do, if you are comfortable with it anyway. Do you want to fly back, or portal back?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. He wouldn’t force Marinette to use her powers, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about them. Marinette straightened up, easily regaining her balance on the pointed tip of the tower beneath her, and slipping on a pair of glasses that she pulled… out of her yo-yo?

Wait, why was a yo-yo on her hip her only weapon? Maybe Clark should look into the Paris situation a bit more in-depth. He was clearly missing a lot, and none of what he was seeing was necessarily filling him with joy and confidence. Maybe Marinette could help soothe his worries later, if she decided to explain her abilities to them.

One transformation and a portal later, and all three of them stepped back into Marinette’s room. And when the portal closed and Marinette let down all her transformations, she took a deep breath and looked around. At both men in the room with her. At her bed and all her belongings. At the way this space has become her own. It felt nice. Warm. Welcoming, familiar.

Home.

It felt like home.

And Marinette’s smile hadn’t been quite so wide since before that infamous Metropolis trip.

Part 2

Yes, Lois kept her last name when she married Clark. I just like alliteration, okay? Besides, my story my rules lol :P

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Observation Skills - Part Six - Lindsey Horan x Reader

Lindsey is at camp, her relationship continues to develop and she returns with a new found confidence.

“Alright, who are talking to?” Rose interrogated the next morning. They had been down for breakfast for almost half an hour now and Lindsey had hardly looked away from her phone, a smile glued to her face.

She had woken up to string of texts from Sara.

               Hot Trainer:       Lindsey…

                                               Terrible news

                                               It’s a tragedy

                                               Prepare yourself, sit down, whatever you need, but be ready

                                               Are you ready?

                                               I came to the gym this morning, worked out, showered, and then it happened

                                               Are you sitting now?

                                               I WAS OUT OF DINOSAUR OATMEAL!

                                               Tragic isn’t it?!

                                               It’s bad enough I don’t get to see you for three weeks, but now this?!

                                               I’ll leave you process this tragedy, I’m here if you need to talk. We will get through this.

 Waking to the plethora of texts with such a ridiculous story immediately put her in a good mood. And the blonde implying she would miss her definitely helped too.

                 Lindsey:               That is a tragedy, however will you survive?

               Hot Trainer:       Which? Not seeing you or dinosaurs? Not seeing you, you’ll just have to find a way to help me with that. Dinosaurs, there is no remedying that, I needed to suffer through Apple Cinnamon. Like an adult!

 Lindsey had sent a selfie after she had gotten ready for breakfast. The two continued to text the rest of the morning until Rose finally called her out.

“Who are you texting so much?”

“No one, don’t worry about it.”

“Bullshit, you have been glued to your phone all morning!” Sam joined in. “And you have such a stupid smile on your face.”

“Did Russell-wannabe-muscles, get his shit together and try to make up again?” Mal questioned

“Nice,” the two high fived with a smile and the cheesy nickname, looking to Lindsey for an answer.

“Fuck no, that’s never happening again,” the blonde midfielder replied adamantly, struggling to not pick her phone back up after hearing it go off again.

“Finally! So, who’s the new bae that has you all smitten?”

“Gross, never say that again. And no one,” Lindsey caved, picking her phone up trying to ignore Mal and Rose.

“Sonnett you are far too quiet about this,” Rose narrowed her eyes at the defender, “You know!”

“Who’s hot trainer?” Mal questioned loudly with a smile. Lindsey didn’t even notice she had left her chair and snuck up behind her, too focused on her conversation with Sara.

“Fuck, no one,” Lindsey quickly locked her phone and shoved it in her pocket.

“Oh no, that reaction definitely means it’s a someone!” Rose bounced in her seat across from her, then turned her head back to Sonnett, “What do you know!? Who is the hot trainer? Is it the trainer at your new gym?”

Rose, Mal, and Sam continued to fire questions at their fellow midfielder, occasionally pausing to discuss different possibilities between themselves.

Lindsey shrunk in on herself, the insecurities returning. Tobin and Emily had been so supportive, Sara made her feel comfortable, not that the other three wouldn’t be supportive but the sudden interrogation made it real. Real that this could be more than a crush, real that her last relationship hadn’t ended well (several times), real that her last relationship had been with a man and so had all the others. She understood that sexuality was fluid and fully believed anyone could love anyone, that wasn’t what bothered her. What bothered her was the sudden reality that this was more than a crush; that she wanted to tell her friends all about Sara, but also keep it to herself to figure out and enjoy

Taking a breath, Lindsey cut the other three at the table off while Emily sat and watched Lindsey process her thoughts.

“If you would simmer down for a second, I’ll tell you. It’s new and I don’t know what it is yet, so I’d like to keep it between us for now, please?”

At their nods, Lindsey looked to Sonnett for encouragement who smiled and nodded, then glanced down to the table and took a breath to steady her nerves.

“Her name is Sara. She is one of the trainers at the gym, we met a few weeks ago when I started training there. I trained with a couple times and we hit it off, we even went for coffee before I came to camp.”

The other soccer players weren’t phased by the news at all, quickly asking rapid fire questions again.

“Is she hot?” Mal asked first.

“Of course she’s hot, she swung Lindsey!” Rose commented with an eye roll.

“Can we see pictures?”

“Tell us about her?”

“How was coffee? Was it a date?’

“Does she know who you are?”

Horan quickly pulled up the most recent photo the trainer had sent of her and Blaze, turning her phone for everyone to see.

“She has a dog too?!” Rose asked, excited, disregarding the woman in the photo.

“That’s Blaze and that’s Sara, she brings him to the gym most of the time.”

Rose quickly lost interest in the blonde, more focused on the dog. Mal and Emily sliding closer to scroll through all the pictures.

“She’s gorgeous Linds, tell us about her,” Sam prompted, sensing the residual nerves.

“She’s great, coffee was incredible. I have no idea if it was a date, it was the first time we hung out outside of the gym. She’s so sweet and funny and smart. And so hot! Fuck, she’s so strong. Oh, she’s a firefighter!” Lindsey rambled, nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweat.

“Wait, I thought you said she was a trainer at your gym?” Mal wondered.

“She is, she works as a firefighter and a trainer.”

“That’s so cool!”

The group continued to ask questions, Lindsey more than willing to answer them all. Talking about Sara to some of her closest friends made her feeling lighter than she had felt in a long time. It started to sink in the extent of her feelings for the trainer.

 For the rest of the day Lindsey felt incredible. Practice after breakfast had gone so well. Vlatco pushed them right from the start, and Lindsey felt like she had played some of the best soccer she had in a long. The fitness session in the afternoon she had passed all her previous scores, she felt strong, she felt fast, she felt good. Plus, between each session Lindsey came back to phone to a message from Sara, adding to her phenomenal mood.

Even the incessant teasing from her friends throughout the day couldn’t affect her mood. And totally worth it. Like now, with them all giving her strange looks while she laughs at the text Sara sent her. She had sent her a picture of two boxes of Dinosaur oatmeal.

               Hot Trainer:       Lindsey! Look it! All balance has been restored in the world!

At the loud snort of laughter, the table looked at her questioningly.

“You good there Linessi?” Sonnett question with a laugh of her own.

Lindsey gave vague yupp, never looking up from her phone, replying to the firefighter.

“I take it back, I do not support this,” Rose said, gesturing to Lindsey. “All those feels over there are disgusting me.”

Lindsey didn’t even look up from her phone.

The group just rolled their eyes, leaving Lindsey to her phone, knowing there was pulling her away from it.

For the rest of the camp, Lindsey’s routine stayed relatively the same. By the end of the second week, she was drained. Camp was exhausting, practices were hard, and fitness was harder, no matter how prepared you were. Being around so many people all the time was overwhelming. All Lindsey wanted to do wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep. Most of the team felt the same, so had all agreed to have a quiet night in in Lindsey and Emily’s room to watch a movie. Everyone already half asleep spread across the beds and chairs in the room.

Lindsey expressed how she was feeling to Sara, the other woman showing genuine interest in how camp was going. So really, she shouldn’t be surprised at how good she felt after opening up. It had never been like that with Russel; he always reminded her it was part of the job, Sara reassured her that feeling this way was normal. Where Russel would tell her if she trained harder, she wouldn’t be so sore, Sara would suggest a different stretch to help ease her muscles and joked to give her massage. When she would vent her frustrations, Russel would get irritated, Sara let her rant and express how she felt.

               Lindsey:               Sorry I’m not much fun to talk to today

               Hot Trainer:       Lindsey, you don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m here anytime you need to vent. Want me to tell you a funny story from work?

Sara validated her and made her feel better about herself in a few weeks than Russel ever had. Hell, she made Lindsey feel better in just this conversation.

Now laying on the bed surrounded by her friends, exhausted, hardly paying attention to the movie she still felt good. Being given the opportunity to talk about how she was feeling with judgment eased the tension in her chest. Sara was telling her a funny story about how her and the other firefighters convinced their rookie he needed to remind one of the older firemen to “use the potty” before bed to mess with him. The levity of the story helping draw Lindsey’s tense shoulders down and continuing to help her relax.

 The last week of camp flew by. Before she knew it, it was game day. They were playing Friday night, recovery and travel day Saturday; Lindsey couldn’t wait to be home. Lindsey had woken up to a hood luck text from Sara, who also said she would be watching the game as long as they didn’t get a call at the firehouse. Between that and getting the start, nothing could take away Lindsey’s good mood.

Knowing the blonde firefighter was watching her, Lindsey felt like she needed to impress her. And impress she did. There weren’t any nerves, she was motivated and ready to play come kick off. Right from the first whistle Lindsey was on fire; nothing got past her in the middle, she flew from box to box, nothing could stop her.

By the end of the game Lindsey had scored hat trick, plus recorded two assists, putting the US to 5-0 win. She was ecstatic, not only with the win but with how well shelf let she played the entire game. She felt like she was on such a high, roaming around the stadium taking pictures and signing autographs. Winning always felt good, but there was something about tonight, something about knowing she had someone special watching, someone that even though she knew wouldn’t judge her playing she still wanted to impress.

“Linds! You played incredible tonight!” Tobin came alongside her as they walked in the tunnel towards the change room. “Who knew all you needed was a hot blonde at home to get you to play this well.”

Lindsey gave Tobin a gentle shove, blushing and looking down. “Shut up,” she mumbled, shy because of the accuracy.

“What are you talking about Tobs, I live in Orlando now,” Sonnett joined in, slinging her arm around Lindsey.

“Wrong hot blonde Sonny,” Rose bounced past them, turning and walking backwards. “Toby definitely meant the hottie with the firefighter body,” Shooting a wink, she turned and skipped into the change room.

Lindsey again just blushed at how accurate it was. She made her way to her locker, immediately picking up her phone.

               Hot Trainer:       Great game superstar! You crushed it!

                                               The other team knew they were supposed to defend you, right?

Lindsey’s smile just grew at the texts. Mal leaned over to her, “you disgust me, you know that? Even Dansby and I weren’t that gross.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know, I just, I can’t help It,” Horan shrugged off the teasing, more than ok with it. It was more than worth it to get to talk to Sara.

The two continued to talk as they got ready to get on the bus, Mal teasing her every time Lindsey would reach for her phone.

 The next afternoon, after a quick recovery session, Lindsey was seated next to Tobin on the plane back to Portland.

“Alright Linds, what’s happening with you and your girl?” Tobin questioned once they were in the air.

“I really don’t know Tobs, we hit it off so well, this week has been great talking to her and I can’t wait to see her again this week. I just don’t know where to go from here, I want it to be more than just talking. But, but don’t know how,” the midfielder started to ramble, her nerves on the situation coming out. “What if she just wants to be friends? How do I know if she wants more? What if she doesn’t even like me?”

Tobin put a reassuring hand on her thigh.

“You’re overthinking it. She seems like she is pretty interested in you Linds. You just need to talk to her when you get home, ask her out again, make it clear you are interested. She sounds like she is pretty respectful, so I doubt she will be a jerk regardless.”

“I know; it sounds like it should be easy. She is relaxed and easy going, this whole camp she has been incredible to talk to.”

The continued to talk the entire flight, she was excited to see Sara, so it didn’t take much to convince her to tell her how she felt.

 Immediately after landing, Lindsey turned her phone on, eager to talk to the blonde trainer. Emboldened by the conversation she had with Tobin on the plane, she quickly texted her asking her to talk.

               Lindsey:               Hey! Just landed!

                                               Can we talk?

               Hot Trainer:       Uhh yea, I’m at work now. Did you want to text about it? We could call or we could do something when I’m off tonight?

               Lindsey:               How about tonight after you’re off work? In person would be better.

The two made plans to meet in two hours after Sara would get off work.

Lindsey rushed around her condo, quickly unpacking, starting a load of laundry before getting in the shower to get ready. Nerves returning while she thought about what she was going to say, she knew she had been vague when asking the blonde out, but she wanted to have the conversation in person. This conversation was too important to risk losing context over text.

Two hours later, Lindsey found herself waiting at the bar the two agreed to meet at, Sara coming right form work. Lindsey had chosen a quiet pub that would afford them the opportunity to have this conversation hopefully uninterrupted. She was seated at a booth near the back, legs bouncing, hands fidgeting with the coaster on the table, nerves settling low in her stomach.

The soccer player was startled out her thoughts as the object of her nerves slide into the booth across from her.

“Hey Linds, you alright?” Sara didn’t hesitate to question, her concern evident.

Lindsey sat up straighter in the booth, making eye contact with the blonde, forcing herself to stop fidgeting.

“Yea, I’m good, I just really needed to talk to you,” unable to make eye contact anymore, Lindsey looked at her hands at the table, hands resuming fidgeting.

Sara slid her hand across the table, grasping a fidgeting hand and rubbing her thumb across her knuckles.

“It’s alright Lindsey, take your time, you can tell me anything,” the trainer said soothingly.

“I know, I’m just nervous, I’ve never done this before. So maybe, fuck, just let me try and say everything and then you can ask questions? Or leave, umm which I hope you don’t, but yea,” Lindsey trailed off.

“Of course, take your time,” she repeated, still rubbing her thumb on Lindsey’s knuckles.

“So I like you, like, like like you. Fuck, I sound like a 13-year-old. But I do, I have feelings for you. I got teased all camp for being ‘smitten’ anytime we talked. These last few weeks have been great, talking to always puts a smile on my face and I look forward to seeing you at the gym every day,” Lindsey started, but then hesitated, debating what to say next. Sara’s thumb never stopping on her knuckles.

At her hesitancy, Sara stepped in, “I like you too Lindsey, as in like like you,” she mimicked. “I was so happy when you asked me out before you left, I’m not sure I would have had the guts to do it.”

Both women paused to look at each other, making eye contact they both smiled softly. Sensing Lindsey’s hesitation, Sara continued.

“I’d really like to take you on another date Lindsey Horan, if you will let me, of course.”

“Of course you can take me on another date,” Lindsey smiled, blushing. “It’s just, I’ve just, I’ve never done this before.”

“Never gone on a date?” Sara teased. “That’s fine, takes the pressure off on me to top any in the past.”

“No, I’ve been on a date before,” She chuckled to herself, but blushed, looking down again, still hesitating. “I’ve umm, never been on a date with a woman.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that Linds, we can do this entirely at your pace. Whatever you are comfortable with.”

Lindsey shook her head at that, she knew she had been nervous for nothing, how was this woman so perfect?

All her nerves before the conversation started gone, it had gone better than she could have anticipated.

The two stayed at the pub for another two hours, Sara promising to ‘woo’ her on a date when she was off next. Conversation moving on, flowing easy as usual.

Similar to when they went for coffee, Sara opened all the doors on the way out, placing a hand on her Lindsey’s back to guide her out and while walking her to her car.

“Is this ok?” the trainer asked, leaning closer to her.

“More than ok Sara,” Lindsey said, leaning even closer, pressing her side into Sara’s.

Lindsey felt like she was on fire as they walked down the street. She could feel the heat from Sara body, and solidness of her muscles; it made her want to feel more of it.

When they got to Lindsey’s car, the two blondes stayed close. Lindsey leaned against the car, boldly pulling Sara into her. Sara moved one hand Lindsey’s hip, her other hand resting on the roof of the car next to Lindsey’s head.

“I had a great time tonight, I can’t wait for this date you are going to ‘woo’ me with,” Lindsey placed both hands on Sara’s hips.

“I did too, glad you asked me out tonight,” Sara took a step back, removing her hands from the car and Lindsey.

Lindsey stood to her full height too, sensing the blonde’s hesitancy.

“You can hug me.”

“Yea?” Sara asked softly, stepping in close again, gently wrapping Lindsey in a hug at the midfielder’s nod.

Once they separated, Sara leaned down and opened the car for Lindsey. Lindsey slid into the driver seat.

The two bid each other good-bye, Sara turned and walked towards her own vehicle.

Lindsey sat back in her car, smiling as she watched the firefighter walk away in her rearview mirror.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Feverish and Teary & How Long Has it Been Since You’ve Eaten- Prompt Fill

@thatonekidellis​ Jon, Tim, and Martin have a rough time after the Unknowing. Especially Jon.  I hope this is kind of what you were asking for?  

@janekfan​ you get a ping because this is your au!

CWs: nausea, vomiting, fainting, fever, food mention, alcohol mention, canon typical mentions of Tim's pre-unknowing mindset, canon typical Jon not taking care of himself.

I am still accepting bingo prompts, so let me know which character, which prompt, and if you want a drawing of a fic!  Bingo card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  This one is twice my usual length because it is two prompts and I did not want to cheat!

The Unknowing blows up.  

As simple as that.  

All according to plan.  

It really is as simple as that.  

Jon, Tim, Daisy, Basira.  Piled back in Daisy's car.  Ears ringing.  Soot slowly settling.  Trying to drive away before the actually police get there.  

It hasn't been Jon's problem how to avoid arrest.  

He is even more glad it isn't his problem now, as he slides down the beat up seat in the back of Daisy's car.  Ash streaks the window, mixing with the light rains that is starting to fall.  

Jon tries not to vomit the nothing he's eaten in the last couple days.  Nothing in him but frayed nerves and statements.  Hadn't even managed to stomach dramamine before their trip.  

Jon just wants to sleep.  

They still have their hotel reservation for another couple hours, so Daisy drives them back there to clean up before heading back to London.  Yes they have to go back today, it's less suspicious.  Jon isn't sure if that is actually true, but he doesn't have the energy to argue.  

Tim showers.  Jon sends a text to Martin.  'Alive.'  

He doesn't answer Martin's near-immediate call because just then he's dry-heaving into the small bin in the corner.  Stiff and shaking and sweaty and miserable.    

Jon showers.  Too dizzy to stand, he sits on the shower floor.  He hates that.  The tub feels filthy.  He feels filthy.  He scrubs his skin raw.  He stands.  He throws up more nothing.  He scrubs himself again, leaning heavily on the wall.  

He wants to talk to Tim.  He wants to tuck himself into Tim's arms and never move again.  Christ, he's running an impressive fever.  Probably.  It's hard to tell.  And his brain is swimming too much to even think about asking the Eye.  

He's cold.  He shivers in his threadbare joggers and stolen jumper (Martin's).  

He wants to join Tim on the bed by the window, but Tim ...looks too deep in a melancholy thought to even notice.  Somewhere between losing his drive for anything, adrenaline crash, and losing the last hope of a last glimpse of Danny, if Jon were to guess.  

Jon could say something.  He knows he could.  But, hasn't he caused enough of a fuss?  Made Tim and Martin trail after him after the ...the.... with Daisy and... that.  If he'd have just stayed quiet and stayed still... well Tim would still hate him... and might not be alive... but ....but he's caused so much worry with that.  And then with... his other kidnapping No.  He can't think about what that... what... not without puking again which... the point is not to worry Tim.  Which means he should try some medicine again.... if he can keep it in him half an hour he'll survive the drive back.  Probably.  

Christ, when is the last time he bothered to drink anything?  

He lays there in a daze until Daisy bangs on the door telling them it's time to leave.  

Tim sleeps on the drive back.  Finally giving into the last few sleepless nights.  Jon is jealous.  

Last night had been spent tangled together, shaking, awake, and silent.  Anxiety too thick to slice with words.  Not even nothing to turn off the lights, because the fear is a little easier to manage in the light.  Jon couldn't stop thinking about Nikola.  He couldn't stop thinking about plastic hands on him.  Couldn't stop thinking about how many things could go wrong and how he could lose Tim and Martin when he only just got Tim back.  

Jon was pretty sure Tim hadn't been sleeping the last few nights.  Jon knows he hasn't.  Not that he has slept well in a long time.    

In any case, Tim sleeps.  Jon doesn't.  

Daisy glares at him through the review mirror.  Jon isn't sure if she is still waiting for him to prove himself monstrous so she can attack, or if she is making sure he isn't ill in her car... again.  (He really wishes he could forget his first ride in her car.  Really really really wishes.  It was not a pleasant experience for anyone, and Daisy had made him pay the cleaning bill.)  

It doesn't matter, he slides down further in his seat and closes his eyes tightly.  

His head hurts.  

Thankfully the medicine knocks him out soon enough.  

Martin greets them at the institute door.  Melanie by his side.  

Jon hazily wakes up to Martin gently touching his shoulder.  

"You actually made it!  I'm so glad you're safe... I was so worried, Jon why didn't you answer your phone, I've been so worried, I mean I know you would have said something if something had happened, but Christ I've been so worried about you, come here."  

Jon starts mumbling some apologies, but is interrupted by Martin gently gathering him in a hug.  Jon sinks into it, fervently hoping Martin doesn't notice the heat rolling off of him.  

Thankfully Martin is too distracted, gathering Tim in a crushing embrace.  Likely very relieved that Tim didn't die, and knowing Tim is harder to break than Jon with his delicate bones and fragility following many incidents.  

Jon... doesn't really know what he's trying to accomplish.  Just... get out?  Or go in?  Or get to the cot?  Or just curl up on the cold tile of the basement toilets?  Get away from people he will inevitably worry?  

Just go somewhere where he can fall apart without taking anyone else down with him.  

It looks like Martin has been crying.  Jon hopes it isn't over him.  

Tim needs to recover from the emotional toll of the last few days without having to pick up the pieces after Jon Again.  

Jon slowly backs away.  

His head is swimming, but that's okay.  If he can just reach the Archives.  The cot.  Anywhere.  Anywhere away from this moment.  This breath.  

His vision swims violently, and there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to be very well acquainted with the pavement in a matter of seconds.  Either that or he's going to be ill?  No.  Sidewalk.  He's going to eat the sidewalk.  Heh... first thing he'll have eaten in days.  

He isn't sure if he loses consciousness or not.  It's hard to tell in the blur of motion and sounds and his spinning head.  Sound is almost gooey in this state of almost unconsciousness, but he thinks someone might be shouting.  Or several someones.  He should maybe worry about this?  But in actuality, he is praying he properly passes out to save himself any more embarrassment and save himself from his unsteady insides.  

His face hurts.  

Someone is holding him.  

Jon fights to open his eyes.  They don't seem to want to look in the same direction, rolling in their sockets instead of doing what he wants them to.  He blinks hard a few times, failing to bring things into focus.  Glasses?  Does he still have those?  Did they break?  No... still there.  Skewed on his face.  Just... too dizzy to see, then.  

Daisy and Basira are glaring at him.  Melanie is walking away.  Possibly.  Hard to tell when the world is tilting with unsteady regularity.  

Jon closes his eyes again, pressing a groan against the nausea that threatens to overcome him, despite the medicine.  

"Jon?"  

"Burning up."

He's too hazy to put a name to a voice.  The words dripping in the air around him, tightening around his chest, silly string sitting on his skin in fibrous heaps that jiggle uncomfortably, cold and clammy.  

Shit, thinking in gibberish.  That can't be good.  

“Does anyone know how long he’s been ill?”  

Someone grunts.  

Footsteps.  Two sets?  I’m asking away.  Leaving him.   

“I.... I don’t know.  I don’t think he was feverish last night?  But... I haven’t exactly been... It’s.  It’s been hard.”

“Jon?”

He’s being jostled.   He whines.  Stomach flopping dangerously.   

"Jon?  Are you awake?  Can you open your eyes for me?"  

"Oh shit, he's gonna puke."  

He's being lifted, shifted on his side, bin shoved in his hands.  Where he throws up more nothing.  

He's crying now, feeling like utter shit, and unfortunately more awake.  

He isn't sure if eyes swimming with tears is better or worse than the unsteady world tipping around him and making him feel worse.  

"Christ, Jon!"  

He finally pries his eyes open.  Martin and Tim solidify above him.  More or less.  Still fuzzing in and out of focus.  

Now that he's crying, he just... can't stop.  Fistfuls of Martin's sweater.  

"Oh Jon..."  Martin's arms circle him, carefully.  Gentle not to jostle him more.  

"Buddy.  Think we can get you off the sidewalk?"  Tim.  Cupping his face.  Smoothing back sweat and tear soaked hair, long since escaped his bun, still not dried from his earlier shower.  "My flat isn't far, you know?  Didn't bring my car here, though.  Still... wasn't..."

Tim cuts himself off, but even addled as he is, Jon can fill in the rest of the sentence.  

So can Martin apparently, because Martin frowns.  It's never been more apparent that he's been crying quite recently.  "Still weren't sure you were coming home...  Tim..."  And his eyes start looking damp.  

Tim is tearing up now.  "Martin... let's not in the street...  I can carry Jon back to mine, it isn't far.  You can come too.  We'll get some take out.  Drink some whiskey.  Get Mr. Smoking hot cooled off.  We can talk then.  It's.... it's been a rough week."  

"Jon?  Can I carry you?  I think that might be less rough than a cab ride?  Do you need a few minutes?"  

Martin's voice is soft, and Jon thinks he could sleep right there.  In fact, he might.  So he nods.  

Martin lifts him carefully.  His head swims again.  This all is feeling rather familiar.  Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  He tries to relax despite the lingering anxieties about heights.  Martin feels safe.  Tim is also safe now.  He lets himself drift.  

He wakes briefly on the trip.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"  Tim.  Tim seems off.  Too many things crossing his face to parse out, probably even for someone with a better sense than Jon of what those subtle face changes mean.  But Jon is too hazy to think.    

Jon's mouth feels gummed up.  His eyes feel gummed up.  

He's thankful his mouth doesn't taste like something died in it, though.  Although he is very aware how unhealthy it was that he's spent a good portion of the day with his body trying to turn itself inside out, and he couldn't so much as produce bile.  

Jon feels sick thinking about it, so stops.  He drifts again.  

He wakes to a damp rag on his forehead, no memory of anything past the explosion. 

How did he get here? 

"Sorry, that looked like a nice sleep, but you'll feel better with some medicine in you, and some water.  We can try some tea later, once the meds work.  And some food hopefully."  

Martin helping him sit up.  Just enough to get a few sips and some pills into Jon.  Which, Jon thought was probably optimistic, but he'd try it for Martin.  

"When was the last time you ate?" Martin again.  

Jon blinks at him in confusion.  "Is it over?"  

"Is what over?"  Still Martin.  

Where's Tim?  Where's Daisy?  Where's Basira?  Where's Melanie?

His breathing picks up, and that makes his head spin again, and makes him wonder just how long he can keep the medicine down.  

"Is it over, what happened?"  He's panting now, halfway to a panic attack.  

"Jon?  Jon!  Calm down.  Can you take a breath for me?"  

How did he get here?  Where is he?  This looks like Tim's flat, but there is Tim?  Did he survive.  

Jon reaches for anything.  But comes up blank.  

"Where's Tim?  What happened?"  He gasps out.  It feels like his ribcage is shrinking, being laced up the front. fighter than the corset he had worn in acting class in uni.  

"Tim's... taking a moment.  As soon as we got you here... he.... it's been rough on him, you know?  He did all this for... and I know he said he wanted to live.  He wants to live... but he's... not been in a good place and it's helped that you two are talking again... and that he's had company more... but he saw an old picture with.... with his brother.... and that polaroid with ... with Sasha.  Well, he keeps going between you know tearful and sorry and cackling about how everything blew up.  It's... probably a lot to have three revenge schemes going at once for the same.... not a person really... but ... Her.  And then... having it sorted.  But...  Listen Jon I don't know.  What don't you remember... or what's the last thing you remember?"  Martin edges on histerical near the middle, but takes a turn for the sad near the end.  

"I remember the... the world was all wrong.  Then... then it blew up.  Is it over?  Martin are you real.  Is everyone alive?  What happened to you?"  He's desperate.  Desperate breaths too shallow.  Words interrupted by jagged pulling of too thin oxygen.  He's going to pass out.  

He does.  

He wakes feeling... clearer.  The last period of wakefulness a distant and flighty thing, dancing just out of his reach.  The rest of the embarrassing day back in vivid detail.  Tim's sitting over him.  Or rather, curled around him.  Jon's hair is being played with.  A stray curl looped around Tim's finger as he laughs softly to himself.  Muttering that he's alive.  That Jon's alive.  That Martin is alive.  he didn't lose anyone else.  That that clown is finally dead.  Finally.  

Gentle and warm hand on his face, refreshing the cloth.  Checking his temperature.  

"I..."  Tim chokes on a sob.  And Jon tries to remember how his arms work so he can let Tim know he's there.  

"Tim?"  

"Hey bud... sorry."  Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeve.  "It's been a hell of a week.  I... don't know how to feel about it.  Fuck I need a drink....  And to check in with Martin.  I... he hasn't told me what happened, but he's upset.  And.  Fuck I should have noticed you were ill, why didn't you say anything?"  Tim's voice starts to rise, and Jon tenses.  All the times Tim yelled at him still too fresh in his mind.  He trusts Tim.  he does... but Christ he is still afraid.  Afraid that it can't last, that it isn't real.  Where it be a trick of his mind, or some manipulation tactic to an end Jon can't see, he doesn't know.  

"Hey.  Hey.  Buddy... Jon.  I'm sorry.  didn't mean to yell.  It's just... been a day.  I'm not mad at you.  I just... I'm worried about you and Martin and I...I don't know how to feel about everything that happened.  I'm sorry you feel like shit."

Jon feels... like shit.  Marginally less nauseous, however.  A little less like he's going to pass out again.  Probably been given plenty of pills by Martin.  

"Sorry."  He croaks.  Voice probably shredded with smoke.  And fever.  

"He, bud, don't apologize.  I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't well.  I... I thought I knew better than to be that preoccupied.  I mean... I guess I didn't make it worse this time, but..."  Tim sighs.  "I'm disappointed in myself because I don't want to fuck this up again.  And no don't apologize again part of that was on me and yes part of that was on you and we've done apologies to death.  All we can do now is keep going.  I just wanted to protect you and I couldn't see you were fading in front of my eyes.  Again.  I know you haven't been eating or sleeping, but I haven't been either so I didn't want to call you on it, and I didn't want you to call me on it, but I should have noticed.  I know I couldn't have done much, but I didn't do anything but shut you out again.  I could have told someone to stop to get you medicine, or food or even a bit more rest.  I know that would have done fuck-all, but I still could have offered you a little comfort and warmth and had us brought straight back here."  

Tim's crying properly now.  Jon is too.  Not sure if it is the fever, or just... everything.  There is so much to feel and think and worry about and yes they saved the world but that the fuck comes next.  

What comes next is that Martin enters with tea for Jon and a bottle of whiskey.  

Jon scrubs at his eyes.  "Martin what happened?"  Jon can see he's been crying again.  That is starting to scare him.  It's a goddamn miracle he hasn't pulled an answer out of anyone yet today.  

"It's... well it isn't fine.  I... well our plan worked here too.  Just... you know... Elias.  He can.... He can do things.  It's fine.  It's worth it."  Martin swipes at his eyes furiously.  

Jon pushes himself up, ignoring the room tilting around him, and hugs Martin.  Jon's still crying.  Martin sniffling.  Tim also crying.  It's... a very damp hug.  And Jon knows he's too warm to be comfortable to hold, and he's shivering hard enough to rattle Tim and Martin.  

"I'm... I'm so sorry Martin."  Jon chokes out.  

"It's alright.  It was worth it.  And you both.  Christ I am so glad to see you again... I thought... I thought.... I didn't..."  Martin is fully sobbing now.  Tea set down on Tim's bedside table, the whiskey being pried from his hands by TIm.  

Late that night the bottle is empty (and so are a couple more), Tim and Martin have killer headaches, and Jon is still feverish, but less so.  A lot of tears have been shed.  And Jon has been plied with enough liquids that he feels a little less like a crumbling husk.  

By the time that Tim and Martin are ready to think about food, Jon is finally feeling like he can maybe stomach something.  They order takeout.  Jon... has some broth. 

By morning Jon manages a few bites of leftovers.  

By afternoon, Elias Bushard is arrested.