#I think maybe this kind of store is called a corner store some places? or a liquor store

[outeremissary]

whats a party store pray tell

Where you go to load up before getting lit at a party- store that sells mostly alcohol, and a ton of it. Alright variety. Has snacks too, red solo cups, sometimes a little other stuff. It's like a convenience store that's mostly booze. Usually they're open pretty late. I lived near one for a while in college and it would be open past midnight; the ones in my rural hometown closed around midnight.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[ghouldtime]

Alone. Truly Alone.

I know I’m not the only one who took one singular, inquisitive glance at the new Alone Operator skin for the upcoming season and went “Would”. I need need need content on him

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

If you had to rank all the terrible decisions you’ve made in your life, this would certainly be in the top ten. Breaking into an abandoned place was a bad idea on its own. Now multiply the magnitude of that by twenty, considering it was supposedly some kind of military facility at one point in time before it was left to rot. Then add in the factors that you were alone, without a map, and no cell service. Yeah, definitely not your smartest decision. 

Dozens of garish yellow and red signs marked with a variety of warnings used everything under the sun (and law) telling you not to proceed decorated the corroding chain link fences that lined the property like it was going out of style. The crumbling facade of iron and concrete that made up the walls were made out to match. Everywhere you looked there was yet another warning, another thing telling you to turn back now. That should've been a sign, right?

Well, it wasn't the sign you were listening to. That one, the only sign you cared about right now, you had spotted stapled to a telephone pole as you were waiting to cross the street to go to your favorite grocery store. The crumpled, salmon pink flier hastily crammed in your backpack was your savior and your curse that brought you here.

The reason being a whole whopping $500. Something that would greatly benefit you and cause a whole less of a headache this month - and allow you a chance to breathe. It was a chance you couldn't pass up. And it's not like it was complicated. All you had to do was: get into the desolate fort, get proof of evidence of being inside there (photographic AND physical), and get out. Simple. Easy money. A task that even you could manage in maybe an hour or two, tops. You'd be an idiot not to do it.

Why anyone would pay that kind of money for you to go in there was beyond you. Quite frankly, you didn’t care. Money was money. Everyone had their reasons and if they were paying that much for a task that was that simple, then you weren't going to pry. All they had to do was pay up when the time was done, you'd never think about it again, and you'd be on your merry way a whole lot better off and a little bit richer.

Just to be certain that this wasn't a prank or someone trying to harass their ex with a pathetic attempt to get their number out there, you called the number scrawled hastily on the rain-soaked, faded poster. A harried Scottish accent confirmed without a doubt that this wasn't fake and was real as real could be. Truth be told, you didn’t understand much of what he said aside from “Aye”, which was close enough. He seemed to be talking at a million miles an hour in a near frantic tone. Surely, that was a red flag. But right now you were colorblind to everything except green.

It was enough motivation for you to throw some gear into a backpack and head out late in the night to the address of the once-important fort. The promise of cash and having it soon in your hand was plenty to get you moving.

Against your best instinct, against your gut screaming at you and telling you to turn back, and against all common sense - you went forwards anyways and decided today was the day when you’re going to pretend that you’re illiterate and those warnings meant nothing to you anyways.

Stale, stagnant air filtered through the respirator that hung snug on your face. If you breathed in a lungful of whatever was in here without it, it's likely you would’ve ended up with some new kind of respiratory disease previously unheard of - you're sure of it. Algae and lichen clung to some damp crevices, decorated with splotches of black mold the darkened the corners even more along the outskirts of the inky, lingering shadows.

Each cautious step forward onto the rubble and gravel covered ground ricocheted off the dilapidated walls of the corridor, fading into the abyss of black that stretched on far beyond what you could see. Though you doubted the protective eye ware helped you see better - it was probably more of a hindrance but you didn't want to take any more risks than necessary. The last thing you needed was a hospital bill.

The pathetic beam of warm, yellow light your flashlight provided scarcely illuminated the void that swallowed the hallway whole. What little you could see did nothing to motivate you forward. More disintegrating ceiling and rubble-buried winding halls greeted you with the same unwavering stillness as the rest of the place.

Crumbling, bleak, cold passages decorated with mildew, mold, and umber mystery stains you really didn’t want to think about alike stretched in a winding labyrinth you tried your best to navigate. Sparse nearly-disintegrated warning signs served as place markers to guide you through the otherwise directionless building, offering you the smallest sense of navigation and a sense of knowing where you were going.

One foot in front of the other, step by slow step, you made your way through the place untouched by light and people alike.

It shouldn't be that hard, you mused as you kept on walking. Whether it was just to reassure yourself with a steady mantra or confidence was left up to debate, but the fact remained: it was simple. Get an object that irrefutably proved you were here, take a picture - and that was it. That was all.

Now, that still left the question of what to take and what to get a picture of up for debate. Scouring the building hadn’t turned up anything worthwhile so far, except maybe some signage. But they were all too… generic. They were all something that could easily be faked and pulled from elsewhere. And a picture of them or another dimly lit, basic hallway wouldn’t do you any good. It would get you a door slammed in your face, a laugh if you’re lucky, and certainly no $500 which was the whole reason you were here in the first place.

Maybe you should’ve asked specifically what he wanted you to bring and a picture of….

Who are you kidding? You wouldn’t be able to understand a lick of what he said if you did. Maybe his accent was better in person, maybe he had told you in the hurried, almost anxious tone and you weren't remembering - but trying to talk to him again through the phone was a hopeless endeavor. Unless they were keeping a spare brain in here and translating software, you doubt you'd be able to even begin to try and understand the guy. All you could do was silently curse yourself for not asking, curse him for not being more coherent, and try your best to find something unique, snap a picture, and get out of there before you regretted stepping foot in this place even further.

With grumbled curse, knowing very well that you had to go further in the hopes that something actually substantial would greet you, you kept on going. There was no turning back now, no. You'd come too far. One more step forwards got you closer to that money and being out of here.

Yet lady luck wasn't making this easy, nor was she on your side today. A majority of doors you came across had been locked - barricaded, and certainly not something you could open. Their heavy, unyielding steel frames stood impassive, unmoving, and scarcely caring of your plight or any force used against them. It's almost like they stood there, mocking you silently for even trying. It was a waste of energy to even try with another one when the first twelve hadn't done anything more than groan slightly, giving the tiniest shudder before stilling in their frame.

Rounding what must’ve been the hundredth corner, you braced for yet another blank hallway and another unmovable door, but what greeted you was something different enough to cause you to halt in your tracks. An open door. A single, open door marked with a flickering, old bulb dangling above as if it were on its last legs, trying to stay alight. A wave of relief washed over you as you couldn’t help but to sprint forward, closing in on the hope that you could be done and out of here - and you’d have your money before you knew it! It was almost over. This aimless wandering with a stuffy mask and glasses to match was almost over.

Ignoring all common sense, you chased that feeling - quite literally. Caution was thrown to the wind as you darted into the room, your eyes flickered all over the first true, non-vacant room you’d found in here. Empty hospital beds with yellowed, stained linens haphazardly jumbled across their tops lined the walls. It wasn't a pretty sight but right now, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Panning your flashlight around, the warm, washed-out beam glinted off the dusty metal IV stands and carts littered about. Cobwebs spidered the corners of the walls and the rest of the surfaces alike, though their inhabitants seem to have left long ago.

Scanning the room, a few seconds ticked by before you finally found just what you needed, dangling off the foot of the bed by a worn hook. There it was, your holy grail: a brown piece of hardboard and rusted metal alike holding down frayed, yellowed pages. It's the only time you can officially say that you've been happy to see a clipboard - much less, elated and overjoyed to see such a simple piece of office ware. You could practically kiss it and taste sweet, sweet money right about now.

Swiping it from its place, your eyes flitted over the blotched, inky text scrawled on it, silently praying that it would have just what you’d need. The smallest corner of a logo stood in the top right corner, while the rest of the patient information seemed to have been rubbed at or swiped away. And your heart nearly sank in short-lived disappointment. Water stains distorted and warped the paper but your saving grace came in the form of a date and the name of the complex, officially signed at the top of the paper. 

The warm, giddy feeling that had been so fleeting earlier came back with a vengeance that lit up your heart and face alike. This was it! This was just what you needed. Placing it down, you fumbled with the camera clipped onto your belt, the tremble of excitement in your hands doing little to aid you. Snapping a picture of the clipboard with a quick click and a flash of light, you stuffed your saving grace into the weathered backpack you had donned. 

Task one - done. Now to get a good picture of the place and you'd be done. One simple click, one move, and one terribly annoying walk through the forever expansive hallways, and you would be out of here and back in your comfy bed before you knew it. Maybe you'd even get to catch up on a single episode of your favorite show.

Stepping back into a corner where you could find a vantage point, you held onto that flickering flame of hope as you pointed your camera and flashlight alike in the same direction to snap a quick picture of the room. With a simple click and a flash of blinding light, the deed was done. You could finally be out of here. 

Or so you thought. 

A sparse glint caught your eye as the bright flash ebbed away, the shadows returning full force aside from the gleaming, round lights that turned towards you. Your heart skipped a beat as you froze, your breath hitching as a wave of fear sunk the beginning of its talons into you.

No, no. Not a glint, you realized with horror. Six. Six luminous, reflective lenses glowed in the dark as they turned to look right at you. Staring. 

Your heart sank even further into your stomach, your blood running cold, as the corner went dark once again for a fraction of a second before all six glowing dots were back and all were looking right at you.

With a trembling hand, you kept your flashlight lowered. You don’t think you wanted to know what that was. No creature - no living being that big would have six eyes. 

You took a step back. 

Then another.

Another.

The ice-cold sensation of your blood coursing through your veins, your heart erratically beating against your chest harder and harder, kept you from screaming. A creak of the protest from the old hospital bed sounded like a gunshot in the otherwise too-still room as the thing stood and started moving towards you with footsteps that were all too quiet, all too soft for a thing of that caliber.

Whatever breath you had been holding escaped you as it lumbered out of the shadows. An unearthly, sickening gurgle spewed from its maw as if it were choking on its own saliva.

Even through the respirator, the scent of putrid rot and decay wafted from it as it drew closer and closer, your stomach tensed as you gagged, the bile threatened to rise from your stomach as the urge to puke took you by surprise. If you weren’t wearing the respirator, you’re sure you would have - and maybe you would have noticed it in the room sooner if you could've picked up the stench of death.

The urge to run, all instincts screaming at you, pleading and begging you to run for your life simply didn’t work as you stood rooted to the spot as it finally stepped into the trembling, watery beam of light that cut through the speckles of floating dust. A scream of horror caught in your throat as you finally stared up at the abomination's mangled form with wide eyes.

Three heads, all fused together in a webbing of crimson, sinewy membranes moved in sync. Six eyes - six, now unblinking, cloudy eyes settled on you. Despite the milky, glassy sheen to the eyes settled and sunken deep into the heads (or in the raw membranous flesh in the case of one eye on the head to its left) - it tracked every single movement and breath, focused on you with near predatory ease. Six arms hung loose by its side, with two of them being partially fused together in a sick amalgamation. Bits of pallid skin had long ago sloughed off, exposing muscle that had blackened with exposure but somehow not rotted away.

Skull masks and balaclavas covered most of their faces - and you supposed that was a good thing. If the distended, broken jaws of the heads were indication of how it would look underneath, you’re happy declining on seeing what lay below. Drool spilled onto the fabric, or some mystery liquid, bubbling up as it made yet another noise. The motion caused your have to fly up to your covered mouth, your heart and stomach alike retching.

Torn tactical gear adorned the twisted cerberus, blackened with fluids, almost as if it had once had a purpose - to protect. But your mind wasn't there, it was on its existence. The abomination, the chimera, the thing that shouldn’t exist and went against all aspects of nature stood in front of you unmoving for a moment until you took a single step back.

It took a step forward.

Ever so slowly, as if moving through molasses, it drew three scarred hands up, reaching for you.

That was all you needed to take off. Up and out through the hall where you came, your legs strained as you sprinted. Each footstep echoed louder and louder down the void of black and gray you came from, flooding out the sputtered groan from it but you didn’t care. Consequences be damned, you didn't care how loud you were or how much attention you drew. You were better off getting caught by a guard or hell even the police - at least they’d have guns. 

Every inhale scorched your lungs, the fire of fatigue seared deep into every strand of your muscles as you kept on pushing, but you didn’t stop - you couldn’t. Not until you cleared the hallways, skirting through the piles of debris and around the same desolate corridors you had meandered through prior. Not until the crisp, chilled night air finally greeted you as the stars twinkled above, oblivious to the sheer horrors below. 

Not until you finally jammed yourself through the cut hole in the chain link fence, any pain of the metal scraping at your skin dulled out by the adrenaline flowing through your veins, empowering each sprinting step forwards until you were far, far away and back in the safety of your car.

Note to self: Don’t ever trust fliers you find on telephone poles.

This guy better be ready as soon as the sun graced the land again to hand over those five Benjamins. Hopefully he likes his mornings started with pounding knocks to his door and a middle finger to the face. 

જ⁀➴

The darkness echoed with the patter of fading footsteps as the mystery person sprinted away, completely aghast with a look of sheer primal fear painted on their limited, exposed features. 

They didn’t see how his fingers flexed, hands still outstretched in the air, twitching once again at the loss of something warm, something human that he came so close to grasping.

They didn’t see how he stared at where they were, not moving from the spot he stood. Nor did they see his clouded, hazy eyes downturn as he dragged his form back to the bed with great reluctance. 

Nor did they hear the drowned out, garbled words that took all his energy to choke out and force his broken jaws to move. 

“Don’t…. go….”

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Thinking of maybe making this a series! Any feedback is welcome and appreciated! It's been a while since I've written so forgive any mistakes,,,,

Edit: part two has been posted!

[peachsukii]

Blast Off

『♡』  fem!reader  x bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ aged to 21 | friends to lovers ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

summary: your favorite metal band is in town, the same one you used to listen to with bakugo back in high school, and you decide to go to the show together! after a long week, a night out in Shibuya is exactly what you need. tags & warnings: brief violence, cursing | friends to lovers, pining, protective bakugo, fluff, first kiss a/n: bakugo would be such a fun person to go to a show with when he’s the one interested! otherwise he’d rather stay home lol ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,714 ꒱

“Yo, you ready yet, dumbass?” Bakugo shouts from your living room, impatiently tapping his foot as he’s waiting for you to finish touching up your makeup in the bathroom.

“Just a sec, Kat!” you call back as you’re leaning over the sink, cleaning up the corner of your eyeliner with a wet cloth.

“Y’don’t even need makeup, dammit!” he retorts, a backhanded compliment to get your ass moving. “Ya probably won’t even -,”

His words die in his throat as you emerge from the hallway and enter the living room.

Woah. She looks fuckin' gorgeous.

You catch him staring as you’re clipping in a pair of earrings. “What? Too much?”

He scoffs as he sneakily checks you out a second time. “Nah, you look great.”

You smile and wink at him. “Thanks, Kat. Right back at ya.”

“If some slimy fucker creeps on you, I’ll punch his lights out.”

You can’t help but snort as his comment.

The outfit you chose to wear fit the scene of the band you were seeing, one of your favorite metal bands that you two would listen to back in high school. It wasn’t too over the top, at least you didn’t think so. An all black ensemble - a thin long sleeve mesh top under your band t-shirt, tucked lazily into a pleather mini-skirt and a pair of tinted sheer tights hugging your legs. Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few stray pieces of hair framing your face alongside your bangs.

Bakugo wasn’t as dressed up as you were, donning a simple grey t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and black boots. A stack of his favorite bracelets hung on his wrist and a pair of black studs adorned his ears.

“Figure out where you wanna eat?” you ask as you’re looking for your boots in the hallway closet.

“The curry place by the station. We can hop on the train into the city afterwards.”

Boots in hand, you return to the living in room and plop next to him on the couch.

“Those things could squash a damn kid,” Bakugo jokes, pointing to the platforms of your boots as you’re lacing them on your feet.

“They’re literally the same kind you wear on patrol!”

“And you’re still shorter than me with those fuckers on.”

You punch him in the arm, maybe a little too hard, to be playful. “I don’t need to be your height to kick your ass!”

“Ow, shit! Watch it, those hands are fuckin’ deadly!” he scolds, rubbing the reddening mark on his bicep.

“My bad,” you chuckle, patting him on the shoulder as an apology. “Let’s get outta here.”

-

“Hand it over,” Bakugo orders as you pick up the check from the table, flexing his palm toward you.

“Huh? I told you -,” you start to remind him until he cuts you off mid-explanation.

“Just ‘cause I heard ya doesn’t mean shit. Give it.” He snatches the paper and booklet with one hand while fishing his wallet out of his pocket with the other. “Stop bein’ a brat and let me pay for your damn dinner.”

“I’m not being a brat! I was just trying to treat you to dinner for once,” you say defensively.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I let you buy the tickets.”

Bakugo consistently paid whenever the two of you would grab food. It didn’t matter what it was - coffee before work, snacks from the convenience store, lunch outings, dinners in the city - he’d shove you aside and take your card, or be the one to order so you don’t have the chance to hand your card over. The few times you did get to pay for him, he immediately sent you the money back. It’s been a consistent staple in your friendship since Junior year of high school.

While leaving the curry shop, you see the train approaching at the station.

“Shit, Kat. That’s the train we need to catch to make it on time!” you utter in a panic as you grab his wrist. “C’mon!”

_

You arrive at the venue an hour before the show starts, giving you both enough time to get inside, grab drinks and find a perfect spot as planned.

Once inside, the two of you make your way over to the bar while the crowd was light.

“Are you at least gonna let me buy you a drink?” You tease, elbowing Bakugo in the arm.

He sighs dramatically, the tell-tale sign that he’s no longer going to fight you on it. “You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous.”

Beers in hand, you both head to the general admission area of the venue and situate yourselves near the back - not too squished between loads of people but close enough to see the stage.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” you beam, leaning against him as a token of thanks.

He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “Of course. Woulda been mad if ya didn’t ask me to come see the band we had on repeat together through all those study sessions and sparring matches.”

The lights begin to dim and the crowd cheers as the band takes the stage. He lets you take a step back and shift next to him, but keeps his arm around your shoulder. The two of you cheer in unison and hold up your beers for the band as they set up for their first song.

_

The show has been a goddamn blast! The two of you have been singing and dancing together the whole time, screaming every single lyric. Bakugo loves watching you throw your hands up and yell along with the crowd, having the time of your life and not letting anyone get in your way. It’s infectious - his grin not wavering the entire show.

“We have one more song for the night!” The lead singer announces into the mic. “It’s a special one - thanks for coming out!”

The song they begin to play is one of their slower numbers, one that you know Bakugo adored. You watched as his eyes lit up under the spotlights, taking in the moment as the band progressed through the song. You loop your arm with his, rocking back and forth in unison with the rest of the crowd.

Bakugo removes his arm from your hold to spin you around to face him, pulling you close and holding you to his chest. He gently sways with you in his arms as you embrace him, mimicking a slow dance. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his chest alongside the subtle vibrations of him humming to the song. Your eyes flutter closed, absorbing every ounce of love in this moment between the two of you. His hold encased you in a sense of security that you didn’t find with anyone else.

Once the song ends, the band is saying their goodbyes to the crowd as he releases his hold on you.

“I didn’t think they were gonna play that tonight,” you say, smiling up at him. “Guess we gotta buy t-shirts now!”

Bakugo laughs, shaking his head. “Matching ones?”

“It’s either that or we buy one and I constantly steal it from you.”

We?

Bakugo smirked at the suggestion.

“You steal my shit all the time, ya brat,” he teases, pinching your cheek. “I’ll buy two. Which one do y’want?”

“You pick, you have better taste than I do. I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we head out,” you say as you pat him on the shoulder before skipping off to the bathroom. He heads over to the merch table to stand in line for your t-shirts.

It’s been a good 20 minutes since you wandered off. Bakugo meanders over to the bathrooms, the t-shirts he bought for you both draped over his shoulder. He’s poking around, searching for you in the crowd as he spots your ponytail in a sea of others.

You’re talking with some guy that he doesn’t recognize. The guy slithers into your personal bubble as Bakugo stalks up behind you.

“C’mon doll, you’re fine as hell. Don't you -"

"Beat it, jackass. She's obviously not interested," Bakugo interrupts, stepping to your side.

He scoffs and takes a step back from you. "And who the hell are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now fuck off."

Your cheeks flare at his comment - did he mean that? Or was that just to get this guy off your back?

You turn to leave as the guy slaps your ass - hard. "Have fun with this loser."

Bakugo doesn't even have time to react before your fist crashes into this guy's jaw, clocking him so hard that he stumbles to the floor. The commotion causes one of the security guards to scurry in your direction, beckoning for you to come over to him.

"Shit, we gotta go!" you yell, interlocking your fingers with Bakugo's as you bolt through the crowd and away from the guard before getting caught.

The two of you manage to escape, rushing out of the venue's exit door and into the busy Shibuya streets. You don't stop running until you round a corner and duck into an alley way, hiding from any potential security that could have tailed you and letting go of his hand.

Out of breath, you lean on to the wall and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"S-shit, sorry Kat, didn't mean to thrash you around like that."

He takes a second before deciding to box you up against the wall with his frame, catching you off guard. "I'm not complain'."

"Boyfriend, huh? Was that your way of asking me out?" you joke, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt.

Bakugo snickers as he's shutting his eyes, lowering his face to level with your own before your lips meet. The kiss is brief, but enough to get his point across.

"I bought matching band shirts with ya, who the fuck else would I do that shit with?"

You giggle, pulling him back in for another kiss - longer and sweeter than the previous one.

This isn't where you thought the night would end, but you're over the moon.

bakugo just couldn't resist confessing after watching you beat some dude's ass in one punch ;)

Divider by : @/saradika

[hughjackmansbicep]

Delicate

a/n: hi friends!!!! im hoping to make this into a multi part series, got lots planned for this mini fic :))))) this is kind of the prolouge to the real deal, needed to get the setup for it started before we divulge. expect lots of twists n turns my friends!

Pairing: Logan Howlett X F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: uhhhhh none lol

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: The government has successfully began the eradication of all mutant species in the United States. Lucky for you your dad has taken careful precautions to protect you from the evil that lurks in the streets outside. Tucked away in a concealed basement you sat and rotted away clinging to your old life and dreams. What happens when one day you've got a severe hankering for some ice cream and he ran out of beer the same night? Both finding yourselves in the right place at the right time.

The world as you knew it was slowly coming to an end. Mutants everywhere were dropping like flies after the government slowly started poisoning everyone's food. Unless you were an off-grid loner living off the land, you succumbed to the same fate as everyone else, 6 feet under. Lucky enough for you, your father kept you pretty sheltered. Tucked away in your fully renovated basement, the world is ignorant of your existence. It was safer this way; I mean, sure, you missed going out to bars and seeing your friends; hell, you even missed those 8 a.m. bio classes you used to take. But this was safer; at least that's what your father always preached. “It’s safer down here, away from all those evil people.” He'd remind you every day, “You're to never leave my site, kiddo, and never step outside those doors.” Not like you could anyways, while your mutation allowed you to control the atoms around you and morph them into anything your heart desired, you had one weakness, adamantium. Your house was coated in it; every doorknob, lock, and even the goddamn windows were coated in the shit. 

It was 3:00am, no one was home, and you found yourself craving ice cream. It wasn't uncommon for your dad to leave you to your own vices. He still had a job he'd have to attend to, and that more often than not led you to solidarity on his trips. And here you were in the middle of the night, the light from the fridge illuminating the dimly lit kitchen, tearing your freezer apart hoping to magically find a pint of Ben and Jerry’s buried deep in the frost. You groan, sinking down to your knees, met with disappointment and an ever-growing craving for the sweet, delicious taste of The Tonight Dough. Sure, you could've totally put in an Uber Eats order, but where would the fun in that be? You stood in front of the adamantium-cladded door, using all your strength to melt it to the ground, but to no avail. The only thing between you and your Jimmy Fallon-adorned ice cream was some space metal, and to hell if your dad really thinks that's going to curve the urge.

For the next hour, you ran around the house like a lunatic looking for a weak point. Maybe your father missed just one spot—one tiny spot in this prison he calls a home. A small hole fit for the size of a mouse teased you. Sure, you control all the atoms around you but your own? You'd never even attempted to entertain that idea, although the worst that could happen is you turn your body into a permanent pile of slop. That didn't sound too terrible when compared to being a basement dweller for the last 7 years. And it turns out it wasn't as bad as you'd thought; you melted your body down into a pile of liquid, slithering your way through the walls of your house before you were spit out from a hole in the bricks. The air on your skin cascaded goosebumps along your body; you honestly couldn't remember the last time you felt wind grace your skin or the sun illuminating off your shoulders. 

You skipped happily toward the corner store, taking in every sound around you. The sound your feet made when they hit the pavement, the distant chatter of the locals crowding down the sidewalks, even the obnoxious sound of a car horn brought a smile to your face. You finally understood the saying, ‘the city that never sleeps.’ You reached the corner store, swinging the door open and prancing inside as if it were Disney World. Your happy fantasy faded as the man behind the register yelled at you to put some shoes on before walking into his store. You looked down, wiggling your free toes, with all the excitement of liquifying yourself to get a taste of the outside world, common societal rules had slipped your mind. “I um.. Just came to grab a pint of ice cream; I’ll be really quick, I promise.” You pleaded sheepishly, offering him a quick smile to butter him up a bit. He simply rolled his eyes in disgust and turned his back to you, mumbling something under his breath.

You made your way around the convenience store towards the dairy section when something, or rather someone, caught your attention. He looked tall, and even with a leather jacket on, you could tell he was huge. He had some silly-looking facial hair and even sillier-looking cat-ear-like hair, but man, he still looked good. Your eyes slowly traveled down his arms to his pants. Cute butt, you thought to yourself. He stifled a laugh before turning in your direction and saying, “Thank you.” He grumbled, turning back towards the beer cooler. “What?” You ask, heat rising to your cheeks once you realize you'd accidentally said that out loud. He didn't acknowledge you, just went back to scanning the cooler. You took that as a hint to keep moving, finally landing in front of the ice cream section and grabbing the last pint of your favorite ice cream. Carefully looking around to make sure nobody was watching you, you pulled the lid off and used your mutation to pull out all the atoms belonging to the anti-mutant poisons that were mixed in with the delicious sweet treat. Floating above the ice cream, you cautiously manipulated them into a different container of food and made your way back towards the front. What you didn't know was that the unfortunate corner store owner had been watching your freak act on the CCTV cameras the whole time.

Turning around one of the aisles, you had spotted two men in suits talking to the man upfront. You couldn't make out what was being said as they whispered, but watching him point to you using your mutation on the TV screen explained enough to you. You backed up slowly, trying to even your breaths out before you had a panic attack. You felt someone grab your shoulder, spinning you around into them. It was Mr. Cute Butt; he must be working with those suited men too. Your eyes go wide as you focus all your energy on him. You were attempting to melt him, freeing yourself from his grasp, but it wasn't working for some reason. He just stared at your brows laced together, trying to figure out what in the fuck were you doing. “You're going to shit yourself if you keep straining like that.” He whispered a low chuckle, following after.

You froze, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. “Please don't hurt me; I just wanted some ice cream. Please i'll leave right now, sir.” You rushed out searching his face for sympathy or remorse something in hopes he'd release his grasp on you. He looked confused at what you were saying to him as if you were speaking some foreign language, but that didn't last long once you two heard footsteps approaching you. “C’mon kid.” He grumbled out, dragging you by your arm, ducking in between the small isles towards the exit. “They're over here!” The man upfront yelled, and the mystery man beside you just groaned before scooping you up into his arms and rushing you out of the store. You both quickly fell into the crowd, blending into the sea of people that populated the streets of New York. As soon as you two were outside, he'd set you on your feet, his arm still gripping your wrist, dragging you through the city with him.

“I need to go home, sir; please don't hurt me. I'm so sorry.” You cried, tears adorning your cheeks as you pleaded with him; if your father knew what was transpiring at this very moment, you'd be toast. Absolutely never allowed outside your basement ever again; you could kiss the sun goodbye because you'll probably never see it again once he gets home. He ignored your pleas though as he pushed through the crowds to a parked motorcycle on the road. “Oh no, I am not getting on that thing.” You halted your movements, digging your heels into the ground. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.” He laughed at you dryly hopping onto the bike, “They'll find you eventually.” He kicked the stand up, revving the bike on. You looked through the crowd behind you, worry etching onto your face. Maybe he's right; maybe I should hop on that bike and ride it into the sunset with this beautiful specimen, or he's no better than those suited men and could ultimately be leading me to my death. “Just get on the fucking bike.” He growled at the sound of sirens roaring closer to you two.

Begrudgingly, you hopped onto the back of the bike, plopping the helmet latched behind you on your head. At this rate, your sure your dad is going to skin you alive and hang you up to dry. “Hang on tight, princess.” He turned around to smirk at you. You snaked your hands around his torso, and he took off, the force causing your face to smash into his back and your grip on him tightening. You were sure if you had been gifted some form of super strength, you would've popped his torso clean off his legs with how tight you were squeezing him. You attempted to give him directions back to your house, but he couldn't hear you and kept heading in the opposite direction. He totally could hear you too, but he was ignoring your requests to return you home.

The quick 15-minute drive felt like an eternity with how utterly petrified you were. Matter of fact, you were so scared, eyes clenched shut, arms squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs, you hadn't even noticed that you'd arrived at your mystery destination. He pried your arms off him, causing you to open your eyes; you were in complete shock. A gorgeous castle-like building stood before you, surrounded by trees, and a long gravel driveway trailed in front of it. A voice broke you from your thoughts, but this sound didn't come from the man sitting in front of you; no, it appeared like it came straight from inside your head. 'Logan, would you please introduce me to your new friend? The voice sang through you, your head whipping around frantically to find the owner of these words. “C’mon, I got someone for you to meet.” The man in front of you finally spoke, helping you off the bike and placing the helmet back in its spot on the rear. He guided you through the mansion all the way to the back, stopping at two huge double wooden doors.

“Come in, please.” Rang the same voice you heard earlier, the double doors slowly opening before you to reveal a small, bald man sitting in a chair. “And who might this be, Logan?” He questioned, looking towards the big man next to you. Logan, huh, you thought to yourself, cute name and a cute butt. Logan awkwardly shifted beside you, the bald man sending a booming laugh throughout the room. “Oh my God.. Did I say that out loud?” You whispered heat rising to your cheeks once again. Ignoring you, Logan started explaining to the bald guy, whose name you quickly learned was Charles, what happened earlier. Logan had seen what you were doing in that small store—how you made some substance float out of the ice cream and back into another pint. He assumed you were attempting to do something similar to that when he had grabbed you, and you began shaking like a Chihuahua, yet all you could think about during their discussion of the previous events was how you never got to eat the ice cream you risked your whole life for. “So,” Charles spoke, directing his attention to you. “What can you do exactly? What were you doing with that ice cream?” He hummed his eyes, raking you up and down, studying all your features. hoping they might tell him about who you are.

You were fairly normal-looking; I mean, to the average human eye, they couldn't tell you apart from another human. You felt like a deer in headlights right now, though; you'd never been asked or questioned about your mutation. You never dared to speak about it aloud; hell, your dad wouldn't even let you use your powers ever; it's like he was ashamed of you. “I can... manipulate things, i guess.” You spoke quietly; it felt taboo to you to speak about this, like this was some intimate, inappropriate topic to discuss. “And what do you mean by that?” He mused, deeply interested in your mystery. “I’m not exactly sure, sir. I just know I can do this.” You focus your eyes on the pen sat upon his desk, watching it quickly fall into a liquid puddle. “Fascinating.” Charles smiled up at you, “Can you change it back?” You trained your eyes down on the mess you created, quickly blinking as it slowly morphed back into its original shape of a pen.

Charles laughed in amusement before clasping his hands together. “We have much to discuss, little one, but for now Logan will show you to a room you can rest in. We'll talk more tomorrow.” He nodded at you before Logan had turned around out the door. You took this as your sign to follow, doors shutting behind you both. He guided you up the stairs, stopping at a random white door and handing over a towel and toothbrush he'd picked up on the way to your room. “Just try and get some sleep.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “I’m just up the hall if you need anything, i guess.” He nodded his head in the direction of his door. You just smiled, turning around into your room and softly closing your door. 

You had no clue where the fuck you were or what these strange men were planning to do with you. You've heard the horror stories from your dad about how the government would poke and prod you if anyone knew what you could do. you'd be a test subject for rich white males to toy and play with. You'd set the towel and toothbrush down on a chair in the room you were assigned and slowly stalked your way to the bed. As you crawled into bed attempting to get some shut eye all that you could think to yourself was, "Man my dad is soo going to fucking kill me when he finds me."

[population9973]

secret - luke danes

luke danes x fem!reader

summary: lorelai oversteps and luke reveals your relationship

warnings: secret relationship, reader is younger than luke but no specific age is given, tiny bit of angst perhaps?

word count: 1.4k

“coffee?” luke asked, and you pushed your mug towards him with a smile.

“thanks.”

you were sitting at a table at luke’s diner when you overheard lorelai and rory talking about him,

the man oblivious as he went to fetch their order.

“do you think he’s dated anyone since rachel? lorelai said to her daughter in a hushed voice.

“I don’t know,” rory shrugged. “where would he meet anyone? he’s either here or in his apartment.”

“maybe he has a secret life. maybe he’s got a little chippy stowed away in mount pilot,” lorelai suggested, and rory laughed through her nose. “well we’ll know eventually.”

“i think he’s a bachelor for life.”

“and i think there’s someone for everyone,” the younger gilmore disagreed, before they began talking about music.

you tuned out the rest of their conversation, as it no longer pertained to your boyfriend. you and luke had been dating for about three months, and by some miracle had managed to keep it a secret; not an easy task in stars hollow. you couldn’t change the channel on the television in this town without someone finding out about it.

you were keeping the relationship hidden while it was new, since you were new to town and you were also a bit younger than luke. you had only moved here a little under six months ago; you didn’t need the added attention of a relationship while you were still settling into town, and luke respected that.

once the gilmore girls left, you went over to the counter to get another coffee to go, and luke smiled as he turned around and noticed it was you.

“hey, another coffee?” he asked.

“to go please,” you nodded, and he handed it to you, exchanging it for the mug you’d had. “call me later?” you whispered, though the diner was pretty empty, and he nodded, before you walked out of the store.

•

it was a few days later, and you were walking into the diner to grab a bite to eat. you put your headphones on but didn’t turn on your walkman so you could still hear as you walked inside and sat in the corner, luke holding up a finger to let you know he would be with you in a minute. you heard the door open and watched lorelai walk in and sit at the counter across from luke. you felt guilty for eavesdropping, but soon realized what the conversation was about and decided it did (slightly) pertain to you.

“hey, good party yesterday,” he greeted her, and you remembered him mentioning last night that he’d gone to help her fix something at a party her club was hosting.

“yeah, not bad”, she agreed with a smile.

“i like the new look it was very high class substitute teacher.”

“exactly what i was going for.”

“coffee?” he asked.

“oh, to go,” she answered, and luke switched the mug he’d placed in front of her for a paper cup. “hey luke, i feel a little weird even mentioning this to you-“ she began.

“what?”

“well yesterday i saw you talking to ava you know she’s in my booster club?”

“yeah i know who she is,” he replied, and you wondered what she was getting at.

“so anyhow, i saw you guys talking alone and it seemed kind of private and she mentioned earlier that you didn’t make her you know - gag,” she emphasized the word before continuing. “so I just figured you guys were making some sort of plans to hang out and see the thing is i just think it would be a little weird if you started dating a chilton mom.” you sat dumbfounded on the other side of the diner and luke raised his eyebrows slightly as she rambled on. “i know i have no right to say anything to you, but it’s just if you did date her - well i’m in the booster club with her which means i’ll hear things and i don’t know it’s just- i’d like to keep that chilton life separate from my stars hollow life so if there’s anyway that you could not date her, that would be really great,” she finished with a smile and a tap of her fingers on the counter top.

you sat in disbelief in your seat, still not daring to look their way as you wondered if it might have been better to not listen to the conversation after all.

“boy i tell you, you’ve got nerve,” he replied, sounding less than impressed with her speech.

“okay, uh w-“ she stuttered. “well i know this is your private business-“

“it is my private business.”

“you don’t see any validity to my side at all?” she asked.

“i am a grown man. you cannot tell me who to date to date,” he insisted.

“i’m not telling you who to date, i’m telling you who not to date,” she argued.

“you can’t tell me that either!”

“look-“ she began but he interrupted her.

“i will date who i like and if that screws with your plans, then i’m sorry - and if you don’t wanna hear things then don’t listen.”

“but-“

“if you don’t like it, you can just deal with it!” he said, and you weren’t sure you had ever heard him use that tone before.

“okay! i’ll just deal with it!,” she replied.

“good.”

“i just thought that if something was going to affect our friendship in some way that you might care about that because if the situation was reversed then i would care about that but that’s me! so go ahead date her!” she said, standing up, obviously offended. “marry her! make her mrs.backwards baseball cap - live happily ever after. see if i care!” lorelai flapped her arm around as she began walking out of the diner. “and by the way, I wasn’t asking her out,” luke informed her. “i was giving her directions for the quickest way back to hartford. it was very romantic. i said you take a right at deerfield and you catch the I-5 and you take it south. oh man, hot stuff!” he explained.

“that is so typical of you!”

“what?” he said, and you could recognize by his voice that he was rolling his eyes.

“that is not the quickest way back to hartford. everybody knows that you take main to cherry to linwood and then grab the 11. everybody knows that luke - everybody apparently but you!” she said, and her voice wavered as if she was getting emotional.

“and just for the record, not that it’s any of your business at all, i’m seeing someone. don’t worry she’s not one of the snobs in your chilton club so you won’t have to hear about it!”

you were glad you didn’t have a coffee yet or you probably would spat it out in surprise, and you wished more than anything that you had been able to see the look or lorelais face. you had nothing against her, but you did agree she had severely overstepped here.

“well that’s great! i’m so happy for you!” she spat angrily, and stormed out of the diner. thankfully there hadn’t been many people inside eating to hear the conversation, or luke’s confession of having a girlfriend. you decided you weren’t as concerned with people finding out anymore. you were happy with luke and that’s what was most important.

“hey,” luke greeted quietly as he appeared next to your table with a mug and coffee pot.

“hey,” you smiled up at him.

“how much did you hear?” he asked sheepishly, pouring you drink.

“all of it,” you admitted. “i’m sorry.”

“you don’t have to apologize. i’m sorry i told her without asking i just-“

“hey,” you put your hand on his softly. “i’m not mad. i guess the cats kinda out of the bag though.”

“no one knows it’s you,” he pointed out.

“it’s a small town - how long do you think it’ll take them to figure it out?” you laughed.

“yeah i guess so.”

“so, this chilton mom-“ you teased.

“don’t start,” he rolled his eyes, but smiled. “you’re really okay with people knowing about us?” he asked, and you nodded.

“yeah, i am,” you decided. “are you?”

“yeah, i guess i am,” he agreed, and you smiled.

“good.”

“good,” you beamed, and luke walked back behind the counter. you thought he had gone back to work, but he returned with another mug of coffee and sat down across from you.

“mind if i join you?” he teased, and you were surprised.

“are you…taking a break?”

“yeah,” he agreed.

“you? luke danes? are taking a break-“

“shut up before i change my mind?” he said playfully and you smiled, sipping your coffee.

“deal.”

[firehose118]

They’re in the back seat of the engine on the way back from a call. Buck has been glued to his phone the whole drive, blushing and smiling like a teenager with a crush.

Buck laughs out loud at something Tommy says and Chimney has finally had enough. “Come on, Buck, if I knew I was gonna have to deal with watching this all day I never would’ve saved Tommy’s life when I first started here. Put the phone down, man.”

Hen tuts at him. “Come on, Chim, let the boy enjoy his queer puberty. It’s actually kind of sweet.”

“You saved Tommy’s life?” Buck asks, his eyes wide and concerned. He’s still texting without looking at his phone.

Chim sighs. “Yeah, he never told you about that?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, he uh. He doesn’t like to talk about his time at the 118. Says he still feels bad about the way he acted back then.”

“Well he’s not wrong about that. We forgave him a long time ago but he’s come a long, long way from the Tommy Kinard we knew back then.” Chim says. Buck looks at him expectantly so he keeps going. “But yeah, a few months into the job I was finally allowed to go out on calls. There was one fairly early on that had all the signs of a gas leak but Captain Gerrard refused to believe it. Tommy was passed out inside so I ran into the store and carried him out just as the building exploded. That’s when he decided to be nicer to me. Not nice, but nicer.”

“Oh,” Buck says. And then he flares his nostrils and turns back to his phone, fingers flying furiously.

“Are you- are you berating him for having his life saved?” Hen laughs.

“No,” Buck says, annoyed. “I’m berating him because I’ve told him about every time I’ve almost died and he never once mentioned that my brother-in-law saved his life. Seems like a pretty big thing to leave out!”

Eddie laughs at that. “Maybe he didn’t want to compare his trauma to yours. Maybe he wanted you to have your space to talk about it without changing the subject to himself. Seems pretty mature, actually.”

Buck thinks about that for a second and then starts backspacing. “That’s actually really nice of him.” A wide puppy love smile washes over his face. “Fuck, he’s so good to me.” He starts typing faster again.

Chim groans. This is gonna be a long drive.

It is, but then it ends. They get back to the firehouse and start removing their turnouts. Buck corners Chimney before he can rejoin the group.

“Hey, uh. I-I should’ve said this earlier but, um. Thank you. For saving Tommy.” Buck wraps himself around Chim in a goofy but sincere hug.

Chim lets out an oof but hugs him back. “Of course. We are in the life saving business, after all.”

“I know,” Buck says, his voice thick. He squeezes Chim just a little harder. “I’ve just- I’ve never been this happy before. I’ve never felt so comfortable in my own skin. It’s not all Tommy, but he’s a big part of it. I think that navigating my bisexuality would’ve been a lot harder without him. If I’d ever even managed to figure it out without him kissing some sense into me, I mean. To think that I could have never had this, that he could’ve died and been such a minor footnote in your life is just…” Buck shudders against him. “So thank you. Thank you for giving me this.”

Chim is unexpectedly moved. Buck frustrates him, sure, but he loves him like a brother. “I’m glad you’re happy, Buck. I’m glad I could play some small role in that. You know I feel the same way about Maddie, right?”

“Ew, don’t talk about my sister,” Buck jokes, but his voice is still thick. It sounds like he’s trying not to cry.

Chim laughs. “I think it’s only fair.”

“Yeah, alright,” Buck chuckles. He finally lets Chim out of their hug but he keeps a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye. “Seriously, though. Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better brother-in-law.”

“Neither could I, man.” Chim points his thumb upstairs. “Lunch?”

Buck nods. They walk up the stairs and join the rest of their work family, grateful that the 118 has become a place they can call home.

[ao3]

[ms-demeanor]

You seem like a good sort of person to ask; how does one go about building up a good spice rack? Not only just having the spices, but knowing what they are and how to use them, when and in what quantities, and developing a wider spice palette in general? I grew up in white suburbia and my mother has no idea how to use anything other than salt and ground black pepper, and I want to start making my foods more flavorful. I am tired of utterly flavorless dry roast pork! But I have no idea where to begin lol.

I'd say to start by trying a lot of foods that use a lot of different spice profiles and seeing what you like. If you like Thai food, look into Thai spices and try cooking a few recipes. If you like Indian food, try Indian recipes. If you don't know if you like a particular kind of food, go out and try it and see if you do.

I think the best way to build up your spice rack is to do so slowly over time as you familiarize yourself with different flavors. Don't go out and buy a ton of stuff, go out and buy cumin and make a rice recipe that calls for cumin and see if you like it, then next time maybe add another spice like cayenne pepper to the recipe and see if you like it.

Spices can be really expensive, but they can also be really cheap if you're looking in the right places. Try to avoid the shiny organic spice jars, and see if there are packets of spices in the various "ethnic" food sections of your grocery store (in California it's pretty common to have a Mexican food section and an Asian food section in the store and you'll often find stuff like a packet of cumin for 70 cents that's got the same amount of spice as the organic jar that costs five bucks in the spice aisle).

Once you've got some basics down, start branching out and seeing if you've got any good markets nearby that have more unusual spices. Large Bastard and I get most of our bulk spices from a Middle Eastern market around the corner from our house or at an Indian market a few miles away because it's WAY cheaper to get allspice or turmeric or garam masala from those stores than it would be from the grocery store.

And if you're starting at the basic-basics, like how to season a simple pork roast, check recipe blogs. Find different bloggers and test their recipes until you find someone you trust, then follow their recipes. One good place to start is with Chef John and Food Wishes - he has a wide variety of cuisines that use a lot of different spices and has recipes that range from very simple to very complex.

Large Bastard really likes Food Wishes and trying recipes from Chef John - he cooks less than I do and has less of a sense of what to add to a pot to get something to taste the way he wants it to, but he's gotten very good at taking Food Wishes recipes and tweaking them or adjusting them and figuring out how to mix and match flavors.

Just cooking - finding a recipe that looks interesting and following it - is a really good way to get better at this kind of thing.

That's actually one of the reasons that I think meal kit boxes like blue apron can be worth it for people who want to learn how to cook - they give you recipes you wouldn't have thought to look for and provide small amounts of the required ingredients so you can sample them and figure out if you like them. My dad and sister got blue apron for like two years and it has significantly improved their cooking skills and ability to mix and match flavors.

It just takes time and money and trial and error. Easy, right? (It isn't, but there's also no way to make it faster other than doing more experiments. Thankfully there are ways to make it cheaper, and yeah looking at local specialty markets is a good way to save on spices)

[magiccath]

A Mind Full of Blissful Terrors

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which the Doctor and reader investigate a strange spaceship

CW: horror elements, body gore, and one singular f-bomb

Word count: 7.4k

A/N: many, many drafts, and too many months later, I have finally finished this one. I really hope you guys like it.

You bounced into the TARDIS control room, more than excited for your next adventure with the Doctor. He could take you to a grocery store and you would probably enjoy it. 

“Where to today?” You asked with a smile. 

“I was thinking someplace relaxing, we’ve been running for the past couple of days,” the Doctor suggested, looking at you for approval. 

“Yes please!” you groaned, tilting your head back. 

The Doctor smiled to himself, pleased at his own ability to know when you needed a break. 

“Maybe we could head to Italy for some of that pasta you love?” he suggested, leaning back against the console. 

“I would love some pasta!” you cheered, moving over to him. The Doctor smiled at you, the kind of smile that overtook his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his eyebrows angled slightly upwards. 

“Allons-y!” He cheered, turning back towards the console. He started messing with it, flipping switches and pressing buttons. He did it all too fast for you to make sense of it. He was about ready to lift off when it started.

The TARDIS was beeping. The kind of sound a car makes when you forget to put your seatbelt on. The only issue was, the TARDIS doesn’t have seatbelts. You didn’t know the ship as well as he did, but you did know it wasn’t a normal sound. 

You looked about in confusion before shouting his name over the incessant noise. 

He looked back at you, just as confused as you were. That didn’t bode well with you.

The ship lurched forward aggressively, sending you tumbling across the room. You crashed into the railing, the impact making you wince. The Doctor stumbled too, tripping over himself in the process and crashing to the floor. 

“What happened to Italy?” You yelled, frustrated. You had flown to Italy before, and it was never this bumpy. 

“It’s not me!” The Doctor protested, getting up from the floor where he had landed. The ship rocked again, almost sending him back down. 

“Can you stop it?” 

“I’m not quite sure,” he grumbled, rushing about pressing buttons and pulling levers, all the while trying not to fall again. Unfortunately for him, centuries of experience meant little when your ship had a mind of its own. 

You gripped the railing for dear life, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes it would just stop.

“It’s a distress signal,” he explained after a while, squinting at the screen in front of him. 

“What?” You opened your eyes. It didn’t sound like a distress signal to you.

“Someone has patched through a distress signal, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he said, clutching the computer screen in front of him. 

You let out an exasperated sigh, letting go of the railing. This wasn’t entirely unusual. The TARDIS had a habit of hijacking your trips and taking you places you didn’t really want to be. It was no surprise that your vacation was being postponed by some “distress call.”

The ship landed with its signature thump, the impact sending you stumbling again, this time into the console. You quickly regained your balance, running your hands through your hair anxiously.

You could be anywhere just about now, and the thought made you slightly uneasy. The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed more than excited for the adventure at hand. He rushed to the door, eagerly throwing them open with reckless abandon. Warily, you followed him. 

You didn’t know what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it. 

Before you was a seemingly endless hallway. There were no windows, only large expanses of steel paneled walls. There was an incessant beeping in the distance, but you couldn’t pinpoint the sound. It was hard to see too far in front of you, the hallway was completely dark. 

The Doctor rummaged around in his coat pocket, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and a small flashlight. He handed the latter to you and started off down the hall without explanation. You had no choice but to switch the light on and run after him. 

He walked around with curiosity, his eyebrows furrowed. You walked slowly behind him taking in the ominous surroundings. He led the way with his screwdriver, scanning just about everything. He stopped every down and then to frown at the readings.

The beam of your flashlight was small, leaving you mostly in the dark. From what you could see, the hallway was a mess. Rubbish lined the floor; empty food packets, ripped fabric, and various pieces of plastic and metal. You were sure you saw a few bones, but you scuttled away anxiously before continuing.

Distracted from your own surveillance, you walked straight into the Doctor’s back. 

“Sorry,” you winced. He shook his head, unbothered by the disturbance. 

“It doesn't make sense,” he mumbled to himself, continuing down the hallway. He didn’t say it with his usual childish enthusiasm, rather, he seemed to be harboring thinly veiled anxiety.

You sulked after him, the floors creaking incessantly underneath your feet. 

You continued to scan your surroundings. The ceiling was lined with large vents, a few of which were damaged. You didn’t get a solid look, but the hissing coming from them led you to believe they were air vents. Perhaps you were on a space base? Or, a ship?

“Doctor?” you whispered, an unease spreading through you. You couldn’t explain it, but something felt off.

“This way,” he instructed, tilting his head away from the noise. He could get like this. Distracted. In the moment, whatever danger lurked around the corner was paramount to everything else. 

An uneasy feeling that you were being followed crept up on you. You picked up your pace, practically running to catch up with the Doctor. Every now and then you would cast your gaze backward, nervously searching for the presence you sensed. You could have sworn you were seeing shadows, looming forms that sulked after you. It was likely just your brain playing tricks on you, right?

You still used your light to survey the hallways behind the Doctor. For the most part, you were just encountering various forms of rubbish. That was until you stumbled across a body. You gasped, jumping back from it. Your shoes left bloody tracks from the puddles of blood surrounding the corpse.

“What is it?” The Doctor asked worriedly, by your side in an instant. You pointed at the body in front of you, your eyes unable to move away from it. 

The sight was far from pretty. The person was a member of the ship’s crew, their work suit featuring a name patch and company logo. The Doctor moved closer, examining the branding. You scanned the name tag, unsure if knowing the identity of the deceased would make it better or worse. As much as you didn’t want to look at their face, it was hard not to. It was entirely blown open, the skull in cracked fragments from the damage. The flesh on the right side of the face peeled back, blooming like a fungus. On the other side, an eyeball hung from its socket, the optic nerve stopping it from falling to the ground. 

It was the kind of grotesque death that stuck with you, that popped up in your nightmares for months after seeing it. 

“There's not anything we can do for him,” The Doctor said, his voice close to your ear. You jumped, unaware that he had moved back to your side. You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away from the dead body. 

The Doctor offered his hand to you solemnly. You took it, clutching onto it like a tether. Maybe if you squeezed his hand tight enough you could forget that there was a dead body a few meters away from you. 

You stopped looking closely at the ship after that, focusing mostly on what was directly in front of you. If you investigated, you might risk finding more horrors. The Doctor didn’t seem any more comfortable than you, but he continued his scanning and searching of the hallways. 

As you reached the end of a corridor, you stopped with a sudden gasp. The Doctor whipped his head around, terrified that you had found something gruesome again. He relaxed when he saw where your eyes were trained. 

Before you stood a beautiful expanse of space, planets, and stars floating all around. A messy watercolor of shapes and colors, all colliding to create a perfect masterpiece. You had seen some of the masters at work, even posed for a painting with Leonardo Da Vinci. The most famous paintings didn’t compare to the sight in front of you. It was stunning. No, it was more than that.

“Wow,” you breathed, marveling at the sight before you. You could see a hundred galaxies and still find them mesmerizing. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. 

“Spaceship then?” you deduced, looking back at the Doctor. He nodded, his eyes already trained on you. A sky full of stars, and he was looking at you. 

“Suppose we should figure out where the crew is?” you suggested, trying to be of help.

“Right,” He said, his smile fading. “Where is the crew? A ship has got to have a crew, doesn't it?” 

You nodded solemnly as you followed him. Even if he didn't seem too keen on it, he was still going to investigate. 

He mumbled to himself as he walked, trying to work it all out in his head. He did this a lot, it was his way of thinking. Sometimes, he expected you to listen, but most of the time he was just lost in his own world. 

You approached an intersection and cleared your throat, pulling his attention back to you.

To the right was a hallway like all of the ones you had walked down before. Dark, ominous, and probably housing more dead bodies. You didn’t really want to investigate and find out.

To the left was a similarly eerie hallway, but you could make out a flashing red light at the end of it. The beeping alarm appeared to be coming from that direction as well. You pointed in that direction, surmising that you should go in that direction. 

“Oh, yes, we should probably go that way,” he agreed, but he didn’t move. 

“Doctor?” You asked, looking at him with concern. You offered your hand, trying to replicate the sense of comfort and unity that he had provided for you earlier. 

He smiled, still not his usual happy smile, and took your hand gently. He didn’t squeeze like you did, but you knew he still viewed the hand-holding as a tether. 

“Dark, scary, abandoned spaceship that makes weird noises,” the Doctor recapped as the two of you moved down the hallway. 

“What could go wrong?” you winced. 

The Doctor grimaced, “Don’t say that.” 

A thick, steel door loomed in front of you, bright red lights flashing from the other side. You weren’t quite sure if you were prepared for what lay beyond it. 

Without hesitation, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver to unlock the door. It looked like he was sticking to his usual MO: act first, think later. 

Hesitantly, you slipped in the door after him. You couldn’t say that you shared the same carefree demeanor as the Time Lord.

The first thing you noticed was the windows. The front of the room was covered with thick glass. The view was still beautiful, but you weren’t looking at it. At the moment you had more pressing matters, like the spider web-like fractures that sprinkled the surface of the glass. You tried not to dwell too much on the implications that might have.

Your eyes focused on the rest of the room, darting around to look at all of the damage. Taking in the technological panels around the room, you inferred that you were currently in the central control room of the ship.  

Wires poked out of their metal containers, a few of them shooting sparks into the air around them. Something had clearly made its way through the room, tearing up anything it could find in the process. The disheveled state of your surroundings did little to quell your anxieties. 

On top of it all, the alarms on the ship were more than overwhelming. The flashing lights were blinding, a deafening alarm heightening the pain in your head. 

You moved slowly into the room, your eyes still scanning everything. The Doctor wasn’t as observant as you, shuffling through the mess of wires in a desperate frenzy. He was anxious, and that didn’t help your own anxieties. 

Behind one of the main control panels lay another dead body, this one fully decapitated. You didn’t want to actively look for the head. Whatever had happened, you were too late to do anything about it, you knew that much. That kind of damage just wasn’t something that you could fix.

The Doctor mulled about the nearby screens, trying to get them to turn on. After some brute force accompanied by the sonic, he managed to get the system to boot up. He started by turning off the alarms, a service you were more than grateful for. 

“There’s security footage…” The Doctor mumbled, moving closer to the screen in front of him. He mumbled a few more things, but you didn’t listen. He was probably just talking to himself again. 

You moved about gingerly, taking in the entirety of the room. You examined the damaged control panels while the Doctor continued his fiddling with the working screens. 

Absentmindedly, you picked up an empty box. You dropped it almost immediately, terrified by what was directly behind it.  

In front of you laid a fragment of skull, gooey bits of brain seeping out of it. A singular, unfocused eye stared back at you relentlessly from its socket. 

You looked down at your hand in horror, noticing the small amount of blood from when you handled the box. The sight left you gasping for air, your hand shaking uncontrollably. 

“Doctor,” you cried. You wanted to turn away, wanted to forget the image of it. It was like a car crash, so terrible that you wanted to look away but you just couldn’t. 

You stumbled backward, tripping on another skull fragment. Your foot landed directly on it, sending a painfully loud crack through the room. You gasped in horror, lifting your foot gingerly. The damage from your shoe cracked the damaged bone further, creating a mess of small bone fragments, blood, and what you presumed was the deceased’s brain. The sight was so painfully unnatural, you felt your stomach muscles contracting in fear. You were terrified you might throw up.

“Doctor,” you cried again, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes. 

He ignored you, something he often did when he was in the zone. It wasn’t personal, he just tended to hyperfocus.

You repeated his name, urgency forcing its way into your voice. 

“There’s nothing we can do,” he said, looking over at you sadly. He really wished there was something he could do. If he had the ability, he would save everyone that ever existed. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way.

You choked back a sob, eyes still not wanting to look away from the carnage in front of you or the gore on your hands. You knew there was nothing that could be done about the gruesome scene, but that didn’t make it any less scary. In all reality, who would feel comfortable in a room of dismembered body parts? 

The Doctor whispered your name, placing a hand on your arm gently, “Look at me.” 

You shook your head, terrified. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. Your vision was blurring, distorting the bloody mess of your hand.

“Look at me!” he snapped, grasping your shoulders and effectively pulling you back to reality. The volume of his voice scared you, but you could tell from the tone he was doing it out of love. 

“We need to get to the TARDIS. Now,” He urged. His face was clouded and sad, neither of which eased your fear.

He tried to hold your gaze, tried to get you to look away from the horrors in front of you. He hated that he couldn’t protect you from this. 

“There is something on this ship, something dangerous,” he explained. “It’s probably still here, and we need to leave. Now.”

You blinked, fighting back tears. You didn’t want to be scared. You wanted to be useful and brave. You wanted to be someone the Doctor could admire, someone he could love. Standing in fear, on the verge of tears, was hardly something he found attractive. 

A distinctly alien clicking came from the other side of the room, sending the Doctor rigid. You stared up at him, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. He swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing aggressively. Slowly, he tilted his head in the direction of the door. 

“Slowly. Quietly.” He mouthed. You nodded and followed his lead, sneaking as carefully as you could to the door. 

You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him. You didn’t want to risk laying eyes on whatever else was in the room. If your attention remained on his face, it was almost as if everything was fine. Almost as if you were somewhere safe and comfortable. 

You let the Doctor lead you to the door, his hands placed firmly on your waist. His touch served as an anchor, keeping you tied to reality. 

You were almost halfway to the exit when it hit him. He’d left his sonic screwdriver on the main control panel. 

You saw the panic flash across his face. As much as he tried to hide it from you, you always notice when he’s upset. 

“The sonic,” he mouthed. 

You nodded slowly, letting him know it was okay to let go. You knew how important the sonic was, you’d need it sooner rather than later. 

He was hesitant. The Doctor didn’t like leaving you when it was safe - he dreaded leaving you when it was dangerous.

You nodded again, hoping that your eyes did the talking for you. The two of you weren’t getting too far without the sonic, especially not on a strange spaceship with some monster alien on it. He had to go back, even if that meant leaving you. 

Reluctantly, he started to slowly back away from you. He kept his eyes trained on you for as long as he could before he had to turn away to look where he was going. He moved as quietly as he could, taking extra care to not draw attention to himself. 

Eventually, he made his way back to the console and grabbed the sonic. In the process, he managed to fumble it a bit. He froze, holding his breath in the hope that he hadn’t just revealed your location. The room was silent for a few seconds, long enough for him to think the course was clear. He let out his breath, relieved. 

The clicking resumed from the corner of the room, now closer to you than to him. You saw the recognition flash across the Doctor’s face. You started to turn towards the noise but the Doctor shook his head. You froze, not daring to move. 

You heard the windows crack further, the sound of glass breaking unnaturally loud in the silent room. The shattering made your stomach drop, your breathing labored and tense.  

“Run!” The Doctor shouted, already making his way out of the room. You were on opposite ends of the room, it made no sense for either of you to wait for the other. 

Even still, it took a second for the Doctor’s words to register. Once they did, you set off running. 

You had to get as far away as you could. The blood rushing in your ears was enough to dull the sounds around you. The only thing that mattered was getting out. 

You could hear the monster moving and hissing behind you, the sound growing closer and closer. You looked behind you, panic coursing through your body. You couldn’t see anything, and you didn’t dare stop to get a good look. You could hear thumping in the vents, maybe that’s how the alien was getting around. You stopped running, turning your attention to the vents above you. Sure enough, that was the origin of the noise. The hissing was getting louder, the proximity of danger sending you into a frenzy. 

You didn’t know what to do. You were on a strange spaceship in the middle of nowhere with a potentially deadly alien coming after you. Even worse, you were separated from the Doctor. 

You turned around in circles, raking your brain for a way out of this. The more you thought about it, the more panic you felt. It was times like this that you wished your body went into fight mode rather than flight. Maybe then you could be useful. 

You hardly had time to react before the alien had dropped down from the vents and onto you. You let out a shout before it grabbed you, the force of it knocking you out. 

-

You woke up in your bed, your head feeling heavy and groggy. The memories came back to you slowly, the ship, the alien, the dead bodies. You shuddered, looking around the room anxiously. Your eyes landed on the Doctor and you let out a sigh. 

“You’re awake,” he smiled brightly. 

You smiled back at him, feeling a warmth spread across your body. 

He moved over to you, gathering you in a tight hug. You buried your nose in his neck, inhaling his signature scent. The calming mix of linen, peppermint, and strong tea. The smell was familiar and comforting, a welcome sensation after the anxiety you had just endured.

“I was terrified, I thought I lost you and t-that thing,” you choked, stumbling over your words. It didn’t really matter, you were with the Doctor now. The steady thumping of his duel hearts provided a baseline that calmed your frantic breathing, effectively quenching your panic.

You finally pulled away from the Doctor enough to look at him. Oftentimes, you found you could learn more from the Time Lord’s eyes than his words. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, his eyes riddled with worry. 

“I’m ok,” you shook your head, “I’m ok now.” 

You really were. It was silly to think that the Doctor could fix everything, but he sure could fix a lot of things. You felt safe with him, especially when he had saved you from random spaceships and homicidal aliens.  

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” you smiled. He hugged you again, and you relished in the comfort. You could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his arms.

The next thing he did shocked you. The Doctor kissed you. 

He held your face like it was his entire world and placed his lips against yours gently. You melted into the kiss, tangling your hands in his shirt. 

You felt tears slide down your face - from relief, from joy, and just pure pleasure. Kissing the Doctor was everything that you had ever wanted and more. 

He kissed you like you were his everything, like he couldn’t get enough of you. When he pulled away he looked into your eyes adoringly, a smile creeping across his face. 

He kissed the top of your head, the feeling comforting and familiar. 

“Stay with me?” you asked, holding onto him.

“Always,” he whispered into your hair.

-

The Doctor couldn’t find you, and he was starting to worry. 

You both had seen what the alien did to people firsthand. He didn’t want you to become its next victim. It could take your mind, and even worse, it could kill you.

A race he had previously believed to be extinct that possessed the power to show you your deepest desires. Lost in self-indulgence, the creature could feed off of your energy until you were drained. The sheer force of it usually caused your head to explode. The corpse with the blown-up face in the hallway should have clued him in. He ridiculed himself for not figuring it out sooner. 

Not knowing where you were or if you were still alive was sending the Doctor into a spiral. 

He ran through the endless halls, desperately searching for you. He couldn’t hear the alien moving around, and the silence was deafening. He didn’t know if it was on the other side of the ship, well away from you, or if it was busy feasting off of your brain. 

As he turned the corner, his fears became a reality. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, your shallow breathing the only sign of life coming from you. The alien clung to you, the contact enough to establish a psychic link. 

He had to be smart about this if he wanted to keep you alive. He needed to get the alien off of you as quickly as possible and pull you out of the dream-induced state before your mind turned into mush, or worse.

He flattened his back against the wall, his breath coming out in short pants. His mind raced, scenarios playing out one after another like a series of movies. He couldn’t mess up, not if he wanted to make it out of this in one piece. Not if he wanted to save you.

He peered around the corner, looking warily in your direction. The alien only had the capacity for one victim at a time. Considering it was latched onto you, he was mostly safe. That was unless there were multiple on the ship. 

He decided it was a risk worth taking and rushed to your side. He picked up your hand, holding it gently. You were breathing, but just barely. He needed to move fast. He said your name a few times, hoping it might rouse you, even if he knew it wouldn’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, allowing his fingers to travel towards your head. He hated invading your mind like this, especially without your permission. It was a direct violation, but he couldn’t think of much else to do. 

He didn’t know what he had expected to see, but images of your lips on his were certainly not on the list. He dropped the connection instantly, scampering away from your limp body. 

He shook his head. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The alien had gotten in his head. That was the only explanation. 

He held his head in his hands, trying to get rid of the residual images of the two of you. He didn’t want to think about it too much. If he did, he might find himself falling deeper into the rabbit hole. He feared it was just the alien showing his own desires. 

“It’s just a dream,” he whispered to himself, trying to get ahold. It wasn’t real. It was just what he wanted to see.

Once he had settled his mind enough, he focused on establishing a physic block. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with saving you if he was fighting the alien himself.

-

You were happy and safe in the Doctor’s arms. He was holding you against his chest, and you could hear the steady beating of his hearts. The sound was comforting and familiar. 

You couldn’t think of a single place you would rather be. The Doctor felt like home to you.

He traced circular patterns onto your back. You were sure it was circular Gallifreyan, but you were too blissful to focus on it. 

Your peace was violently ruined as you jerked up in pain. Your head was suddenly filled with screaming. The pain shot through your head, causing you to pull away from the Doctor. 

You could see the concern on his face, could see his lips moving. He was probably asking if you were okay, but you couldn’t hear it. All you could hear was the noise. 

You collapsed to the floor, squeezing your eyes shut. Panic rushed through you, pushing tears from your eyes. You felt like you were dying. Maybe you were. 

You curled into a ball, clutching your head desperately. You gripped and pulled at your hair, anything to try and end this pain. It wouldn’t go away, no matter what you did. 

You screamed, the sound gruesome and raw. You didn’t know what else to do. 

After what seemed like hours, the noise grew to a painful crescendo that drowned out even your own voice. 

As suddenly as it all started, the noise ended. The change was shocking, enough to leave you extremely light-headed. The shift from everything to nothing was more torturous than relieving. 

You sprang upright, a gasp falling from your lips. 

Your eyes darted across the room anxiously. You were back in the TARDIS, but you couldn’t remember getting there. Next to you was the shriveled corpse of some alien. You gasped and shoved yourself away from it, fear coursing through your body.

“It’s ok,” the Doctor said, holding his hand out, “you’re ok.” 

“What the fuck just happened?” You gasped, leaning away from him too. Your eyes continued darting around the room in fear. You couldn’t remember much, just running from the monstrous hissing and clicking in the vents. You figured the dead thing next to you had been chasing you, but you couldn’t remember the Doctor being there with you.

“Take a deep breath,” the Doctor urged. 

You shook your head and repeated your question, “What just happened?” with a pant. 

“That alien,” he gestured to the corpse, “had you in a trance, I helped pull you out of it,” he explained, calmly. He was looking into your eyes with worry. 

“A what?” You asked, shaking your head again. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. 

“The alien on this ship,” he explained. You cut him off with a gasp, the horrors of the control room rushing back to you. The box, the bodies, the blood. You looked down at yourself with fear, half expecting yourself to be maimed. 

“It’s ok,” he urged again, “I got rid of it, you’re safe.” 

You shook your head, hoping it would all go away. 

“It’s gone.” 

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. 

“It’s over.” 

A tear slid down your face. You still didn’t know why you were crying. Relief? Fear? Happiness? 

The Doctor let you, he knew it was a lot. You had almost died after all. He moved over to you, offering a hand so you could stand up. You let him pull you upright until you were standing. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked, brushing your tears away gently. He was so gentle with you, even in your dreams. 

“A hug would be good,” you stuttered. The Doctor didn’t waste any time pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, like he was afraid that you would slip out of his grip. 

Your face came to rest in the crook of his neck, the feeling and smell all too familiar. The tears came faster then, harder too. You couldn’t hold them back. 

The Doctor pulled away, looking at you with concern, “what’s wrong?”

“Why couldn’t it have been real?” you sobbed, fairly certain you were incoherent like this, “why can’t you love me?” 

You wanted to take it back the minute that you said it. Once you saw the words register with the Doctor you knew it was all over. 

You wiped your tears hurriedly, stepping back from him. 

“You don’t have to answer that - I don't know why I said that,” you laughed, even though you didn’t find it funny. You were embarrassed that you had shown your cards like that. Embarrassed that you had let the Doctor know how you really felt about him. But even more, you were mad at yourself for asking such a selfish question. For wanting something simply because it felt good to you. 

“But I do,” the Doctor whispered back, confused. How could you not see that?

“Yeah, as a friend,” you said, more to the floor than to his face. You were fiddling, moving farther and farther away from him. He felt like you were drifting away, and he wanted you to come back. 

“No,” he shook his head vigorously, his floppy hair flying across his forehead. 

“It’s ok,” you mumbled, the back of your legs hitting the TARDIS console. There was nowhere else for you to back up. 

“No, really. I cannot tell you how much I care for you,” he said, he desperately wanted to reach out to you. He didn’t know how to prove this to you, to show you just how much he truly loved you. He wasn’t good at being emotionally vulnerable, that much he knew. But that didn’t change the way he felt about you.

You shook your head again. “It’s not real”. You were dreaming again, you had to be. That was the only sensible explanation for all of this.

“It is,” the Doctor pleaded. He hated that this was happening, hated seeing you in pain. 

“I can show you,” he suggested, holding out his hands. He didn’t have the words to prove it to you, but he had the memories.

“I can develop a telepathic link, I can let you into my mind. I can’t lie to you in there,” he offered. You frowned at his outstretched hands, your brain still processing his words.

“You can say no,” he added, “after what happened today I wouldn’t blame you.” 

You thought about it for a moment. You really wanted to believe the Doctor, so you nodded. 

The Doctor moved towards you gently, still giving you plenty of chances to recoil from his touch. His fingers landed feather light against your temple. His eyes fluttered closed, and you followed suit. 

It was like being pulled through space. There was no warning or preparation, just a sudden feeling of vertigo crashing in on you. 

Before you knew it you were inside the Time Lord’s mind. It felt like literally walking around his brain, digging in the creases that he never let anyone see. It wasn’t the kind of experience that you could explain to someone, even if you had wanted to. 

For the first time, you saw what you looked like from his eyes. Images of your smile flashed in front of you, the speed of it making your eyes hurt. It was weird to see yourself like this - from someone else's point of view. It was like looking at someone else entirely. 

You had only ever seen yourself in a mirror, or pictures. Your face seemed backward to you, and it took a second for it to register that it was. So this is how people see me? You thought, looking at yourself with a newfound sense of scrutiny. 

You didn’t get to dwindle on it for too long before the memories started playing. It was like a mental backlog of home videos, and you wondered how the doctor could remember this much of you. Surely he had more important things in his brain than you? 

It started in the early days, back when he had first met you. You couldn’t help but notice how young you looked. 

“I have room for one more,” the Doctor had offered, leaning against his mysterious blue box casually.

“I don’t know,” you had said, tilting your head, “that ship looks a little small.”

The Doctor grinned at you and opened the door, beckoning you inside. This was always his favorite part.

“It’s… smaller on the outside,” you gasped. The Doctor looked at you shocked, no one had ever said that to him before. The typical response was somewhere along the lines of “It’s bigger on the inside!” followed by complete shock at the defiance of the laws of space. Instead, you looked at the ship with unmistakable wonder, adoration, and curiosity. Your hands danced across the cool metal of the ship, fascinated by everything around you. You had the wonder and inquisitiveness of a child, fascinated by even the simplest of things around you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled at the Doctor, the grin taking over your whole face. The Doctor couldn’t help but be amazed at you, at the wonder you had for the world around you. It was beautiful, and he couldn’t look away.

The scene faded, a new one taking its place.

In the new memory, you ran into the TARDIS control room, a giant smile plastered on your face. This memory was later, you could tell not only by your face but by the clear comfort you had with the ship. By now, you were more than comfortable calling it home.

“Doctor!” you laughed, plopping down next to him happily.

“Yes?” The Doctor asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Guess what I found?” you asked, an eyebrow quirking upwards. You remembered this day. You had spent hours trying to figure out the organizational system in the TARDIS library. You eventually figured out that there wasn’t really one and gave up. However, in the process, you stumbled across a book. 

In the Doctor’s memory, you held up a dusty book ceremoniously. 

“A book?” he asked with a laugh. 

You shook your head, your smile unfaltering. 

“It’s your favorite book,” you laughed, shoving the book into the Doctor’s chest. 

“How do you know that?” He asked, thumbing the pages fondly. 

“You told me once,” you shrugged, a scarlet flush creeping across your face. 

“I did?” He asked, setting the book off to the side. 

“When you took me to see Jane Austen,” you explained, leaning against the console comfortably. 

“I asked what your favorite book was, and you told me it was this one,” you put your hand on top of the old hardback, fingers brushing across the worn cover. In your memory, you had been looking at the book, too scared to meet the Doctor’s eye. From his perspective, the focus was on your face. The slight smile that tugged at your lips, the way that your hair fell into your face. There was no mistaking the way that the Doctor looked at you at that moment. You had seen it a hundred times on television. You felt a heat flush to your cheeks. Not in the memory, but in the current moment. 

The Doctor’s memory moved on, the moment fleeting. 

In this scene, he was hunched over the TARDIS console. He hung his head in a way that conveyed distress, his spiky hair falling over cloudy eyes.

“You alright?” you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder gently. 

He looked over at you, almost surprised to see you. 

The Time Lord’s eyes were always so expressive, and you didn’t like what you saw in them. You couldn’t recall a time you had ever seen them this sad. There was a darkness in them, the kind that worried you. 

“I’m always alright,” he said tightly, forcing a sad smile. 

“No, no you’re not,” you said, tracing your hand down his arm. You let your fingers interlace with his, and his eyes trained themselves on the connection. 

“Why do you stay with me?” He choked, clearly fighting tears.

You frowned, confused by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“The things I’ve done…” he trailed off, lost in his own dark thoughts, “They’re unforgivable.” 

“You’re not your past,” you assured, rubbing calming circles on the back of his hand with your thumb. 

“I keep doing them. Horrible things,” he shook his head. “I’m a monster.” 

“Don’t say that,” you ridiculed. He laughed sadly, turning away from you. 

“Hey.” you guided his face back in your direction gently, your touch comforting. “You are a good man.” Your eyes darted between his, taking in anguish laden in them. 

“You’re the Doctor,” you stated with a laugh. Your hands traveled down to his chest, resting over his hearts. They thumped a steady rhythm, the beat comforting and familiar to you.

“You have the biggest hearts of anyone I know,” you said, still holding his eye. Your hands moved back up to his face, holding it gently. He closed his eyes, a single tear rolling down his freckled cheek. Your thumb swiped it away without a second thought. 

“You are so good,” you reassured. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he cried, the tears more frequent now.

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you chuckled, the slight humor of it bringing a small smile to his face.

“Seriously,” you added. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair.

The scene melted away again, a new one taking its place.

“It’s your name,” the Doctor explained as you thumbed a pendant. It was small, hardly bigger than a coin. Engraved on the surface was a series of intertwining circles, a pattern you easily recognized as circular Galliyfreyan. 

“How did you?” You asked, your sentence trailing off as you looked up at him in wonder. 

“I had it specially made,” he shrugged like it meant nothing. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, looking down at the necklace in adoration. There was a twinkle in your eyes that you had never picked up on before. 

“Can you put it on for me?” You asked holding the necklace out to the Doctor. He nodded meekly, taking the chain from your hands. 

His hands lingered on your skin as he fastened the chain around your neck. You could feel the electricity in his touch, the way that he didn't want to let go. 

You turned around with a smile on your face, your hand ghosting around the pendant. 

“How do I look?” You asked.

The Doctor smiled to himself, taking the moment to memorize your face. The distinct lines of your expression, the shine in your eyes, the joy on your face. All of it was captivating. You were captivating. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and he meant it. 

The scene moved on. You weren’t in the next one, the area unfamiliar to you. 

The Doctor was sitting in the console room, his head bowed. Donna stood above him, her arms crossed. The sight of the redhead made you sad, you missed her. You missed your best friend. 

“You’re acting like I don’t already know this?” She laughed, the sound painstakingly familiar. 

The Doctor looked up at her like a wounded puppy. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at them,” she continued, “like they’re the only person in the whole wide world that matters.” 

“That’s dramatic,” the Doctor groaned. 

“It’s true,” she glared at him. He didn’t argue. 

“Are you going to tell them?” She asked, her gaze softening. 

The Doctor shook his head, “I can’t.” 

“Why?” Donna glared. 

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it than to have never had it?’?” He asked her, pain in his eyes. 

“That feels contradictory.” 

“I mean, I would rather have them as I do than not have them at all,” he explained. Donna sighed and sat next to him, looking at him sympathetically. 

“I don't think I could live without them,” he sighed, burying his head in his hands. 

The scene faded, and you were left with the Doctor’s face looking at you worriedly. You hadn’t realized you were crying until he wiped the tears from your face. 

“Are you ok?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed with concern. He hadn’t wanted to upset you further. That was the opposite of his intentions.

You smiled at him. You weren't crying from sadness, or even anxiety like before. No, these were happy tears. Happy that it was real, that the Doctor really loved you. It was everything you had ever wanted.

You threw your arms around the doctor, holding tightly onto him. 

“I love you,” you whispered into his ear. You felt it was about time you said it. 

“I love you too,” the Doctor sighed like it was a breath he had been holding in. 

“So, so much,” he shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist. He lifted you off the ground ceremoniously, swinging you back and forth gently. 

You laughed lightly, pulling back to look at his face. 

“Say it again,” you smiled, relishing in the feeling of his words.

“I love you,” he smiled back, and you knew he meant it. 

[redrose10]

Here’s just a little bit of fluff to get you through the weekend and the final piece to the story!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 1,734

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Tag list: @gimeow @kam9404 @viankiss @baechugff @gaby-93 @kayleefriedchicken @igot7fairlyoddparents @jalexad @drrookie

You were walking around the mall for what seemed like the hundredth time. Today was Yoongi’s birthday and you still hadn’t gotten him anything. Normally you were so on top of things like this, but you were stumped. What do you buy a billionaire who can already buy himself anything he wants? Just last week he bought a $35,000 Rolex just because he said the blue reminded him of your eyes. It was sweet, but like seriously?

You thought about jewelry, but you already knew his friends would get him new pieces since it was the easy way out. You stopped to look at the suits thinking maybe you’d get him a new one, but then you remembered how he’s the type of person that designers pay to wear their clothes resulting in him already having closets full of high end fashion. Jimin had already told you about the very expensive bottle of whiskey he had gotten him so that was out of the question.

You did purchase a brand new lingerie set though. It was mostly a purchase for you, but you knew that once he saw you in the lavender colored one piece that was more ribbon than actual fabric he’d end up loving it more than you.

You decided to do one more lap around the mall before you were going to give up and just put a big bow on top of your head and call it a day. Out of the corner of your eye something caught your attention. Smiling to yourself you knew it would be the perfect gift for your husband and you entered the store to make your purchase.

Once back at home Yoongi was nowhere to be seen, but you did find a note.

“Y/N, get dressed and meet me in the lobby at 6pm. Love Yoongi. PS, I know you bought some kind of lingerie so make sure you wear that too.”

You chuckled at how well he knew you, but you were confused as to whether it was his birthday or yours and why you were being given a surprise. You didn’t have long to get ready so you took a quick shower and put on some makeup in a hurry. You picked out a simple black dress that showed the slightest hint of the lavender lingerie you had on underneath. Yoongi would appreciate the tease. Grabbing the gift bag you headed down to the lobby just in time.

Yoongi was already waiting. “You look beautiful.”, he smiled before giving you a kiss. He then helped you into the back of a vehicle that quickly sped off to its destination.

“Where are we going?”, you asked after he didn’t give any explanation. “You’ll see.”, was all he said in return warning a suspicious glare from you.

The car pulled up to a luxurious looking building. Yoongi helped you out and walked you inside to the elevators where you realized you were in an apartment building. After going up several floors and walking down a long hallway he stopped infront of an ornate door and entered in the code.

You were confused to say the least. After your shoes and jackets were removed he finally gave you an explanation.

“I want to start fresh. That old penthouse has a lot of bad memories and I think it’s time we started creating new ones in a new place. So we’ll be moving here. It’s pretty empty right now, but you can furnish and decorate it however you want. I want it to feel like your home too. I really hope you like it. I can always buy a new one if you don’t, but these places sell fast so I didn’t have much time to really think.”

You smiled at the slight blush creeping up on his cheeks as he tried to gauge your reaction.

“I like that idea Yoongi. A new start sounds nice.”

He took your hand and led you out of the entrance way and into the main living area. It was slightly larger than your current residence and had an incredible view of the city. You were taking in the views when something in the corner of the room caught your eye and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it until now.

A grand piano surrounded by blue hydrangeas greeted you. Yoongi pulled you over to the bench sitting you down next to him. He handed you over a mug of warm milk causing you to chuckle, “Yoongi this is all so nice, but I think you forgot that it’s your birthday, not mine.”

“You’re right, it is my birthday and I decided to get myself a little present.”

You rested your head on his shoulder with your hands around his biceps feeling the muscle flex as his fingers began playing the keys. It was a beautiful melody that almost lulled you to sleep.

“I didn’t know you could play the piano.”

He smiled, “Well I am pretty good with my fingers.” You let out a dramatic sigh before resting your head back against his shoulder. You enjoyed listening to the melody for a while until Yoongi completely shocked you and started signing. Not talking, not rapping, but singing. The beautiful lyrics combined with his deep velvety voice making your eyes go wide in surprise.

As always you light me up
You are still like a fragrant flower 
Believe in me now
Hold me again
So I can feel you
Give me an embrace

Without you, I can’t breathe
Without you, I’m nothing

I still can’t believe it
All of this seems like a dream
Don’t try to disappear

Is it true Is it true
You You
You’re so beautiful, that I’m scared
Untrue Untrue
You You You

Will you stay by my side
Will you promise me
If I touch (you), you’ll fly away and break 
I’m scared scared scared of that

You looked at him in awe as he continued on. You never would have imagined that he could write something as beautifully as this.

When you say that you love me
I walk among the skies
Say that it’s forever 
just one more time
When you say that you love me
I only need you to say that one thing
That nothing will change 
just one more time

You are like the entire world to me
Yeah, even if I want to fly, I don’t have any wings but your hands become my wings
I want to try forgetting the things that are dark and lonelyTogether with you. Even though these wings sprouted from pain
They’re wings that face the light
Even if it’s hard and it hurts
If I can fly, I’m going to fly
Can you hold my hand
So that I won’t be afraid anymore?
Because if you and I are together
I can smile

The melody faded to nothing and Yoongi looked over at you with a shy smile.

“Soooo what do you think?”, he asked. You sniffled not even realizing that you had began crying, “I mean I’m pretty sure I asked for a rap song, but I guess this will do.”

You both chuckled before you wrapped your arms back around him, “It was really beautiful Yoongi. I love it and I love you.” You sat there for a moment taking in the moment. The warmth coming from his body thanks to his nervousness created a comforting feeling. You took in the scent of his new cologne. Something you two picked out together a couple weeks ago. Woodsy with a hint of sweetness and a subtle floral note. You fell in love with it as soon as you smelled it, but wanted to make sure he also liked it. It smelled refreshing and like a new beginning and you thought it was perfect.

After digging around in his pocket he pulled out a small black box holding it up for you to see. He flipped open the lid exposing a beautiful diamond ring. It was much smaller than your original ring, but knowing Yoongi you’re sure it was just as expensive if not more.

“I know you didn’t really like the old ring because of how extravagant it was so I picked out something new that I think you’ll like better and since we’re starting over I thought a new ring would be fitting any ways.”

“ I do love it. It’s more me.”, you chuckled.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize that I loved you. You’re a strong beautiful woman who deserved the world and I’m going to do my best to give it to you. I promise. Y/N will you continue to stay married to me?”

You bit your lip failing to hide your smile, “I guess that sounds alright.”

He playfully rolled his eyes while slipping the ring on your finger and requesting a kiss that you happily obliged.

“Ooh wait I still have to give you your gift. It is YOUR birthday after all.”, you giggled before jumping up and running to grab the item from the entry way where it was left.

When you returned you handed him the gift bag smiling to yourself as you were excited for him to open it.

“I thought my gift was that lavender lace I see peaking out of your dress.”, he smirked.

“That’s for later. Open this one now.”

He pulled out the tissue paper before looking into the bag and doubling over with laughter.

“Seriously Y/N? Where did you find this?”, he asked pulling out the small stuffed animal in the form of a sheep. The personalized name tag reading as Petunia.

“I saw it at a children’s store in the mall and thought of you. You know since you are an aspiring sheep farmer and all.”

He hugged the stuffed animal close to his chest before leaning over and giving you a kiss, “Thank you. I love it.”

He stared down at the sheep for a moment before looking over at you wiggling his eyebrows, “You know Y/N, Petunia could also be a good name for a baby girl.”

Standing up and adjusting yourself to be straddling his lap you began leaving kiss after kiss along his jaw and neck.

“So is that a yes?”, he chuckled.

“It’s a maybe, but in the mean time I definitely wouldn’t mind getting some practice first.”

[mollyrolls]

stop the clock 𖦹 matsukawa i. x reader

day 1: the bet

prev. / mlist. / next

next in queue: roxanne - the police

Issei pushes open the door of the corner store, the air conditioning chilling the sweat on his skin. One clear chime rings out, echoing in the silence.

He doesn't need cherries. He knows they don’t, he got two jars yesterday and neither have been opened. Yet, he’s back at the market. Coming to buy cherries.

It’s also to see her again. Issei has no idea if she’d be working today, considering he doesn’t even know her name. Let alone a schedule. But if she wasn’t there, he could just ask a coworker for her name.

But maybe name is too creepy? He definitely couldn’t ask when she’s working next, that’s serial killer levels of stalker. And he was willing to play it cool. If something came up, he’d work it out.

“Welcome in.”

Her cadence is already familiar to him, and he feels his shoulders simultaneously loosen and tense. Any thoughts he had about restraining himself and playing it cool fly instantly from his head.

He turns on his heel, redirecting his path to walk in front of the counter. She’s sucking him in like a magnet.

He mutters a hey to her as he passes, but her earphones are in their rightful spot. Elastic rubber band is probably playing too loudly for him to be heard. It’s frustrating losing to a flimsy piece of wire.

Issei makes quick work of his shopping, choosing to forgo the mints completely. She didn’t seem to care about them in the first place. So it’s a quick grab of a pot of maraschino cherries and he’s right back up front.

She pays him even less attention than she did yesterday. He tries not to let it get to him, still confident in his plan to sway her.

She’s so distracted that he’s allowed a moment to peer over the counter to what she’s working on.

Her phone lights up once, a few texts slowly filling in. His main focus is on the sketch pad she’s hunched over, and the way that her mouth folds as she bites down on the inside of her lip.

He can’t quite make out what she’s working on, but he does note several sloppy hatch marks that shade some kind of background.

Issei tries to shift his head and get a clearer view, but his movement in her periphery alerts her to his presence.

For someone who was so stoic yesterday, her face does a poor job of hiding her reactions when she’s surprised. Issei watches in amusement as she notices him, recognizes him, panics when she thinks he saw her work, and rapidly schools her face into nonchalance.

She’s not as subtle with the covering of the notebook. He feels the tiniest bit bad for trying to pry on something she’s clearly protective of. He’ll be sure to course correct.

“Hey.” He starts, donning a warm and lazy smile.

“Hi. Did you find everything okay?” She responds, hesitant to act particularly casual towards him. She’s clearly on her guard, a bit like a scared animal.

“Just as easily as yesterday.”

Silence falls between them, Issei standing there and staring while she waits for him to hand over his groceries. He thinks briefly that he could hold her hostage like this, allowing him the chance to appreciate her in the way that he longs to.

Every second spent with her, simply in her presence, sends Issei further into this lovestruck spiral. One that he’s walking into with open arms.

She clears her throat, shifting awkwardly on her stool. “Excuse me, sir. Are you going to purchase those or just stare at me?”

“Mattsun.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Mattsun.” He replies, finally handing her the cherries. “Or Issei, if you’d like. But Mattsun is just fine.”

No response. She notes the cherries, looking up at him unamused, and scans it quickly.

“I told you, shirley temples are popular.” He starts, falling back into the song and dance they had yesterday. Waiting for a topic that excites her, which he’ll cling to.

“Mmmhmm. Cash or card?”

“Card. You know me.” He fishes it out once again, taking even longer this time. He even picks out his personal card, just to put it back and get the work one.

He dangles it, just out of her reach. She doesn’t bite, and they sit in another wave of silence, staring at each other.

Issei is loving it. She looks like she’s watching paint dry.

Finally she sighs, realizing Issei is getting what he wants by prolonging the interaction.

“I win.” He smiles at her while she reaches toward him. He momentarily thinks about pulling it farther, but remembers his promise.

He’s playing the long game.

So she takes it, expression still indifferent. The same taps on the register, the grind of the receipt.

“Hey, you didn’t ask me about that!”

She deadpans further. “Do you want a receipt.”

He knows his grin is stupid. “Yes, please.”

It’s dropped into the plastic bag, both thrust toward him with more annoyance than yesterday.

“Thank you for shopping at Kumonoue. Have a good night.”

“Oh!” He remembers, ignoring her goodbye. “I heard a good song this morning.”

She continues to look unimpressed. “I have work to do, sir. Other people need help.”

He brandishes his arm around, theatrically scanning the store for another living thing. When he finds none, he turns back to look at her with humor all over his face.

She just sighs under her breath, settling back on the stool and resigning herself.

He’s never been picky. Attention is attention, and hers is hard earned.

“It’s Mattsun. Anyways. It was Connection, by Elastica. You ever heard of them?”

His joke is not well received. Maybe he had pushed his luck too much earlier, and she really was getting sick of him. Or even worse, uncomfortable. He knew it was a bit of a toss up, but her reaction to his foolishness yesterday led him to think he had better odds.

Her face screws up slightly, looking a little betrayed. Before Issei could blink, she’s standing from the stool and disappearing behind a backroom wall.

“Oh, hey! C’mon, I’m sorry.” He calls out, hoping she can still hear him. “That was just a stupid joke, I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

Still, no response. Issei starts to kick himself, truly ruining his chances before he ever had a real shot. All of his flirtatious experience seems to fall away as soon as he’s near her, leaving her immune to his charm.

She emerges again, holding a box of some beverages on her hip. Making no motion to talk, or even acknowledge Issei anymore, she leaves him standing in the front of the store. Feeling like a dejected, rejected schoolboy.

Now, Issei has a choice. He could leave, tail tucked between his legs and with a bad taste in his mouth. Or, he can try again. Could make it worse, but he could also make it better.

The choice isn’t hard to make.

He waits a few moments before following her, focusing all his energy on seeming apologetic and polite.

He settles a few feet away from her, leaving at least one aisle of space between them. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

She startles at his voice, seemingly surprised that he’s still around.

“Um. I don’t know you.” She doesn’t sound scared, or uneasy. But she’s also not pleased.

“Would you want to change that?”

“Look.” She looks over her shoulder, still crouched down by the drinks. He notices how much energy she commands without trying, her nonchalance feeling intimidating and overwhelming despite being half his height.

“I’m not interested in anything. No boyfriend, no one-night stands, no hookup buddies, nothing. You should quit while you’re ahead.”

“Okay. That works for me.”

She cuts him a cool glare, not buying it for a second. Granted, she’s absolutely correct in her assumption, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

He leans against the side of the aisle, matching her energy. “We can just get to know each other. Would that be so bad? Being friends?”

She thinks for a second before humming noncommittally, trying once again to return to her work. Issei lets her stack about three drinks before trying again.

“Do you like to bet?”

“What.” She doesn't bother to look back. She’s probably getting whiplash.

“Do you like to bet. Like, if I proposed a bet to you, would you take it?”

“Money involved?”

“Of course.”

“Does it include you leaving the store?”

“Nope.”

“Oh well. Worth a shot.” She stands, turns, and leans back against the fridges. Arms crossed, but not combative like he might have thought. It’s almost like she’s indulging him.

“Let’s hear it.”

When he had planned this bet last night with Suna, he had predicted at least seven different ways it could have gone. Using it as a last ditch effort to make her not hate him was surprisingly not one of them.

Issei takes a shaky breath and clears his throat. He wants the floor to eat him whole, but he still asks it with confidence. “I’ll bet you ¥8000 you’ll fall in love with me by the end of the month.”

Her eyes widen. Not with fear, but in disbelief.

She covers her mouth, poorly hiding a laugh. “¥8000? That’s like, half a shift.”

“I work at a barely-in-business bar, I only have so much.” He responds, trying to stay cool. Every time she chooses to indulge him his heart kicks up; he loves the challenge she poses to him.

She takes a moment and Issei swears the world comes crashing to a halt. It’s nothing special, a sideways glance, peering at him through her eyelashes. But she’s got that crinkle by her eyes again, a soft and genuine smile donning her features. Almost wide enough to see her teeth, but she’s not that generous.

“Yeah, alright. ¥8000 is ¥8000.”

Issei fully stumbles. He can hardly believe his luck. Not only did she not view him as a creepy stalker, she tolerated him enough to take the bet.

She graces him with a laugh. “You’re something else Mattsun.”

“You remembered my name?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. You’re kinda hard to forget about.”

He’s almost positive she didn’t mean it as a compliment, but the implication that she’s thought about him at all is enough to send him spiraling. Not to mention how nice his name sounded coming from her voice. If he could live off that alone, he would.

“Now, are you going to bother me more or can I do my job?”

He simply raises a hand, pointing one finger up.

“Just one more thing. You know my name, what’s yours?”

She takes another moment, chewing at the inside of her cheek. The only noise being the whirr of the fridges and Issei’s bated breath.

“Mmm. I’ll let you figure it out.”

She grins, almost evilly, and he suddenly feels very excited for tomorrow.

taglist: open! fill out here.

@bakingcuriosity, @nobodybutnnoorr, @ciderscape, @lilchubbyyy, @soulfullystarry,

@interstellarz, @wakashudou , @myromanempiree, @notverymarley, @zumicho,

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[just-a-creep-babe]

Graveyard Shift

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Commissioned by anonymous, thank you so much luv! ❣❤

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

The fluorescent lights hum overhead as (y/n) fills out the required paperwork

It’s only been a few weeks since she’s started the job, but working at the hospital has already become a sort of comforting routine

She knows what needs to be done, knows what her superiors want from her, and she’s even already befriended some of the longer-term patients along with her fellow coworkers

The work comes with its downsides, of course—hospitals aren’t exactly the happiest places in the world—but at least the night shifts aren’t all that bad; she can avoid grieving families, and most patients are usually fast asleep anyways

While most people would probably turn their noses up at this kind of job, (y/n) actually enjoyed it—especially compared to the stress and misery of med school

She finishes writing up the report, then turns to her coworker

“Hey, I think this was the last thing Hannah mentioned on the list. Do you know if there’s anything else left for me?”

Her coworker offers a half-hearted shrug, not once looking up from the front desk monitor

“There’s a clipboard next to the second computer with a list of meds some patients need to take. I can let Hannah know you’re on it, she’ll appreciate it”

“Of course,” (y/n) smiles

Even though he was sometimes a bit disinterested, (y/n) genuinely did enjoy working with James; things were always straight-forward and simple with him

She checks on the clipboard marked with the information, then turns toward James

“Hey, shouldn’t all of these be digitized?”

“Mmh, they are,” he answers, “but you know how Hannah is”

“Right,” she chuckles, shaking her head, “alright, well, I’ll be back in a few”

He gives a noncommittal hum, and then she leaves the front desk to get the necessary supplies

It’s a calm night, all things considered, but she doesn’t mind it

She much rather prefers these kinds of shifts over the more chaotic ones, anyways

She reaches the room marked “Employees Only,” flicks the lights on, and steps in

Filing cabinets carefully labeled with various drugs and an assortment of medical instruments are neatly stored in their respective places

(Y/n) makes her way through them, taking what she needs according to the papers

She finds the necessary pills and distributes them to their designated containers, then sets some additional supplies onto a cart to wheel out to the patients

She maneuvers the cart out of the room, letting the door close behind her with a resounding click as it locks automatically

And then she hums softly to herself as she makes her way through the mostly empty corridors

One by one, she visits the patients, gently wakes them up, and helps them take what they need

She's about halfway through delivering all of the prescriptions when she notices, out of the corner of her eyes, one of the lights down the hall is flickering

She glances up, and for a split second, her heart jumps to her throat when she notices it; a figure dressed in all black stands motionless beneath the malfunctioning light

She can only assume, judging by the height and broadness of the shoulders, that they're male, and the way he's gazing down combined with the unreliable lighting makes it basically impossible to discern any of his facial features

(Y/n) places a hand over her chest, feeling her frantic heartbeat returning to a more rhythmic tempo as the initial surprise wears off

Curiously, she tilts her head

The silhouette doesn't seem familiar, and he looks much too sturdy on his feet to be a sick patient

She considers whether or not she should call out to them

Do they need some kind of assistance? Are they maybe lost or something?

She doesn't want to raise her voice too loudly so as to not disturb the patients, so instead, she takes a step forwards, but then she finds herself hesitating

Something about this whole thing seems... off

Her teeth chew at her bottom lip in contemplation

And, for a few seconds, she stares at the figure, and even though she can't see his eyes, the figure seems to stare back at her

The hairs at the back of her neck stand stiff

Tension mounts with every passing breath

Until eventually, she can't stand waiting any longer

She abandons her cart to investigate further, taking a few steps on the tiled floor in his direction

But just when she's only a few feet away, the light gives out completely, and that section of the corridor is suddenly drenched in darkness

She gasps, adrenaline spiking in her system, but before she can call out, the light flickers back on, and where there was once a silhouette, there's now... nothing

No one

The woman furrows her brow in uncertainty

There's almost nowhere he could've gone so quickly undetected

A shiver crawls up her spine

Did she just imagine it?

She takes one last step forwards, carefully looking around behind some of the potted plants, but the hallway's empty

She shakes her head, trying to push away the mental image of that figure standing menacingly in front of her

Crick

She whips around, expecting the figure to somehow be behind her, but all she sees is her cart rolling a few inches forwards

She makes her way back towards it, her nerves still on edge as she reaches out to stop it from rolling into the wall

She swallows thickly

Is the floor uneven, and that's why it moved on its own?

She tells herself it is, mostly just because she doesn't want to consider any other possibilities, and she really just wants any excuse to get out of this corridor

With one last quick look over her shoulder, she shakes her head, and finishes distributing the medicine

She tells herself the feeling of being watched is just paranoia

It's only on her way back to the "Employees Only" room that she realizes something's wrong

The keycard she'd left on her cart is gone, but worse than that, a pit of dread knots in her stomach when she notices the door is open

It's open by just the faintest crack, but it's more than enough to set off alarm bells in her head

Not to mention, the light inside doesn't seem to be on, meaning it's probably not one of her coworkers

Why would anyone need to go in there in the dark?

She knows she shouldn't investigate on her own

But it's like she's lulled to the door, like curiosity or fate or some other inexplicable influence coaxes her into pressing her hand to the smooth surface, then slowly pushing it almost all the way open

It's too dark to see anything

She squints, her eyes unable to make out any concrete forms in the darkness

And it's silent inside, but the silence almost feels unnatural

It's deafening

She holds her breath, suddenly acutely aware of her own heart beating in her chest again

Slowly and quietly releasing a lungful of air, she reaches for the light switch

White light spills into the room in a sudden burst, and the intensity makes her recoil for a moment before her eyes finally adjust and she sees it—she sees him

The same figure from earlier stands with his back toward the door

A mess of medical supplies—various pills, bags of fluids, syringes and bandages—are splayed out on the counter next to a large duffel bag that looks half full

She doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t know what to say or what to do

She's completely shocked, frozen in place at the sight of this man before her

He’s easily over 6 feet tall, and he’s wearing a black hoodie, but even through it, she can tell he’s strong

He turns around, and that's when she finally sees his face

Or, at least, she would see his face, if the blue mask wasn't covering his identity

She gasps

She almost can't tell if it’s just some kind of special effect, but it looks like he has no eyes

Two black pits lie in the place of his ocular cavities, with streams of black liquid flowing freely down the front of his cheeks

Just like when she'd seen him down the hall, he doesn't move

He simply stands there, and for a few seconds, tension rises between them as neither say or do anything

The spell is only broken when, almost as if out of curiosity, he cocks his head to the side

And it’s like that simple movement is enough to snap her out of it

She runs

Her frantic steps echo down the hall, undoubtedly disturbing some of the patients, but at this point, she's beyond caring

She needs to find security, or James or Hannah—anyone!

Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Jack watches from a distance as (y/n) reaches an emergency phone to call security

He was being sloppy, he knows he was, and while he'd usually be angry at himself, watching the rush of panic on the cute girl’s face somehow dissipates his anger

That’s cute, he thinks, she’s cute when she’s all flustered

He watches as she frantically scans down the hallway, almost like she's expecting him to chase after her

Part of him wants to

God, he really wants to

His instincts are clamoring to hunt her down, have the scent of her fear and adrenaline permeate the air as she tries to escape the inevitability of getting caught by him

He wants to give her a good scare, he wants to burn the image of him in her mind

The thought brings a mischievous grin to his face

He’s not usually one to play with his food, for lack of a better term, but something about this girl has just piqued his interest

He stays there, hidden just out of sight, watching until two security guards show up

They exchange a few quick words before she points in his direction, and they start walking toward him

Recognizing his cue to leave, he slips away in the midst of the chaos and confusion, his skill and experience making it a breeze to get away

But he knows that won’t be the last time he sees her

It takes a few days, but (y/n) eventually readjusts to working the graveyard shift at the hospital

She’d taken the rest of the week off after encountering the masked stranger, and even during the next couple of shifts, she was paranoid and on edge the entire time

However, things do settle back down, until she finds herself returning to routine not too long afterward

It’s a stormy Thursday night when she ends up back in the storage room, the room she'd come face-to-face with the intruder

She, admittedly, has been avoiding going back in, but tonight, she needs to restock some supplies, and she knows that she realistically can't avoid that room forever

It’s alright, she tells herself, nothing’s going to happen

The door unlocks with a swipe of her card; said card, of which, she now never leaves out of sight, and she opens the light as soon as she can reach for it

It feels like childish relief when she sees that the room truly is empty

No scary boogeyman hiding in the corner, peering out at her with an endless abysmal gaze

With her back to the door, she begins searching through cabinets and files to get the equipment she needs

And then she feels it; that familiar prickling sensation of being watched

She stiffens, suddenly feeling very exposed very alone and very vulnerable

It’s just paranoia, there’s nothing there, she tries to reassure herself

And she almost doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t want to find out who—if anyone—is behind her

But alas, curiosity getting the better of her once more, she turns

A yelp escapes her, and the container she was holding falls out of her grasp, exploding in a mess of pills on the floor

The man, a tall and entirely too familiar figure dressed in all black, safe for that blue mask, seems unfazed by her reaction

He walks forwards in confident strides until he’s inches away from her

With her back pressing up against the counter, she flinches

He's towering over her

He raises a hand, and she squeezes her eyes shut, expecting him to hit her

But instead, his touch and slow and gentle as he caresses her face—like a lover’s embrace

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything, but his chest vibrates with a hum, almost like a purr, at the sight of her fear

This close, she can see that it wasn’t just some special effect; he really doesn’t have eyes

Two gaping holes somehow peer into her, oozing that thick tar-like liquid

She feels sick

“What… what do you want?”

She manages to choke the words out, her voice quiet and shaky and utterly terrified

The man hums again

“Cute,” he says the word simply

His voice is a low, deep timbre, and it would be a soothing one at that, if she wasn’t so scared right now

Unease twists at her stomach like nausea

Her eyes dart behind the man, to the door leading out of the room, but she knows there’s no way she’d be able to get past him

Not judging by the size of the guy

Maybe if she buys more time, someone might pass down the hallway, and then she could call out for help or something

Taking in a shaky breath, she tries another question

“Are you… are you going to hurt me?”

She flinches again

Hearing herself say it out loud makes it all feel so much more real

But, at this question, the man appears amused

He makes a gravelly sound, one that she interprets as his laugh, and then he answers

“Hurt you, little morsel?”

He hums, tracing his fingertips along her cheekbone

“No, I’m not going to hurt you," he reassures, "I’m going to make you mine”

[television-overload]

The Most Popular Man in D.C.

(X-Files Fanfic)

[read on AO3]

-.-.-

In the months after Scully is returned from her abduction, Mulder starts getting catcalled on the street on an almost daily basis. At first, he doesn't think much of it, but after a few weeks, he finds it odd enough to mention to her.

She walks into the basement to find him putting pins in a map of D.C., hunched over his desk in concentration.

"Mulder?" she asks with an amused look on her face, paused in the doorway with her eyebrow arched.

With a brief glance up at her, he asks, "Scully, do you think I'm attractive?" Her hand almost slips off the door handle.

Her mouth falls open to answer, but she has no clue what words might come out. What is it he's wanting her to say? He doesn't look like he's joking. In fact, he looks deadly serious.

"I–"

"I just mean, if you saw me on the street, would you—you know—whistle at me?"

His question startles a chuckle from her throat, loosening her tongue. "Whistle?" She stares at him incredulously. Where is this coming from?

"Yeah," he says. "Whistle, wave, shower me with unsolicited compliments?"

Normally, she might laugh, assuming this to be one of the goofy bits he does when he's in a good mood, but something genuinely seems to be concerning him.

"Why do you ask?" she says, brows furrowing as she enters the room fully, shutting the door behind her.

He puts another pin on the map, near the grocery store she knows he goes to near his apartment in Alexandria.

"Scully, in the last month or so, I've been catcalled by random women nearly every day, all over D.C." he begins. "On my run, at the gym, even once when I went to pick up more fish food at the pet store. All over."

"Catcalled, Mulder?" she asks.

"Yes!"

"Is that so unusual?"

His brows slant in clear concern. He needs her reassurance.

"Look, you're a... not wholly unattractive guy," she starts cautiously. "And these places—the gym, the park where you run... You'd be covered in sweat, wearing that— that sleeveless Knicks shirt you have..." She trails off, blushing profusely and hoping her hair conceals it.

"But, the PET store, Scully," he insists, thankfully too worked up to notice her pink cheeks. He gestures wildly at the map before him. "All of these pins are places where I remember it happening. All in the last month."

Oh boy. "Putting that eidetic memory to good use, I see," she says. She surveys his slightly manic appearance, gauging how worried she needs to be about his state of mind.

"There's a clear concentration in certain areas," he says, ignoring her comment. "Look: about four blocks from my apartment, see? There's a cluster of them, all near this corner."

She looks where he is pointing, and indeed, there are six pins huddled close to each other while others are more spread out.

"Do you have a theory?" she can't believe she asks.

"I was hoping you would," he says, a little defeated.

Well, if she's not about to be dragged into a wild goose chase investigation based on some theory he's concocted, then she's back to finding this entire situation hilarious again. "Why should I have a theory?" she asks, suppressing a smile as she crosses her arms and looks up at him.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging awkwardly. "You're a... a woman."

She rolls her eyes. "Thank you for noticing."

"No, but maybe you have some insight. A different perspective."

"Some kind of womanly intuition?" she asks doubtfully, challengingly.

"Well, yeah."

She purses her lips. She has no immediate answer for him, so the office falls silent. He slumps back into his chair, looking far more bedraggled than he ought to at just past 8:00 am.

No, Mulder, she doesn't have some insider secret about the female mind to explain this so-called phenomenon away, but... Man, that is a lot of pins on the map. All in the last month, he says?

Why are her toes tapping incessantly on the floor beneath the desk?

"Mulder," she starts, hardly believing the words that are about to come out of her mouth. "If you're that worried about it, maybe we should go check out some of these areas of concentration."

He looks up at her, just as surprised to hear the suggestion come from her lips.

"Really?"

She wants to roll her eyes again, but there's a knot of something she refuses to acknowledge as jealousy in her chest that prevents her from doing so.

"Only if you're that concerned," she says, hoping she sounds firm and not at all interested in why her partner is getting hit on by women left and right.

He fumbles his way to his feet, stabbing himself in the palm with a pin accidentally in the process. He curses under his breath and shakes his hand out while eagerly shoving his arm in his jacket sleeve. "Okay," he says. "I think we should start by my gym, that's where it happens the most."

"Fine," she agrees stiffly, trying not to picture him breathless after a workout and surrounded by his loving admirers.

She drives, because she needs something to do with her hands. He navigates. It's his steps they're retracing, after all. He knows best what direction they need to head in.

They park on the street, exiting the car and getting a feel of their surroundings.

"There's my gym," he points out. She's not exactly sure what they're looking for, but she keeps her eyes peeled all the same.

After a few minutes spent wandering near the entrance, she's about to call it quits, but then a muscular little brunette calls out from across the street, grinning from ear to ear as she shouts, "Woo! I'd pay your dry cleaning bill just to watch you work out in that suit, handsome!"

Before either of them has time to respond, or even come to terms with what just happened, the woman disappears into a storefront. A yoga studio, Scully deduces from the sign out front.

"See?" Mulder says, swinging his hand out toward the other side of the street. The suddenness of his speech startles her out of her tense posture, and she forces her shoulders to relax.

"I give her points for creativity," she says, marching primly back to the car and throwing the driver's side door open.

The next place they drive is the grocery store, just a stone's throw away from his apartment building. Once again, she parks, and they wander about, but this time, their fellow pedestrians are blissfully silent. She looks around. There's the grocery store. Beside it, a pawn shop. On the other side, a place selling herbal supplements... and possibly also other "herbal" remedies. RadioShack across the street. Not much going on at—she checks her watch—8:47 am.

"Notice anything unusual?" she asks, watching as an older couple hobbles into the grocery store arm-in-arm.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. "It's quieter than usual," he says. "I'm not usually here this early on a week day."

She nods. This stop might have been a bust, but at least she didn't have to hear another cheesy one-liner directed at Mulder.

They're not so lucky at the next, and—she decides—final stop.

About a block down from the coffee shop in Georgetown that he frequents when he has to wake her at an ungodly hour, two women loiter outside a shop advertising high-quality tattoos and piercings. One takes a drag from her cigarette, then calls out, "Let's see a smile on those pouty lips!" The other woman chuckles, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

Mulder gives an awkward smile and nod in their direction, and Scully promptly grabs him by the arm, ushering him hurriedly back to the car.

She stews in silence on the drive back to the Hoover building. She knows she has no right to do so, and yet...

"You see what I mean, Scully?" he asks. "You gotta agree that something's unusual."

Does she? He's an attractive man. YES, okay, she's attracted to him. Can she fault other women for noticing? Maybe they could do to keep their mouths shut and leave him alone, sure, but wouldn't most men kill to have that kind of attention given to them?

"I don't know," she answers, her hands gripping the wheel.

"I'm serious. I've lived here for years, and this has never happened before. Then all of a sudden..."

"You're reading too much into it," she snaps. Then, softening her tone, "I mean, if they won't leave you alone, tell them to back off. Tell them you're an FBI agent and can arrest them for harrassment."

"Scully..."

"It's not an X-File, Mulder," she says decisively. "We've missed enough work as it is. Just forget about it."

His jaw shifts like he's about to argue her point, but instead he says the words she's always longed to hear from him.

"You're probably right."

-.-.-

She tries to forget about it.

On Thursday, he cheekily informs her that he had been called a "handsome devil" that morning while stopping by the bank. Friday, the descriptive term is decidedly less work-friendly, but he saunters in looking quite pleased with himself.

Gee, she sure is glad she told him not to worry about all the attention he's getting. Now, he actually seems to be enjoying it.

The weekend can't come soon enough. At 5:00 on the dot, she bids goodbye to his boyish smile and wishes him a good weekend. At home, she finishes off half a bottle of wine and watches some trashy reality TV until it's bedtime, and she promptly passes out.

-.-.-

Saturday, she wakes up feeling stupid. After popping a few advil, she deep cleans her kitchen, tossing out the now empty bottle of wine and even dusting on top of her cabinets, a task that requires standing precariously on the countertop with a featherduster in hand.

As the clock ticks closer to noon, though, she begrudgingly pulls herself away from her work and readies herself for her afternoon commitment with her sister. On the way to Melissa's dumpy—temporary—apartment, she picks up lunch from her favorite Chinese place. It's been months since Melissa came to town. She's not the kind to stay put in one place for long. If Scully hadn't been abducted, or whatever it was that happened to her, Missy wouldn't have been there in the first place.

The apartment is one she'd found on short notice when she heard what had happened, and came to support their mother throughout the ordeal. It pays by the month, and has a serious ant problem in the kitchen, but otherwise isn't the absolute worst living situation Scully could fathom. She liked having her sister nearby, even if it was only for a while.

Now, the ceaseless call of adventure summons Melissa once more, and it is time to go. Scully had promised to help her pack her things this weekend, and now the day is here.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" she asks, loathing how the sentence makes her sound like her 15 year old self when Missy had first left home for her first (and only) year of college.

"You don't need me, Dana," her sister says. "Besides, you know I can only handle so much of Mom telling me what I should be doing with my life."

"She means well," Scully assures her.

"I know she does," Missy says with a smile. "And I know you're no stranger to doing the complete opposite of what she tells you, too."

Scully breathes out a laugh.

"Come on, help me take these boxes down to the moving truck." Melissa shucks her jacket off, tying it around her waist in preparation for the physical labor it would take to carry multiple loads of boxes down four flights of stairs. One of the worst features of this apartment building is it's permanently broken elevator. Moving in must have been a nightmare.

Bending to pick up her first box, Scully catches a glimpse of something on Missy's right wrist, visible now that her jacket has come off.

"What's that?" she asks, brows furrowing.

"Hmm?" her sister asks. Her eyes follow Dana's to the marking on her skin on the underside of her arm. "Oh, I got that while you were in the hospital. You're like 90% of my impulse control, Dana."

Her teasing tone does not negate the heaviness that comes from mentioning that horrific time for her family. That time when she was all but lost to all those who knew her.

"What is it?" she asks.

Missy sets her box back down, and Scully does the same. "Check it out," she says, drawing closer so Scully can see.

On her wrist is a small cross tattoo, remarkably similar in shape and size to the cross Scully wears around her neck.

Strange. She's fairly certain Melissa hasn't been to mass in years, much to their mother's chagrin.

"Why?" she asks, genuine confusion lacing her voice.

"Don't go all 'Mom' on me, Dane," Missy jokes, smacking her in the shoulder. "It's just a tattoo."

Scully shakes her head. "No, I mean, why that? Why a cross?"

"Oh." Melissa looks down at her wrist in thought, then back up at Dana. "It just... seemed to be the thing to do."

"Something to remember me by?" Scully tries to joke, though she's aware of how morbid that sounds, to live to see the way her sister planned to memorialize her.

"Actually, no," Melissa corrects. "It was your partner."

Huh?

"Mulder?" Scully asks, wondering how on earth her necklace—the symbol of Christianity—relates to her unbelieving partner.

"Yeah, it was— Look, it's not really my place to tell, but I saw the way he relied on that necklace of yours for strength while you were gone. Not once did I see him take it off. It was like, if he didn't let go of it, then he wasn't letting go of you. I admire that."

Scully still doesn't understand. "So, the tattoo..."

"Is a reminder to have hope," Melissa finishes. "To have that same belief in others that Fox had for you, even when things looked hopeless and we almost gave up."

Scully's heart twists painfully.

This marking on her sister's body is tangible proof of what Scully has known all along:

That her partner is something special. That his uncommon belief in the unbelievable leaves an impact, not just on her, but on others whom he interacts with.

She still finds it hard to fathom that there had been weeks and months where Mulder was out there, spending time with her mother and sister while she was missing, or lying comatose on a hospital bed.

"When you came back, and when you got better, I knew it was him that saved you," Missy says softly, as if she can hear her thoughts and doesn't want to disrupt them. "I know it's him."

Her sister's piercing eyes meet hers seriously, and she turns away, lifting the box back into her arms to serve as a distraction.

"We don't want to keep the movers waiting," she says, forcing her thoughts away from Mulder. Away from the dangerous thoughts that had filled her head all week.

Missy's eyes brighten, and she grins.

"Don't keep him waiting," she warns.

-.-.-

Scully hands her sister the last of the boxes, and Missy stands up in the back of the truck, brushing the dust off her hands with a satisfied sigh.

"That's the last of it," she says proudly. "Oh, wait—"

She turns quickly, rummaging through a few boxes before triumphantly extracting a small piece of paper.

"Here, give that back to Fox, will you?" she says, handing it to Scully.

"What's this?" she asks, turning the glossy paper in hand to look at it properly.

In her hand, she holds a photo of Mulder from one of the times he'd been locked up on trespassing charges that ultimately wouldn't hold. He'd gotten a kick out of getting his mugshot taken, and so had requested a copy of it upon his release, and the small sheriff's department in Idaho had granted his wish.

But why did Melissa have it?

"I stole it from his apartment," she says, answering her unspoken question. "Made some copies, spread them around."

"You— you did what with them?"

"Just gave them to some friends," she says, smirking as she plops down on the edge of the truck bed. "You know I make friends wherever I go."

"Yeah, but why?"

The conspiratorial smile on her sister's face comes straight out of their childhood.

"Has Fox been getting an unusual amount of attention when walking around D.C. lately?" she asks nonchalantly, concealing a wider grin.

"Missy, you didn't!" Scully says, her jaw dropping.

"You didn't see him, Dane! He needed a pick-me-up!" Melissa raises her hands in defense, smiling at her sister's reaction.

Scully scoffs, but only to prevent a burst of astonished laughter from escaping. "A pick-me-up, not someone to pick him up," she says in as chastising a voice as she can manage.

Only Melissa would do something like this. She should have known.

"So it did work after all," Missy surmises. "Good. He needed a confidence boost. Has his ego inflated terribly?"

This time, Scully does laugh. "Sure, maybe after he got over the paranoia of suddenly being the most popular man in Washington, D.C."

"I guess it would come as a shock," Missy says, eyes bright with mirth.

Scully smacks her sister in the arm. "He was convinced it was some kind of conspiracy!"

"Oh, well," Missy says. "The real conspiracy is how you won't hit on that man yourself."

She's going to miss her sister, she reminds herself. Just be glad she's been in town this long.

Nope. She still wants to throttle her.

She shakes her head.

"Melissa..."

-.-.-

The compliments—because Scully refuses to call them catcalls—continue for the next few months, though with decreasing frequency.

After thinking it over for the weekend, she decides not to tell him. Maybe some day, years from now, when they can laugh about it.

For now, she lets other women say her thoughts aloud, and delights in the way his cheeks turn rosy when she's with him to hear their cheesy pick-up lines.

She wonders how she didn't notice before, the way these women look just like people Melissa would hang around with. Choker necklaces around their necks, Doc Martin shoes... Mulder was onto something with his map. The gym: across the street from a yoga studio that Missy had gone to a few times. The herbal supplement place, one that Missy had definitely stopped by on occasion. The tattoo parlor. Self-explanatory.

Now that she's in on the secret, whenever it happens, it's like Missy is there for a second. It makes her feel less far away. She thinks of these women being handed a photocopied flyer with Mulder's face on it, and wonders what on earth Missy had specifically told them to do.

Whatever it was, it had been effective.

Funny. She never really pictured introducing her sister to her partner, but now she wonders how she didn't see it before. She's glad Missy stepped in to look after him while she was gone, even if it involved a prank of questionable taste. She wouldn't have expected any less from her sister. And maybe that was just what Mulder needed.

She tells him at the funeral.

It's too early to find the humor in it, like she'd hoped they would someday. But his lips do curl into a small smile. Remembering.

It still happens on occasion after that. And when it does, Mulder takes Scully's hand and whispers, "See? She's never really gone."

Melissa Scully had left her mark on Washington, D.C., even in the short time she'd been there. She left her mark on Mulder in the same way.

Years down the line, when the number of Mulder's admirers has dwindled to one, Scully lies awake, picturing his face as he whispered sweet words to her. His constant. His touchstone.

"You were right, Missy," she breathes into the still air of her lonely apartment. Sometimes it feels haunted by her ghost. Tonight, that brings her comfort. "You were right."

She thinks she hears the echo of a sultry whistle.

-.-.-

Tagging: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf

[dilvuc]

❝𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘❞ DAY 14: WE'RE ALIKE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: fluff

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: male

𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: DAY 14: WE'RE ALIKE

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: yan!jade x yan!m!reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: none

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: you and jade are like soulmate. why? you two have feelings for each other without knowing that you two have feelings for each other. you two have not realized that you are made for each other until…

“Why would you collect koebi-kun’s stuff…?” floyd cringed at his brother's collection. jade collected almost everything from your dorm and from your trash. everything he found of yours, is now his. it's concerning.

“Everything I see belongs to him now belongs to me~” jade beamed, snuggling with your pillow that he has stolen. “I can smell his favorite cologne…”

“You're so creepy…” floyd gagged. “You might get find out by him one day.”

“Might. But if I were to be found out, I'll knock him out and lock him in my room.” jade smiled.

the other twin send his calm and weird twin brother a bombastic side eye, “What the fuc—”

“There's no way you have stolen something from one of the twins!” ace exclaimed in shock. he found a shocking collection of jade's mushrooms and photos in your closet. you placed another jar of mushrooms in your closet, “Hey, don't blame me for my love for Jade. He's just too good.”

“Your taste in love is wildly disturbing…” deuce sweatdropped.

“Come on, give me a boost or something to help me talk to Jade. Or I could just knock him out and lock him up in the guest room to get him to talk.” you suggested. ace grabbed your collar, “Get fucking help! This is an obsession! Not some kind of a wholesome love thing!”

“Yeah! What if he tried to eat you up?!” grim exclaimed.

“So…?”

“So? So?! What if he caught you doing something creepy?” ace raised his eyebrows. you shrugged, “Knock him out and lock him up.”

“Oh my fucking god…”

jade peek around the corner to find you talking with your friends. he stood there in lovestruck as he continuingly stalked you around the school. it's making azul and floyd both concerned and disturbed by this. jade’s love for you is over the top. he's fucking downbad for your fucking ass.

“Just look at that adorable little smile that I want to bite his wrong pretty little face off.” jade beamed, clasping his hands together.

“Bite what off?” azul sweatdropped. floyd grabbed azul's shoulders and dragged him away from his brother, “Let's forget this and go…”

jade continues to stalk you around school until he notices how sneaky you're acting as you head to the back of the school where no one will notice you, well…maybe because you notice that jade was stalking you.

“Jade. I know you're there.” you called out, causing the teal haired male to flinch and step out of his hiding place.

“Ah, it appears that I have been found.” jade smiled. “May I ask why you're acting so sneaky, [Y]?”

“I could be the one to ask you since you've been stalking me throughout the whole day.” you pointed out. the teal haired male tensed up, “Ah…So you noticed—”

jade paused when he noticed something flip out of your pocket. he narrowed his eyes to take a closer look, only to find out that it was some photos of him. those photos were taken secretly. you panicked and swiftly picked up the photos to hide from jade's sight, “I'm gonna need a better place to store these treasures…!”

jade gasped before clasping his hands over his mouth, feeling excitedly overwhelmed with joy, “T-treasures…?!”

“Eh?? W-w-w-w-wait! It's not what you think!” you sweatdropped, trying to brush it off. jade knees before you, “Have you been stalking me and secretly taking pictures of me?! My, my~ [Y], you creep~”

“Uh—”

“You love me, do you? Only me, right?” jade beamed.

“Of course, I only love you and only you! I fell in love when I first landed my eyes on you!” you expressed. the teal haired male chuckled bashfully, “I feel the same way about you, too~ Do you know how long I've been holding back my love for you? I didn't had to knock you out and kidnapped you~”

“I was plotting the same thing if you didn't accept my feelings.” you admitted.

jade clasped his hands with yours, “We are the same~ Let's get married~”

“Right after we graduate, let's get married immediately! I'll ditch my goal of going home and marry you.” you expressed.

the octavinelle duo and the dumbass trio watched the scene unfold and they're becoming more disturbed and worried about what would happen if you two become cold-blooded killers. what a “great” couple.

╰┈➤ author note: please note that this is a slow update. i will still accept your request, but it will take a while since i'll be working on my books on wattpad. if you wish to read those books, here's my wattpad account.

❝𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘❞

twst masterlist

[coffeexafterxmidnight]

The Token Human - Part 2

Got a much more enthusiastic response to that last part than I expected. I even got some great comments! Holy crap! So uh, yeah, here's part 2.

Part 1 Set a bit after the events of part 1 CW: Body Horror, chasing/running, memory alteration, Wally is Creepy and maybe a bit obsessed...?

No crickets. No night birds. No background hum of modern technology. No moon.

Curiosity was dangerous, but this went beyond curiosity. This was an obsession now.

I've forgotten something. What have I forgotten?

You didn't know. You couldn't remember anything about it. All you could remember was…

It seemed so absurd you could have laughed, if that wouldn't have broken the utter stillness of the night.

All you could remember was Wally Darling wasn't your friend.

But that was absurd. Absolutely nuts. A crazy shake with crazy sprinkles on top. Wally had been nothing but kind to you since you arrived at Home. He helped you get comfortable in this place that wasn't exactly meant for you in any way. "Not yet at least," he said.

You looked over your shoulder into the darkness, and not even the wind greeted you.

But you couldn't shake it. That single sentence that turned everything upside down.

Wally Darling wasn't your friend.

Standing in the dark, shivering and not from any cold weather, you wondered… if that were true, how long had it been true?

Someone said your name.

The hair on your arms stood up.

Someone said it again, a singsong call from deep within the darkness.

Not just someone. Not just any old person.

Wally.

Nausea rushed through you. A strange, deep dread filled you, like it came from within your bones. You covered your mouth, like it would muffle your breathing, silence any noises that could reveal you.

And he called your name again. Dragging the sound out, causing it to echo through your little town.

"What are you doing awake right now? It's nighttime. You should be in bed."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, tight as you could. 

"It's not good to be up in the middle of the night."

His voice was right next to your ear.

"Don't you know what's in the dark?"

You ran. Without a sound you ran, fast as you could. Behind you, Wally laughed, ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. You didn't look back. You didn't want to find out what might happen if you did.

You had a feeling you already knew what would happen. You just didn't remember it right now.

None of the houses here were a sanctuary to you. The last thing you wanted was to pull one of the others, so innocent and trusting, into your mess. But it seemed like the more you ran, the less you saw. Where was Poppy's house? Where was Howdy's store? Where was the post office? There was nothing around you but the path, stretching long into the darkness…

And Home.

No matter where you ran, you were never, ever, far from Wally's Home. It was always there, in the corner of your vision. Watching you. Smiling at you.

Wally's Home seemed to like you as much as Wally did. He told you that once.

There were a lot of ways to like someone. You were starting to think Wally and his Home didn't like you the way the others did. If he really liked you at all.

Again, he called your name, called to you like he was singing a song. He said your name over and over, almost like he was tasting it, enjoying it.

"Where are you going, neighbor?" He called. "It's too late for a game. We need to go to bed. You can stay at my place tonight. I don't mind. I like your company. I think, spending the night with you again would be the absolute most."

Your legs threatened to give out, shaking under you. Your lungs burned. How long had you been running? How long could you run? How long had it been since you ventured out into the night?

Wait, why were you outside at night in the first place? What was the purpose of this? How was this going to help figure out what's going on around Home?

… You don't remember.

Oh, god, you can't remember.

Was this… was this even your idea?

Your legs gave out. 

You laid on the grass, struggling to catch your breath. Your legs, they hurt, burned and ached with pain. Tears stung your eyes. You swallowed down a sob. 

I can't give up, you thought. I won't let him win. I won't let him get me.

You stretched out your hand. If you couldn't run, you decided, you'd crawl. 

A well polished shoe stepped down on your hand. You cried out in pain, your vision jerked up-

He was taller. So much taller. So tall his face was in shadows of his own making. But his eyes, you could see them. And he could see you.

"Be quiet," Wally said. "You'll wake up all of our friends, and what will we do then? Silly neighbor."

A tear forced its way down your cheeks.

"Wally," you said. "Wally, please-"

He tilted his head to one side, slow and deliberate.

"You know you can't run away," he said. "I'll find you. I'll find you no matter where you go. That's why, I let you out tonight. So you can remember where your Home is. With us. With me. Okay?"

"Please," you begged.

"Don't be scared."

He knelt down, and the closer he got, the more of him you could see. His face, his eyes, his intense, hungry eyes.

"Didn't I tell you? I'll take good care of you."

He smiled. The felt mouth stretched wider, wider, until the fabric gave way to something black and oozing. He smiled and the black dripped down onto the grass, onto your hand. He smiled and his mouth was full of perfect white human teeth, and none of them moved when he spoke.

"Good night, puppet," he said.

You squinted in the light that streamed through the window. Morning already?

From another room, Wally called your name. You rubbed the heavy crust from your eyes and stood up. Stretching best you can, you turned towards the door, where Wally waited and watched.

"Good morning!" He said.

"Good morning," you said, stretching your arms over your head. "What happened?"

He looked at you in that special way of his. "Did you forget again? Silly, silly. You had so much fun yesterday you fell asleep on my couch when I was talking to Julie and Frank. Barnaby helped move you in here. Did you sleep okay?"

You blinked. That seemed right. You could definitely remember being so tired after all those games…

"Yeah, I slept great!" You smiled. "But no more tag for me for a while. I'm really sore."

He laughed. You looked around. Where were your shoes?

"I'm thinking I'll go to Howdy's place to pick up some stuff for breakfast," you said. "Would you like to come with me?"

"Sure," Wally said. "I know you hate to be alone."

As Wally turned around, you found your shoes, left neatly by your bedside and not where you thought they'd be. Frank's doing, you thought.

You reached for one, then stopped. What was that on your hand? It looked black… 

Wally called your name, his Home creaking in response. Rubbing the dried off black stuff on your jeans, you put your extra dirty shoes on - tag was so messy! - and headed towards the front door.

[colossalcriminal]

Memory Lane, Detroit. - j.m.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader, slight Connor x fem!Reader, Hank x Daughter!Reader (mentioned), Last of Us x Detroit: Become Human crossover. Summary: They say home is where the heart is, but when Y/N stumbles upon Detroit on their journey to Wyoming, she feels as though home is where her heart once was, and where it could be one day.

Content warnings: mentions of death, pregnancy, late30s!reader x 50s!Joel. Android revolution failed in 2002, outbreak occurred in 2003.

They're in Detroit.

Something about it hits her like a tonne of bricks or tripping on cobblestone when wearing nice heeled shoes like they used to. Either way, she stumbles, nearly falling. Maybe it's the air, the feel, the familiarity, but she's certain it isn't the look of it.

Detroit is unrecognisable, for the most part.

That's what one nightmare after another does to a place, she guesses.

"Come on, I know somewhere we can stay the night."

Joel and Ellie follow her, nearly mindlessly. The former takes note of this as Y/N's domain, her territory, etched into the back of her brain, and the girl isn't one to argue with her like she does with Joel.

They walk, as they have done through the summertime. Every now and then her eyes trail over a familiar street sign, or an old store. She swears you could hear a subtle whistle in the wind, a slight hum of laughter, but she decides it's the ghost of her youth.

Not terrible, is one way to describe the house. The disease has been kind enough to leave it remotely untouched. It's dark, but the windows are open and the curtains are torn, so it has been touched.

Joel goes to open the door, the handle doesn't budge, he grunts. "Hold on." He steps away with a huff, watching her movements. Y/N kicks over a potted plant, the organism long dead and smelling slightly foul if you're close enough to it, underneath is a silver key. "Spare."

She unlocks the door with a professional force, the kind you'd employ if you were a resident of the property, but Joel doesn't ask her just yet. Ellie is the first to go inside, instantly hopping onto the couch. The springiness surprises her, a giggle escapes her lips, Y/N smiles. "Ellie, there's a room down the hall for you. On the right." She listens, dashing down the hall and into the bedroom whilst the older woman stays put. "Hello?"

"Who're you calling out to?"

Her head snaps in Joel's direction at his query, he stands near the entry to the kitchen. "Was just wondering something."

The house is empty, apart from the three of them. She goes past him into the kitchen, there is a nearly empty bottle of liquor by the sink, a singular photograph on the surface of the dining table. "You alright, darlin'?" Her partner says from behind her, he presses his chest to her back, his arms caging her against the table.

"Yeah." He catches a glimpse of the photo she stares at before she turns to face him. "Just thinking, honey."

A sigh escapes his mouth, his hands plant themselves on her waist. "I know." And he does, he knows what she's thinking about. "Any idea where he is?"

Y/N shakes her head. "For all I know, he could be-"

Joel interrupts her, his digits lightly dig into the flesh of her midsection. "Don't think like that. C'mon, now," His right hand travels, his fingertips lightly hooking under her chin, she finally looks into his stormy grey eyes.

The corners of her lips tug upward, the smile is small, she places a quick peck on his lips. "Let's get some rest, hm?" They slowly step to the living room, he settles in to the sofa first, she doesn't join. "Hold on, just wanna see something outside. I'll only be a minute."

"Be careful."

And so she is, silently leaving the house, her hand stays on the handle of her gun, fingertip teasing the trigger.

It's eerily quiet. A rustle. It's faint, almost nonexistent, she turns to her left. "Jesus, fuck."

The subject of her curses tilts his head, his eyes squint momentarily. "Y/N?"

"Yeah, Connor."

They look at each other, it isn't brief or fleeting, their stares bore holes into the other.

Connor looks just as he did twenty years ago, his skin smooth, hair dark and eyes youthful, but his clothes are rugged, his CyberLife jacket has been lost and his tie is ripped. The sleeves of his button up are folded to reveal dirt stained forearms.

His eyes, they're dim, dark brown and dull, probably from some many years of lonesome survival. They soften upon her, her own tiresome eyes could mirror his, the underneath of them are dark and slightly hollow.

Also hollowed out are her cheeks. Small wrinkles fold over each other at the outer corners of her eyes, her hair isn't as long as it once was, but for the most part, Connor smiles at how gracefully she has aged, despite the obvious circumstances.

"How are you?" The question is futile, but he hasn't had much practice with human interaction in recent decades.

"Surviving." Her brows furrow, she's unable to remain curt, cool and collected, worry flashes across her features. "You're still here? After all this time?"

The android nods, somewhat proud, a little. "Taking care of the house."

"I guess no one expects an android to stick around." He smiles a little at the humor in her sarcasm. "Where is he? My dad."

Connor takes a step forward, and judging by the frown playing at his lips, she knows what is coming. "Y/N," Her head begins to nod, despite the news still inching off the tip of his tongue. "Hank died. Seventeen years ago."

"Oh."

Something shifts in her stomach, a revelation, a sense of relief. A conclusion has been presented to her, certainty floods her veins, a light has shone itself upon the darkness of unknowing and death.

"Was he," The woman sucks in a breath. "was he alone, or in pain? Was he bitten?"

"No. No, he was sick. He had been for about a year, he decided it was time." Y/N's lips purse, she continues to nod feverishly, her brain processes his words. "He thought of you. You and Cole were the last Hank spoke about. We didn't know you were alive."

On that cool day in September twenty years ago, she'd arrived in New York for university, but had barely made it through her first lecture when the news echoed throughout the bustling city.

"Yeah, I know." Y/N sniffles, not from tears, but something tingles. "I tried driving back to you, couldn't make it past Pittsburgh, it'd been quarantined by then."

Connor nods. "Yes."

"I found a group, a couple of us settled in the Boston QZ."

He tilts his head, curious. "Boston's far, what are you doing here?"

She rubs at her temples, shifting her weight between her feet. "We think we've found something, a cure, we need to get her to a lab in Wyoming."

"Her?"

"It's complicated."

"I can help."

"What?"

The android is unfazed. "I can help you get to Wyoming."

A click sounds, from behind her, she turns to find Joel, weapon in hand and pointed for Connor's head. "Y/N, go inside, I'll deal with him."

She shakes her head, a breathy chuckle leaves her. "No, Joel, this is Connor."

His gun lowers. "That Connor?"

"Yeah. Connor, this is Joel, my,"

"I'm her husband." He finishes, face suddenly scrunching in disbelief when he faces her, no one can pinpoint the expression he holds.

"I will give you both some time to talk." Connor, in true android fashion, abruptly walks away, his hands clasped behind his back.

Y/N sits on the stone steps that lead to the porch of the house, planting herself next to where Joel stands. She tugs on his trousers, he sits next to her. "That android thing?"

"That android thing cared for my dad and kept this house in shape." She tells him. "My dad worked the deviant cases to stop the android revolution with him. I was nosy, pestering Connor for information."

"Haven't changed much, honey."

Her shoulder bumps his, it does little damage. "When you met me in Pittsburgh?" He nods, urging her to continue. "I had driven from New York, was just about to start my first year of college."

Joel's hand rests on her thigh, the warmth of his palms comforts her skin, she leans into him completely and he welcomes her touch with a kiss to her hair. "He wants to help us get Ellie to Wyoming."

"Can he use a gun?"

"Mhm."

"Alright, then."

Removing her head from his shoulder, she looks up at him, kissing his lips once, twice, until he holds her jaw and keeps her lips put against his for a third, longer time. She chuckles into his affection, they part minimally, until the similar rustling of an android's footsteps return. "Hey, you're sure you want to come with us?"

Connor nods at her question, he holds his hand out to Joel, who takes it firmly, barely shaking it. "I'll see you both inside."

"Yeah, baby." Her hand trails along the side of his torso, fingertips hovering over his leg as he gets up, Connor takes Joel's place next to her. "It's good to see you, Connor, after so long."

He smiles, fully, this time, slightly toothy. "You, too, Y/N. You've grown."

"Mhm." There's a certain glee in his awkwardness, "Hate the fact that you look the same, so damn great, fucking android."

The familiar sound of her sardonic humor hits his ears, it's like music to his mechanical brain, he dares to chuckle. "Sorry, about that. You don't look too bad yourself." It takes everything in the blue of his blood not to mention how similar she is to Hank.

A moment of silence, there's something she wants to say, Y/N remains chewing on the words, stewing in her vocabulary. "You can say it."

"I'm pregnant."

That isn't what he's expecting, he's taken aback, eyebrows raised for just a moment. "Congratulations."

"Well, thanks, yeah, kind of. Shit world we're in." Connor doesn't respond, he agrees. "But Joel takes good care of me. Been doing so for sixteen years."

"That's good." He looks at her, rather than ahead across the street like they have been doing. "You can always come back here."

She does the same, also smiling. "Yeah? Thanks, Connor."

Quiet, Detroit is so quiet, peace is a smell in the air.

The door to the house opens at such a speed, it threatens to fly off its hinge. "Joel said there's an android!"

"Fucking Joel." Y/N mutters.