#even besides my being fifteen again that is uh

[basingstokemercury]

okay

wow

that was a messed up dream

and I say as a perennial weird-dream-haver

might need to lay off mikado and yeomen for a while?

[auroralwriting]

spencer smut perhaps? he's all shy but the second your lips touch his he snaps?

guilty as sin

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (18+)

you think spencer's too shy to do anything, until he gets a taste of you

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut, dirty talk, p-in-v, wrap it before you tap it, sort of dom!spencer, multiple orgasms, spencer is whipped, season seven spencer is implied, soft and fluffy but also a smidgen kinky, spencer’s a gentleman, he’s still a nerd, begging, orgasm denial, he’s also a tease, light praise, it’s smut you get the gist

"Oh, come on? You're seriously going to sit there and tell me nothing happened with Lila Archer?" Emily laughed as she sipped on her beer.

It was a chilly autumn night. Your team had just returned home from a case a few hours prior. You were still dressed in your work clothes, like the rest of our colleagues. Somehow, you were convinced to go to the bar before it got too late into the evening. A sort of celebration that you all had caught the killer so quick with only two casualties. That was rare. Emily had even convinced Hotch to join you all. Since meeting Beth, he'd began to grow out of his shell. It was nice to see him happy again.

The liquor in all of your systems was enough to allow the silly conversations to flow with ease. Seeing as Emily and you had not been on the team when the Lila Archer stalking case was worked on, you had a fair amount of questions.

"You were with Lila Archer, alone, for hours on end," Emily took a sip of her drink as she continued her mini-rant. "and you didn't bang her?"

Derek emitted a slight chuckle, "Well, she did make out with him in the pool."

"The pool? Spence, you dog!" You gasped, quickly following it up with a laugh.

Deep down, this conversation bothered you. Maybe it was due to the fact that you had the biggest crush on Spencer. Or it could have been the way JJ was staring at you, no doubt profiling you. She was the only one who knew of your feelings for the genius. Of course, she was nothing but comforting and supportive. JJ was trying to catch a read on if she should end this conversation before it really got to you.

"I- She initiated it," Spencer weakly defended. "I just, well, kissed her back." The whole table erupted in oohs and laughs.

You kept your longings locked from the man. Kept in faded color, lowercase, locked away inside some secret vault you kept in your heart. It was better this way.

"You don't have it in you to do anything more, my man." Derek slapped Spencer's back. His words, meant to be supportive, just plain were not. "A man of honor, truth, justice, pat-"

"All right, I think we've all had enough to drink tonight." Hotch cut off Derek's drunken ramble. "Let's all make sure to call cabs home."

You grabbed your belongings, just a jacket, purse, and scarf, and stood up along with the rest of your friends. Everyone bid each other goodnight, small hugs passed along. Reaching in your purse, you went to grab the twenty you'd left, just in case. Your purse, however, was seemingly empty, besides a lipstick and your wallet. "Oh, shit." You muttered, having no way to pay for a ride home.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Spencer asked, hearing your call of distress.

Shaking your head, you pursed your lips. "I don't have any cash to get home."

Spencer was quick to reply, "Oh, well why don't you just ride with me? Riding with another person is thirty to fifty percent more safe than being alone, especially while intoxicated. Uh, you can just spend the night, I know you live further away and I'm sure you're tired."

"Thanks, Spence. I'll pay you back," You offered as the two of you walked outside. You felt a chill run up your spine due to the cold, September air.

"It's no problem." Spencer nodded, reaching over to slightly tighten your scarf. The touch of his fingertips on your neck was enough to warm you up completely.

Penelope gave you one last squeeze as you hopped inside the cab with Spencer. The ride would only be fifteen minutes away from his apartment, which wasn't bad.

You stared out the window, watching as it fogged. You dragged your finger over the condensation, drawing yourself a little picture to keep occupied. Your eyes cast up on their own, deciding to focus on the reflection in the window. You were sure glad they did. Spencer was staring at you, unaware that you could see him. His stare sent another round of shivers down your spine.

Always the gentleman, Spencer helped you out of the car once you'd arrived to his apartment. It hit you that you'd actually never been to Spencer's apartment before. You wondered if it looked anything like you'd imagined.

And it was. Exactly as you'd imagined, actually. Dim, warm lights that gave a cozy feeling. He had a brown, leather couch with a green blanket over the top. Books were scattered all over the apartment, but it was done neatly. They were probably organized in a way that would only make sense to Spencer.

"Sorry it's such a mess," Spencer apologized, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's not at all," You replied. "I guess you've never seen my place."

Spencer hummed, "I haven't."

Being a good host, Spencer offered to make you some tea. You sat at his island while he poured some water in a kettle to heat up.

"So, you know you can be honest with me, right?" You decided to awkwardly start a conversation. The silence was just not doing it for you.

"Of course I know that," Spencer nodded. His back was turned to you as he prepped your mugs.

You shook off your nerves, "Did you actually not sleep with Lila Archer?"

Spencer turned around at your words. "I didn't sleep with Lila Archer." He confirmed. "If I did, you know Morgan wouldn't stop talking about it for the rest of our lives."

A small chuckle came from you. "He really wouldn't." You mused.

"Plus, she's, uh, not my type." Spencer boldly continued after a pause of silence.

"What is your type?" You asked curiously, heart increasing, a deep hope he said you were his type.

"I don't know." Spencer mumbled.

The kettle began to whistle, you could see Spencer's body physically relax at this. A distraction. He passed you the tea which you graciously thanked him for. The two of you sat in a comforting silence as you drank.

Spencer looked so gorgeous in this way. His hair was a bit disheveled, untamed from the long flight. His eyes held no signs of tiredness. Your case was in California. You'd left this morning. He must've also slept the whole way home. His brown locks mesmerized you. Oh, how you wanted to curl your fingers in them. Not to mention the ghost of stubble on his face. You imagined tracing your fingers over it softly, wishing to feel him shiver under your touch.

Maybe it was the remaining alcohol still in your system, or maybe pining after him wasn't doing it anymore. You don't know what came over you when you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his.

Spencer didn't move, you didn't move. It was an odd standoff. "Spence," You softly mumbled his name. You could see his eyes staring down- oh. At your lips. Somehow, you knew he wouldn't do it You watched the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a gulp of nerves.

It was like he couldn't speak. But you knew it the moment you locked eyes again. You'd know that look anywhere; desperation. It was probably gleaming in your eyes, too. You could definitely feel it.

A sudden wave of confidence crashed over you and you felt yourself pushing your lips against Spencer’s. It took him maybe a full second to process what was happening. His large hands came to grab your face, pressing you closer to him. The kiss felt like nothing you’d expected of Spencer. He took control over the situation quickly. He pushed against you hard, slipping his tongue between your slightly parted lips. It was messy, rough, yet filled with such genuine passion it was dizzying.

“Spence,” You pulled back breathlessly. His eyes were filled with something new, something more lustful.

He softly shushed you, hands still on your face, pulling you back in. It was slightly teeth-clashing, hot. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Spencer muttered between kisses, his voice a near whine. “Just couldn’t make the first move.”

Spencer pulled back, rushing around the counter to where you sat. He pushed apart your legs to stand in between them. His fingers grabbed your chin, thumb on it and his first finger under your chin. He gently forced your head to look up to him. His cheeks were flushed, and you assumed yours were a near identical reflection.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer whispered. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you anything, everything.”

“You, I just want you.”

That’s all it took for Spencer to kiss you again. your hands went around his neck to pull off his tie, your hands then moving to unbutton his dress shirt. His worked just as quickly to undo yours.

“Not here,” Spencer muttered, eyes falling to your half-bare chest. “My room’s down the hall.”

With Spencer’s hand in your own, you quickly ran to his bedroom, a soft giggle escaping your lips and how cliché this all felt. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at your amusement. You leapt onto his bed, landing on your knees as you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair that ended on the back of his head.

“Hi, boy genius.” You smiled, voice soft and warm. It reminded Spencer of a hot vanilla latte, or maybe something like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, warm, delicious.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Spencer replied, thumb rubbing sweetly over your cheek.

You both stared into each others eyes for a moment, taking in the delicacy of the intimate moment. Spencer slowly pushed his lips onto yours. It was the most gentle kiss of the evening, and it reminded you that Spencer wasn’t doing this because he felt like it. No, you were his type. Not Lila, you.

Spencer and you slowly discarded the rest of your clothing, allowing Spencer to slowly drag his fingers over your bare skin, admiring your beauty. “You’re almost as beautiful as Aphrodite,” he muttered. “I would say prettier, but the ancient Greek believed it would curse whomever was called more beautiful because Aphrodite wanted to remain the most beautiful.”

Even during moments like this, you loved Spencer’s rambles. Slowly, Spencer began to kiss all around your jaw, moving down your neck and to your chest. Your hands found his hair as you arched into him. He spent some time licking and sucking on your chest, loving the way you sounded for him, the way you pulled on his hair. He loved the smell of your skin, how soft it felt beneath his lips and tongue.

“Spencer,” you whined, pulling harder on his hair.

The man looked up to you, eyes gleaming as his mouth popped off you with a small pop. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need more,” you replied.

“Like what?” Spencer teased, slowly dragging his finger down your stomach. “Need more here?” He asked, playfully biting at your chest. “Or… here?” Spencer’s fingers trailed over your thigh, slowly moving from the inside to the out.

You groaned, “Oh, there! Please, there!”

Spencer also groaned in reply, “Didn’t take you as a begger,” he muttered. “but I love it.”

Slowly, Spencer moved his finger to your aching core. It slowly ran through your folds, causing you to moan loudly. “Spence,”

“Is this all for me?” Spencer cockily asked, referring to your wetness. You nodded quickly, pulling him down to kiss you once more. As he kissed you, he slid a finger inside, just to the first knuckle to gather some of your slick. He brought it back out and slowly began to circle your clit with it. Pulling back from the kiss, you became a mess of moans, whines, and breathy sounds. Spencer slowly kissed up and down your neck as he played with your sensitive bundle of nerves. “This enough for you, baby?”

“Inside,” you stumble out. “Please, inside me.”

Spencer couldn’t help but give you exactly what you wanted. How could he when you begged so nicely for him? He brought that same finger back inside, plunging it until it reached his final knuckle. Slowly, he began to pump it in and out of you, allowing you grace to adjust to the new object inside you.

“How’s that?” Spencer asked.

“Good, so good,” You babbled.

His finger multiplied and became two. They pumped in and out, adding slight curls to his fingers every now and again. His thumb went back to your clit, slowly rubbing it for added pleasure. “This what you wanted, sweet girl? This what you’ve imagined me doing to you?”

“Yes, yes!” You moaned.

Spencer smiled, “I’m not going to lie, I’ve imagined this moment for the last year.” In any other occasion, you would’ve became bashful at the declaration, but you were already too far gone with the alcohol and pleasure in your system.

It was then Spencer’s fingers hit your soft spot, causing your back to arch. “Oh, baby!” You cried out, grabbing onto the man above you and wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.

“There?” He asked.

“Oh, yes! There!” You answered quickly.

Spencer worked his magic, adding another finger as you stretched for him. It didn’t take long for your first orgasm to hit you like a sea of stars. Spencer softly shushed you, helping you relax.

“You okay?” Spencer smoothed your hair as he looked at you carefully.

You nodded, “Please, Spence. I want you.”

Spencer wasted no time lining himself up with you, allowing some of your slick to gather on his hard-on. He pushed in, causing you both to groan in unison.

“Oh my god,” he breathlessly said. “You’re so tight, oh my god. Baby, you feel so good.” His voice raised, slightly higher than normal as he resisted the urge to move until you said so.

“Move, move, please,” You told him. He wasted no time pushing his hips forward and backward, pulling your legs up around his hips once more.

He fit you so good, so right. Everything in that moment felt perfect, like he was made for you. You were made for him. It took Spencer less than a minute to be snapping his hips in record time. You felt like your eyes were going to roll back at the pleasure.

Spencer grabbed your chin the way he did earlier, “Look at me, baby. Wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Still reeling from your last orgasm, it took you no time to feel your climax approaching once more. “Spence, I need to come,”

“Not yet,” He groaned. “‘M almost there, baby. Hold on,” You felt a loud whine emit from your throat. The sound of it made Spencer’s dick throb, and you felt it. “Doing so good for me, honey. Oh, god, I’m almost there. So good.”

You were on the brink of orgasm. You weren’t sure if you could hold it any longer. “Spencer!”

“Where?” He asked.

“In, oh my god,” You practically were yelling at this point.

“Let go, baby,” Spencer’s words were all you needed to finally reach that sweet, sweet release again. You felt him spill inside you, the warmth making your orgasm feel even better. Spencer’s arms slowly gave out above you, and he slowly fell onto your chest. He pressed his lips to your hair, a sweet gesture.

The two of you laid there, catching your breath. You played with Spencer’s curls as he gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “I kind of have a crush on you,” You admitted jokingly, knowing he knew.

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I do too.” He sat up, pulling out of you. You wished he didn’t; it felt so empty. “You gotta go pee, right?”

“Yeah,” You groaned lazily, slowly sitting up. “Hey, you’re gonna take me on a date after this, right?”

Spencer nodded with a smile, “I already have it planned. Now, go use the bathroom so we can fall asleep together.”

You mock saluted at him, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Who knew your night out would lead to the best night of your life?

[love-anddeepression]

White Lily-Umemiya Hajime

a/n:This is actually so shit im so sorry, it was supposed to be something else but it became this. please comment and reblog if you like it i love feedback :3

Fluffity Fluff, ume being clueless and whipped, tsubaki and hiragi are besties i love them sm

It was cold, when you'd first met him. He must've been around fifteen, flung to the ground after a brawl. He had seen you in his peripheral, his vision was blurry.

Like a movie scene, you had entered his line of view, the sun shining behind you as you knelt down beside him, holding his head up and saying something he couldn't hear.

He woke up in his bed later. Sensei was sitting on a chair to his right, and to his left, you. The both of you were chatting animatedly and Sensei was soothing your worry, In fact, it was quite normal for Umemiya to come back to the institution beaten up and bloody.

He coughed and your gaze fell on him, your eyes widening, "You're alright!" you exclaimed.

'You have a goal', his mind provided, he couldn't be distracted by frivolous things like partners and love.

But gosh, you were so pretty. You were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

Your wide eyes sparkled when he smiled, "I am, aren't I. Thanks to you."

Sensei huffed, "Damn right, Ume. She shouted for help until one of the girls ran back here to get me. She was about to carry you on her shoulders."

Now his eyes widened, and he looked at you in surprise.

"Please, as if I would be able to carry him. He's really strong." you scoffed.

Ume had been called strong by many people, and it was a fact that he had accepted. He needed to be strong to change Furin.

So why in hell was he feeling so warm, all of a sudden?

He looked down, focusing on the pattern of his blanket. Bruised knuckles brushing against the soft wool.

"I am glad you're okay." you smile, "And thank you for having me, sir." you nod at the smiling scruffy-haired blonde opposite you, "I'll take my leave."

"Wait!" the words fall out of his mouth before he knows what he's going to say next.

You turn around and he freezes. He freezes like a little rabbit.

"Uhm." he looks away, a deep flush on his cheeks. He doesn't see Sensei trying not to laugh, "I don't even know your name! How will I see you again?"

You laugh, and it's like wind chimes. You give him your name and it sounds like it belongs in his lips.

'That is so cheesy', his fifteen year old brain mocks, 'What is wrong with you?'

"I'll see you in town, Umemiya-kun."

The next day, the boy looks for you like a panting deer in search for water.

When he finds you and you smile at him, he realizes two things.

He likes you :D

Shit. He likes you.

-------

He kisses you on his sixteenth birthday a day after you hand him a potted flower and a handwritten letter.

"Take care of it, Ume!" you had said on the messy, dirty rooftop of Furin, "It holds my feelings for you." The flower is a white-lily to match his hair and the letter smells of your perfume that he has grown to love.

He races to you after he reads the letter, a letter that says nothing about your feelings for him, but contains all the hopes you have for him.

'I hope you achieve everything you desire' He runs down the steps, two at a time, his hand burning as he scraps it on the rusty railing.

'I hope you never lose the fight in you. The resolve I admire so much.' his lungs burn, he's always hated running, but he presses on.

'I hope that you know that you are loved by so many.' he can see you from one of the windows, waving goodbye to Hiragi at the gate.

'I will never forget you as long as I live.'

"Wait!" he shouts again, like the younger boy on the bed, desperate to know you.

You turn again, your eyebrows raised at his panting form.

"Wait, " he groans, god he hates running, "Give me a second." he coughs and you giggle.

Hiragi slowly backs away with an eyeroll, he doesn't hide the small smirk on his face.

A moment later, Umemiya takes your hand in his, "I, uh. Your letter."

"Yes? Did you read it?"

He nods frantically, "Thank you. For everything."

You tilt your head, "Do you know what White Lilies stand for?"

He clears his throat, "Um, not really?" he winces.

"THEY STAND FOR LOVE, YOU IDIOT!" Tsubaki shouts, Hiragi standing next to him, covering his face in embarrasment.

He looks to you, his eyes a little wide.

You smile at Tsubaki and he winks at you.

"You love me?"

You look away, "I have, for a while. And-"

Whatever words you're about to say never come to light because Umemiya holds your face in his hands and brings your lips to his. Goal be damned, he was a fool for ever thinking that love was frivolous. Fool, his mind cackles, how could this ever be stupid? How can your hands in his hair be stupid? how can your smile when he pulls away be stupid?

It is love that makes him live, he realizes, Love for the town, for the people, for you. It makes every punch worth it.

----

Umemiya plants the white-lily you gave him. There are still white lilies, two years later, along with your favorite flower, planted side by side in the garden he grew on Furin's rooftop.

He tends to them in the mornings along with Sugishita and he takes a picture and sends it to you.

"I can't wait! Sugishita!" he exclaims as the younger boy nods, his eyes sparkling. He looks up to you as well, you are always so kind to him.

"It's our two-year anniversary!"

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Phantom Traveler | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, namecalling, typical Dean and reader

Word Count: 8289

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You were sound asleep, curled up into yourself when a knock on the door brought you out of your slumber. 

“(Y/N)?”

‘Sam.’

“I got coffee, thought you could use some,” he called through the door.

You pushed yourself up out of the bed as you yawned, and walked over to the door of your motel room to open it for Sam. 

“Dude, you realize it’s six in the morning, right?” You scratched your head as you let Sam into the room.

“You sound like my brother.”

You playfully glared at him. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Here.” He handed you a coffee and a bag of what you assumed was a pastry.

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting on your bed with your stuff in hand. 

Sam sat on the chair across from you. “Still haven’t warmed up to Dean, huh?” 

“Well, he hasn’t exactly warmed up to me,” you reminded him, thinking of the fight you got into yesterday over his reckless driving.

“Guess that’s true,” he conceded. “It’s weird, though, you guys are so much more alike than you let on.”

“Tell that to him. He started it.” You took a big bite of your pastry.

“Seriously?” Sam laughed, “ ‘He started it’?”

You shrugged, smirking. 

He seemed to remember his original intention behind disturbing your slumber. “Hey, he found a case, though.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” You licked the pastry cream off your thumb.

“We don’t know. The guy on the phone didn’t say.” Sam raised his coffee cup to his lips.

“Guy on the phone?” You took a sip of your coffee as you let Sam answer.

“Yeah. Some guy my dad and Dean worked a case for a while back’s got another one for us. He called Dean.”

“Ah—” you nodded, “—gotcha. So, where’s he live?”

“Pennsylvania,” Sam responded. 

“Okay, not too far,” you noted. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

***

“Thanks for making the trip so quick,” a short older man named Jerry told you and the boys. “I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.”

You were walking beside Sam as you followed behind the man who was having you do this job. You were being led through a warehouse past planes as well as their parts and people hard at work.

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asked the older man.

Someone walking in front of your group was eavesdropping on you. “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

“Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry stated authoritatively to the man. He turned his attention back to the conversation. “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart.” He addressed Dean. “Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?” He’d turned to Sam.

“Yeah, I was. I'm— taking some time off,” Sam explained.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

“He did?” Knowing what you knew about Sam’s relationship with his dad, you found this surprising, too.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry nodded. “Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?”

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean lied. 

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and— what’s your name again?” he asked you.

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N). Even trade, huh?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed.

“Say, (Y/N), how’d you get wrapped up with these two?” Jerry asked.

“Oh, uh—” you began, searching for an abridged version of the truth, “—I met them on a hunt in California. They decided to drag me along with them.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. The guys are gonna need backup with this one,” Jerry said. 

“Why?” 

He did not give a direct answer to your question. “I got something I want you guys to hear.”

He led you to his office where you and Sam took the two chairs and Dean stood behind his brother.

”I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley,” Jerry stated, putting a CD into a drive. “Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

A frantic voice immediately rang out from the speaker as soon as the recording started. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—” the recording cut out with a static sound, “—immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message—” and cut out again, “—May be experiencing some mechanical failure—” and then cut out one last time. The man’s voice was completely drowned out by static, whooshing, and growling sounds.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south,” Jerry continued. “Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”

“You don't think it was?” Sam questioned him.

“No, I don't.”

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam listed.

“Alright,” the man replied.

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean inquired.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… guys— and gal— the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.” Jerry shook his head.

You frowned.

“No problem,” Dean declared.

You gave him a questioning look to which he shrugged off.

***

“How fucking long does it take to make a fake ID?” you groaned, falling back across the backseat of the Impala. You and Sam had found a way to isolate the EVP on Sam’s computer, having gotten a copy of the tape from Jerry.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded. “But I’m gonna lose it if it’s much longer.”

“Same here.” At that moment, Dean walked out of the Copy Jack the Impala was sitting in front of as a pretty woman walked into the store. They greeted each other before Dean walked over to you and his brother.

“Dude,” you started, “You’ve been in there forever.”

“Wah-wah,” he whined, mocking you. “You can’t rush perfection.” He held up three IDs.

“Homeland Security?” Sam questioned as he took one of the IDs. “That's pretty illegal, even for us.”

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times,” Dean pointed out as he got into the car.

“Alright, so, what do you got?” Dean asked his brother as he flicked your ID back at you. It hit you square in the side of the head. 

“Dude, really?” you hissed, aggravation clear in your tone.

“Shh,” the older Winchester hushed you as he waited for Sam to answer.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam explained.

“Yeah?”

“Listen.”

The isolated voice of what you were dealing with came through the recording scratchy and backed by demonic growling sounds. “No survivors!”

“ ’No survivors’?” Dean asked. “What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

You shrugged.

Dean let out a sigh. “So, what are we thinking? A haunted flight?” 

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers,” Sam began.

Dean hummed in affirmation. “Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.”

“I don’t know, guys,” you stated skeptically. “Ghost just doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, thanks for your optimism, sunshine,” Dean quipped.

“It’s not about optimism, you asshole, it’s about being right and dealing with whatever we’re up against properly,” you pushed back.

“Know-it-all,” the older Winchester replied. 

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the case.“Alright, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?”

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” you said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but why him?”

You glared at Dean. “Because if anybody saw something weird, he did. I talked to his mom while you were spending forever in the store. She said some pretty weird shit and told me where to find him. He was so screwed up, he checked himself into the hospital.”

***

You and the Winchesters walked beside Max Jaffey, who hobbled on a cane, through the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital’s garden. 

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max told your trio.

“Right. Some new information has come up,” Dean lied. “So if you could just answer a couple questions...”

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?” Sam questioned.

Max looked confused. “Like what?”

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices,” Dean offered. 

“No, nothing.”

Seeing as no one was getting anywhere with this investigation, you tried your hand at it. “Mr. Jaffey, you checked yourself in here, right?”

He nodded at you.

“Why?”

“Uh, I was a little stressed,” he said sarcastically. “I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded. “And that’s what scared you? That’s what screwed you up so badly?”

You could tell you were close to the answers you were after as he swallowed uncomfortably. “I— I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know, but I also know you saw something up there,” you continued. “We need to know what.”

“No.” Max shook his head. “No, I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean half-mocked him.

You shot a warning glance at Dean, hoping to get him to shut up. 

“It's okay,” you coaxed. “Just tell us what you thought you saw, please.”

“There was… this—man. And, uh, he had these… eyes—these, uh, black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...” he trailed off, stopping as he recounted the events.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He opened the emergency exit,” Max explained. “But that's— that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, clearly confused. 

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asked.

Max quirked his head at the younger Winchester. “What are you, nuts? He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

***

“I think we can rule out phantom traveler,” you noted as you got out of the car in front of the Phelps’s house. You were going to visit the wife of George Phelps, the man who opened the emergency exit. 

“Why?” Dean asked.

“You heard Jaffey. He said the dude had black eyes. Opened a fucking emergency exit on his own. ‘Black eyes’ points me to demon.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Demons?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Sam shrugged. “He could be a demon. He might be some kind of a creature, too, in human form.”

“Does that look like a creature's lair to you?” Dean questioned as he gestured toward the house that was representative of the essence of suburban houses. From its beautiful garden to the cobblestone steps to the beige paint coating the outside of the two-story building.

Sam shrugged and began leading your trio up the steps of the house. 

Once inside, you three sat across from Mrs. Phelps on the couch while she sat in an armchair. 

Sam picked a picture of Mrs. Phelps and an older man up off of the side table. “This is your late husband?” he asked.

“Yes, that was my George.”

“And you said he was a dentist?” Dean questioned. 

She hummed in affirmation. “He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that...”

Sam asked another question. “How long were you married?”

“Thirteen years.”

You could tell Sam was contemplating how to ask his next question. “In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him; anything out of the ordinary?”

She paused for a moment. “Well, uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.”

You nodded, clicking your tongue. “I think that’s all we have for you, Mrs. Phelps. Thank you for your time.”

She showed all of you out, and you piped up as you walked down the stairs outside of the house. 

“Demon’s sounding more and more correct all the time,” you smiled, trying to joke around.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” Dean groaned.

“And you’re a misogynistic dick that can’t handle women with brains,” you responded. 

“What, are we gonna duke this out now?” Dean stopped by the door of the car, facing you. 

You stood by the backseat’s door. “You started it,” you taunted childishly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared back at him. 

“Really?” he leered. “You’re gonna pull that card? Mature.”

“You act like you’re any better.”

“Guys—” Sam tried to cut in, but Dean continued to fight with you. 

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that one before,” you drawled.

“Guys! You can fight later. Wrong place, wrong time to sort this out,” Sam chastised you and Dean like you were children.

You got in the car and slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t hurt my baby ‘cause you’re pissed,” Dean scolded you as he started to pull the car away. 

“Just drive, asshole,” you grumbled in frustration as you slumped down in your seat. The rest of the car ride to the local outlet mall was silent.

***

You had never felt more confident. Despite the fact that you could have worn the one dress you already had to pose as homeland security, you decided to treat yourself to a new outfit to distract from your aggravation with Dean. 

The boys had gone to a suit shop called “Mort’s for Style,” and you went into a dress shop called “Betsy’s.” It was a cute little shop with a lot of great dress and pantsuit options.

You had picked out a navy blue pantsuit. You wore a white button-up underneath the blazer with the top two buttons undone to accentuate your breasts. The blazer was unbuttoned, and the high-waisted, straight-legged pants you wore matched the black color of your blazer. With the white button-up tucked into your pants and the small amount of makeup you threw on to draw attention to your eyes and lips, you felt good. 

Once you had paid for your clothing, you walked out of the shop and back to the Impala. Surprisingly, the boys were not there waiting for you. 

You leaned your back against the car, picking out the grit from under your nails.

You looked up when you heard Dean’s voice. “Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers.” 

Both of the boys were dressed in sharp, black suits. You almost lost your breath at the sight of Dean, but fought yourself to keep your composure. You would not give him the satisfaction of knowing you found him attractive. 

“No, you don't,” Sam told him. “You look more like a seventh-grader at his first dance.”

You laughed at the younger brother’s jeer. “What took you girls so long?” you asked once you got in the Impala. “I thought you two would’ve beat me out the store by a long shot.”

“Dean wouldn’t leave the dressing room,” Sam said dryly.

“Seriously?” you droned.

You and Sam both looked to Dean, who did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, he complained, “I hate this thing.”

“Hey,” Sam stared. “You want into that warehouse or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he continued to drive along.

You steeled your nerves as your black, pointed-toe pumps clicked across the warehouse floor. Your trio was headed to the security guard that would allow you in to see the wreckage.

You held the clipboard you had stowed in your bag close to your chest, acting as some sort of a recorder for the boys. The three of you flashed your badges at the security guard, who nodded and allowed you into the hangar where the wreckage was being kept.

There was a large map of what the plane should look like painted onto the floor, and the parts that corresponded to the different portions of the map were laid in their proper spots. There were wires hung on fences and broken interior parts of the plane laid on tables. The most heartbreaking things for you to look at were the torn passengers’ seats because most of the people who had been in them were now dead.

You looked over at Dean, who had earbuds in and was moving a small box over the tops of the wreckage.

“What’s that?” you asked him.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.”

You got closer to him, noticing what the object appeared to be. “I know what an EMF meter is; I’m not stupid. But why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?”

“ 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade,” he grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you quipped. 

His grin disappeared. “Bitch.”

“Dick.”

You once again fought the pain in your chest when he called you a bitch. In all honesty, you thought his homemade EMF meter was cute. However, you were too far gone in your war with him to surrender now.

Dean ran the Walkman over a piece of the wreckage with black spores and yellow dust on it. You could hear the faint sound of a spike on the meter through Dean’s headphones.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” Dean called to Sam. 

Sam came over to where you and Dean stood as the older brother scratched at the dust to get some on his hand.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asked.

One way to find out.” You saw the younger of the two brothers start scraping some of the dust into a small bag.

“We need to go,” you told the boys. You weren’t sure what told you that, but you just suddenly felt unsettled. The hairs on the back of your neck stood at attention, and every muscle in your body tensed. You started off toward the exit in the back of the warehouse. 

“Wait, (Y/N), what if we’re missin’ something?” Dean questioned, clearly aggravated you were ready to ditch already.

“Too bad, we gotta go.” You kept walking toward the exit, making it out of the door and around the backside of the building. 

At that moment, an alarm started blaring through the area surrounding the warehouse.

You turned around to look at the boys as you gloated, “I’m not gonna say, ‘I told you so’!“ Not bothering to rip your shoes off of your feet, you took off running to the gated exit. 

Sam and Dean were quick to follow you and soon passed you up. The older brother took off his suit jacket and threw it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence. You did the same with your blazer. After quickly taking off your pumps to avoid hurting yourself when you jumped from the top of the gate, you threw yourself over the fence. The other two did the same.

Sam grabbed your blazer that you were too small to reach from the top of the fence as Dean found it within himself to remark, “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.”

You ran after the two boys, heels and blazer in hand as the jagged rocks in the cement cut into your feet. As soon as you shut the door to the car, Dean slammed on the gas pedal.

He tore out of the warehouse’s parking lot, speeding down the road to head toward Jerry’s workplace. 

"(Y/N),” Sam started, turning in his seat to face you with a curious expression on his face, “how did you know that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. My intuition’s just always been pretty sharp.” You were being honest; there had been a few times on hunts previously when you’d known it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

“Hm.” You could tell Dean still didn’t trust you.

“Dude, I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s the truth,” you countered. “I’ve been helping you guys with your dad for almost two months now, and you still don’t trust me. I don’t know what more to do for you.”

“Maybe because I don’t know you,” he responded, never taking his eyes off the road. 

“Maybe if you tried to know me, you’d find it a little easier to trust me,” you answered.

“Not interested,” came Dean’s grumbled response.

You tried your best to ignore the pang that went through your chest once more. “Of course not.”

***

You refused to speak to or even look at Dean; your frustration with the fact that he had no desire to know you and his general existence boiling to the surface. You could feel his stare burning into the side of your head as you focused on Jerry, who sat in front of you. He was looking through a microscope on his desk at the yellow dust Sam had collected.

“Huh,” Jerry remarked. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You're sure?” Sam asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry offered, getting up from behind the desk so Sam could take his place. 

Banging sounds along with a string of curse words caught your ear as Jerry sighed. 

“If you guys will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire,” he dryly stated, walking out of the office.

You got up from the chair you were sitting in next to Dean. “See?” you started excitedly, gesturing toward the sulfur, “Demons.”

“That would explain how one guy had the strength to open up the emergency exit,” Sam added.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean put his hands on his hips as he stood. “You ever heard of something like this before?” 

Sam looked over at his brother, who responded, “Never.”

“Well, I have,” you said simply.

They both looked to you to continue.

“In NYC a couple years back. Some cabbies had gotten possessed and were takin’ girls left and right.”

“Those were demons?” Sam asked, standing up from behind Jerry’s desk. “That was a huge deal on the news while I was at Stanford. Police thought it was a serial killer. You took ‘em on all by yourself?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” you chuckled. “I can handle a few demons. But, yeah, that was me. That was probably the toughest case I’ve ever been on. Finding where those demons had taken those girls after they drugged them in the cabs... where they were raped and murdered...” You shook your head, your cheery expression gone. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Sam told you gently. 

Your eyes were glued to the floor, hands on your hips with not a bit of life in your voice as you muttered, “All in a day’s work.”

Sam had asked you to tell him and Dean everything you knew about demons once you got back to the Winchesters’ motel room. Sam sat at the table close to the window while Dean sat on the bed closest to his brother. You stood in front of the two as you spoke.

“Demons exist in every religion in every world culture. With the ones that I was dealing with up in New York, they were most similar to Incubi from early Christian religion. Incubi raped sleeping girls. These demons drugged the girls to put them to sleep, then they raped them, and then they murdered them. What I’m thinking for these demons is that they’re most similar to certain Japanese demons. I had to look into these when I was trying to figure out how to kill the NYC demons. The Japanese believe demons cause certain disasters, whether it be natural or man-made. Some cause earthquakes, others cause disease—”

“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean deadpanned, cutting you off.

You ignored him. “Demons are having to find new ways to ratchet up the body count. Like with me in New York, Incubi can’t go about their old methods anymore. This demon probably evolved with the times like the Incubi did, and so it figured plane crashes were the best way to get its job done.”

Dean snorted, getting up from. the bed and turning away from you and his brother.

“What?” Sam asked.

He turned around, scratching the back of his neck. “I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death, and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah. Me too,” the younger Winchester admitted.

Dean’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello?... Oh, hey, Jerry… Wha— Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?... Where'd this happen?... I'll try to ignore the irony in that… Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

He hung up the phone. 

“Another crash?” Sam questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Nazareth.” 

‘Ah, there’s the irony.’

***

After leaving the horrendous scene of Chuck’s plane crash, you and the boys went back to Jerry’s office. Once again, Jerry confirmed that the dust you had taken from the steering wheel of Chuck’s plane was, in fact, sulfur. 

“Well, that's great,” Dean sassed. “Alright, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

“If that's the case, that would be the good news,” you chimed in. You looked up to the sky, addressing the pilot. “No offense, Chuck.”

“What's the bad news?” Jerry asked you.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight, just like 2485,” you informed the older man.

“Forty minutes?” Chuck inquired. “What does that mean?”

“It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death,” Dean said.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam explained.

"Any survivors?” the older Winchester questioned his brother.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason.” Sam turned to you after thinking for a moment. “On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

“ ‘No survivors,’ “ you realized. “It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.”

Dean drove the Impala down an empty highway. 

Sam was on the phone with one of the survivors from the plane crash, the conversation almost over. “Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“That leaves the flight attendant, Amanda Walker,” you commented.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight P.M. It's her first night back on the job,” Sam told you and his brother. 

“That sounds like just our luck,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel,” Sam said worriedly.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass,” Dean tried.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.”

“God, we're never gonna make it,” you shook your head, leaning back in the seat as you scrubbed a hand through your hair.

“We'll make it,” the older brother countered, slamming his foot on the gas. 

Somehow, someway, Dean had managed to get to the airport at ten minutes to seven. 

You jumped up out of the car, taking your gun out of your pants and stashing it under the backseat.

“What are you doing?” 

You still did not feel like talking to Dean but answered him shortly nonetheless. “We’re going into an airport.”

Dean finally caught onto what you meant and took all of his weapons off of him, too. “I feel naked.”

You fought the smile threatening to creep up your face.

You rushed into the airport just behind the boys, squeezing your way through the crowd of people to get to the departure board.

“Right there,” Sam pointed out. “They're boarding in thirty minutes.”

“Okay. We still have some cards to play,” Dean paused, thinking for a moment.  “We need to find a phone.” 

He found a courtesy phonw on the wall, picking it up. “Hi. Gate thirteen… I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”

He waited impatiently for Amanda to pick up the phone. When she finally did, he began speaking again.

“Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here… Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—” His face fell, his eyes widening a touch. “You what?... Uh, well… there must be some mistake—”

Sam went around his brother to try to get a closer listen. 

After a longer pause, Dean let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “...Guilty as charged… He's really sorry… Yeah, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so—... Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic… Oh, yeah… No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “Damn it! So close.”

"Alright, time for plan B. We're getting on that plane,” you stated firmly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” For the first time since you met him, Dean looked scared.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash,” Sam argued.

“I know.” He looked conflicted.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and (Y/N) get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes.”

Dean looked at Sam blankly, evidently a little anxious.

“Are you okay?” the younger Winchester asked.

Dean hesitated. “No, not really.”

“What? What's wrong?”

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh...”

“Flying?” you cut in.

“It's never really been an issue until now,” he told you.

“You're joking, right?” Sam huffed.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” he spat.

For the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like mocking him about his fear of planes.

“Okay, then (Y/N) and I’ll go,” Sam proposed.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

“We’ll handle this one.”

“What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.”

“Dean, we can do it together, or I can do this one with (Y/N). I'm not seeing a third option, here.”

Dean scratched his head. “Come on! Really? Man...”

Dean walked much faster than you did toward the car to get supplies, clearly trying to leave you in his dust.

“Would you slow down a bit, please?” you asked.

“Why should I?”

“Because even if you get to the car before me, you’re not gonna have a fucking clue what to use to deal with a demon,” you reminded him, your words a bit more venomous than need-be.

He stopped, turning to face you. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you told him. You truly weren’t.

“Definitely sounds like you are.”

You walked past him to the trunk of the Impala. “I wasn’t, I’m simply pointing out the fact that I’m the one who knows how to deal with demons, and you don’t.”

“There you go again. Acting like you know so much better than I do.” His attitude was truly exhausting.

Your voice rose as you defended yourself. “Because I do! In this case, at least!”

“But it’s not just this one time that you acted like you’re better than me,” he argued. “Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with your smart ass?”

“Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with yours?” you threw back. You sighed, putting aside your anger for now. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about this.” You shoved holy water, a rosary, and the EMF Walkman into Dean’s hands. “Now, let’s go.” 

You shoved past Dean and headed back to the airport.

***

You sat between Sam and Dean, completely at ease. Dean, however, was losing his mind.

"Just try to relax,” Sam whispered from the window seat 

Dean’s voice came back harder and slightly louder. “Just try to shut up.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you scolded playfully.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dean clapped back using the same tone with you that he had with Sam. He took in a sharp breath when the plane began moving a second later.

You gathered your courage and grabbed his hand. He jerked away from you and looked at you in surprise. When the plane took off, though, his hand rejoined yours, squeezing tightly. You giggled to yourself.

“I’m so glad this is funny to you,” Dean hissed.

“It’s not,” you answered simply.

“Then why are you laughing?” His grip tightened once again.

“It’s just,” you considered your next words carefully. “It’s kind of cute, that’s all.”

Dean was caught off-guard by your response. He eyed you quizzically, unsure of what to say. You just shrugged, settling the back of your head against your seat with your hand still in Dean’s. It was much larger than yours, and you fought the urge to run your fingers along the calloused ridges. 

Moments passed in a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Dean spoke again, not a trace of bite in his tone. “Why are you doing this?”

You rolled your head toward him. “Everybody’s scared of something,” you quietly replied. “It helps me to know I’m helping you. Even if you do hate my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts.” He spoke so softly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Pfft, could’ve fooled me,” you answered. 

“You just…” he started, “...get on my nerves. ‘S all.”

You giggled. 

A few minutes later when the plane had fully gotten up in the air, you heard the familiar sound of a song you had heard many times before in the Impala coming from the man next to you. 

“You're humming Metallica?” Sam asked Dean monotonously.

“Calms me down,” the older brother replied. 

“ ‘Some Kind of Monster’? Really?“ You raised a brow at him.

Dean did not respond to you.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused,” the younger Winchester reminded his brother.

“Yup,” you chimed in. “We only have thirty-two minutes to track the bitch down and full-on exorcise it.” 

“Yeah, on a crowded plane,” Dean commented. “That's gonna be easy.”

“Just take it one step at a time, alright?” Sam said calmly. “Now, who is it possessing?” 

“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress,” Dean stated.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up,” Sam told Dean, who hummed in response.

Dean sat up stiffly, his body still tense as he turned to the blonde flight attendant walking past.

“Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” he asked her.

“No, I'm not,” she answered with a smile.

"Oh, my mistake.”

The flight attendant hummed in agreement.

He peered into the back of the plane, finding the other blonde flight attendant. “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.”

“What if she's already possessed, genius?” Sam asked.

“There's ways to test that,” Dean responded, pulling the holy water out of his jacket. “I brought holy water.”

“Correction, I brought holy water—” you leaned forward, gently taking the bottle, “—And that’s for when we try to exorcise the demon. She’ll flinch at the name of god if she’s possessed.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean replied, getting up from his chair. You could tell he had not. You already missed the feeling of his hand in yours.

He turned to go, but you stopped him.

“Dean!” you whispered.

“What?” The annoyance in Dean’s voice was back. 

“Say it in Latin.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what is it?” you smirked, quirking a brow.

“ ‘Christo!’ I’m not an idiot!” he hissed back. Dean turned away from you and headed to the back of the plane. 

You slumped down in your seat, closing your eyes as the copilot began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking...” you tuned out the rest of his message.

A few minutes went by before the older brother returned.

“Alright, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet,” he sighed as he flopped back into his seat.

“You said ‘Christo’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her.” 

“So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam explained.

The plane shook, causing Dean to tense up. He grabbed your hand once more. “Come on!” he whined. “That can't be normal!”

“Hey, hey, it's just turbulence,” you coaxed.

“Sweetheart, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm fucking four.” He went to drop your hand, but you tightened your grip.

“Okay,” you started, changing tactics. Your tone became harsh. “You need to calm down.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I can't,” Dean sassed.

“You didn’t want to be treated like you’re four, so stop acting like it,” you commanded. “Be a man, Winchester. If you’re a basketcase, you’re wide open to possession. Get your shit together. Right now.”

Dean took a deep breath.

You smiled. “Great. Onto the Rituale Romanum.”

“The what?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“The exorcism ritual,” you elaborated. “It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean questioned, his voice strained and eyes wide.

“Yup.”

“How?” He was starting to get panicky again.

“It’d just be able to wreak havoc on its own without a vessel,” you informed.

“Oh. And why is that a good thing?”

“ 'Cause the second part of that sends the bitch back to hell once and for all.”

“First things first, we got to find it.”

“There ya go,” you chuckled.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, getting up from his chair with the EMF Walkman.

You and Sam let him walk down the aisle by himself for a few minutes before the two of you got up to go talk to him.

You tapped his shoulder.

“Ah!” Dean jumped back, wheeling around to face you. “Don’t do that!”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No, nothing. How much time we got?” 

“Fifteen minutes,” Sam told you and his brother. “Maybe we missed somebody.” 

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane,” Dean shrugged.

“No way. Dean, it’s gonna be here,” you protested. Just as you spoke, the EMF meter spiked. 

You looked up to see the copilot coming out of the bathroom.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

You stared at the copilot. “Christo.”

The man’s head slowly turned toward you and the boys, his eyes black.

You wheeled around to face Sam. “We gotta talk to Amanda.”

“She's not gonna believe this,” Sam contested.

“You’re probably right, but we only got twelve minutes,” you reminded the younger brother. You walked ahead of the boys into the concessions area where Amanda busied herself.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she smiled politely, clearly caught off-guard by your presence.

“Actually—” Dean began, “—that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.”

Sam closed the curtains behind you as Amanda answered Dean. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now,” Dean rushed out.

She looked confused but kept her smile painted on her face.

“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam continued for Dean.

Her grin disappeared. “Who are you guys?”

Sam ignored her question. “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now,” the older brother told her.

“I'm sorry—” she started, attempting to move past you, “I— I'm very busy. I have to go back—”

“Chuck Lambert’s dead, Amanda,” you cut in, effectively stopping her from leaving. “The pilot from 2485.”

“Wait. What?” She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “Chuck is dead?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “He died in a plane crash. That’s the second plane crash in two months. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

“Look, there was something wrong with 2485,” Sam added. “Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too.”

Dean made a last attempt to drive the point home. “Amanda, you have to believe us.”

The blonde looked to the ground. “On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes.”

“Black eyes?” you asked.

She nodded.

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam clarified.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?”

Dean answered before you got the chance to. “Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.”

Amanda looked between the three of you, confused. “Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?”

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—” You could practically see her mind running a mile a minute. 

Even Sam was getting impatient. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—”

“Babe, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't go get him right now,” you remarked.

She looked at you and nodded, turning to leave for the cockpit.

As soon as Amanda made it out of the curtains, you fished the holy water out of your hoodie’s pocket, moving to press your back against the wall next to the closed blue curtains.

A few moments later, you heard the copilot say to Amanda, “Yeah, what's the problem?” Just outside the curtains. As soon as the demon ducked into the small room, Dean punched him in the face. He then shoved the demon to the ground and slapped duct tape over his mouth. 

“Wait,” Amanda protested as you got down on the ground beside Dean, “What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean replied simply as you splashed the copilot with holy water.

The demon groaned under the duct tape, his skin sizzling and burning holes through his shirt.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” Amanda cried.

“Look,” Sam started calmly, “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”

Amanda’s breath quickened. “Well, I don't underst— I don't know—”

“Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that? Amanda?”

She gave herself a pep talk before heading outside of the curtains.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean groaned. “I don't know how much longer I can hold him.”

The demon went to kick the older Winchester in the back, but you dove to grab his legs.

Sam began reciting the Latin ritual written in his father’s journal. “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”

The demon kneed you in the forehead, causing you to fall back and got a few good swings at the boys in as well. You clambered on top of the copilot, sitting on his stomach with his arms pinned by his sides under your legs.

Sam continued with the ritual before the demon threw you off of him. He ripped the tape off of his mouth and turned to Sam. “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

You attempted to recover from getting slammed into the wall while Dean focused on attacking the demon.

Sam sat there in shock, so you grabbed the journal and tried to finish the ritual.

The demon hit Dean again, effectively getting the young man off of him and knocking Dean into you. The book fell from your hand, and the demon kicked it out into the passenger’s cabin.

A cloud of black smoke flew out from the copilot’s body and into a vent while Sam went out into the aisle to find the journal. 

Suddenly, the plane shook violently and took a nosedive. The lights in the plane flickered and you and Dean were thrown to the back wall of the concession’s area. 

You and Dean screamed as the plane went down. Dean held onto the emergency exit door for dear life as you pressed yourself into the corner opposite from the older Winchester.

Your yelps were cut off when the plane leveled out following a surge of electricity coursing through the aircraft. You assumed Sam was able to finish the ritual and the pilot was able to regain control of the plane. 

You shakily stood up from the ground and dusted yourself off, tugging on the sleeves of your large hoodie.

You stepped out into the passenger’s cabin, heading to Sam as people began asking their neighbors if they were okay.

You wrapped Sam in a short, tight hug as you thanked him for keeping his head level enough to finish the ritual and trying to comfort him after what the demon had said. When you had made your way back to your seats, a slight rumble went through the aircraft. Dean grabbed your hand once again, and kept it there for the rest of the flight. A small smile tugged at your lips. 

After landing back at your original airport, you stood beside Sam and Dean as you watched the swarms of EMTs, FBI agents, and FAA agents go from person to person. They questioned or looked over each one, and your focus bounced between them.

You found Amanda in the crowd talking to an FBI agent, and she turned to the side to mouth “thank you” to you and the Winchesters.

“Let's get out of here,” Dean said firmly.

You began to head to the exit when Dean asked Sam, “You okay?”

You turned back to Sam, who reminded you and his brother, “Dean, it knew about Jessica.”

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. Alright? That's all it was.” The older brother attempted to brush Sam’s concerns off.

“Yeah.” The brunet didn’t sound convinced.

“Come on.”

***

The next day, you and the Winchesters visited Jerry at his workplace to give him the final mission report. Jerry showed you and the boys out and escorted you to the Impala parked outside of the warehouse. 

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed,” he acknowledged. He shook your hand before turning to the boys. “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

Sam gave him an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “We'll see you around, Jerry.”

You turned to the car, as did Dean before he turned back to the older man. 

“You know, Jerry—" he began.

“Yeah.”

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway?” the young man continued. “I've only had it for like six months.”

“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry explained simply.

“What?” Sam exclaimed in shock.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean questioned.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” He took a pause. “Thanks again, guys— and gal,” he grinned.

“Bye, Jerry!” you called after him as he headed off.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service,” Sam told his brother.

Dean dials what you assumed was his father’s number. However, instead of the out-of-service message Sam had described, a voicemail began to play.

The two boys leaned into the phone so they could hear it better.

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, the voice hard to hear, but you were still able to make out the words. “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

Sam fumed, shaking his head in frustration as he got in the car. He slammed the door behind him. You looked over to Dean, who did not meet your gaze. He got in the car following his brother. You took one last look at the setting sun as a plane flew over your head. 

“I fuckin’ hate flying,” you muttered.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel

[e-nonsense]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟'𝗦 𝗞𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡 - 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵. 𝘻𝘦𝘳𝘰

prev / next | masterlist

pairing. batfam x batsis!reader + platonic!matt murdock x batsis!reader

warnings. swearing, child neglect, mentions of an accident that makes you blind, canon/typical violence, nothing goes with comics

series masterlist

You got to Gotham city when you were five, you didn't want to go but you had no choice your mother was dead, and had left you in the care of your father.

But even at five years old your father had no time for you. Always busy with the public, or with Batman.

At the time Dick was fifteen, he had no reason to care for a little sister, but Jason. Oh Jason Todd, to you he was an angel.

Your big brother who at eight years old you deemed cooler than Dick Grayson.

Everyday after patrol, he'd come up and check on you, tell you a story usually a more child friendly version of his missions.

You kept him grounded, you made all his anger go away, an anger you blamed Bruce for because when you two first met he wasn't angry he was a happy kid. Everytime you called his name, the soft mutter of "Jay" would knock some sense into him.

But after the accident, the one you went blind, you were nine nearly ten and Jason would stay fifteen, in that year you had lost two things.

Your sight, and your big brother.

You were often met with pity than concern because of it. Everyone always asking if you were alright, but never truly caring about the answer.

You heard about the headlines when it happened, "Y/n Wayne, gone blind" or "Gotham's little princess now Gotham's latest victim"

It's not like they actually cared, no of course not they only gave a shit about the publicity they'd get from selling stories like this.

You were only nine years old, you'd think five years would be enough to adjust.

Apparently not..

"Miss Wayne" you heard a gentle knocking at the door of your father's office- well it's your office now. Bruce signed Wayne Industries off to you, because it would make everyone's lives easier if you (someone they deemed quite useless) were actually doing something important, it gave them more vigilante time. Besides you finished school already, you were a smart kid, always top of your class you managed to skip a couple of grades and graduate early like super early.

You were a disappointed when nobody but Alfred turned up, then again you'd stopped caring about that a while ago. Jason - your beloved zombie brother - wouldn't stop apologising, and he took you for ice-cream and hung out with you for the rest of the night as an apology. You couldn't stay mad at him.

"Yes?" you'd been running the company for a few weeks, Alfred was usually helping you. Reading out things that weren't in braille, but since the first thing you did when you got Wayne Industries was buy braille embossers mainly 'cause you knew Alfred would always be there to help you with everything.

"Sorry to disturb you Miss, but y'know that guy that you fired last week?"

"Yeah, the one that was caught uh- having sex in the storage room right?"

"The very same Miss" if you could see right now Tani's face would be littered with pink on her cheeks, "He wants to sue"

"And?" you groaned, that came out harsher that you intended, you could sense that she understood.

"Well he's got a pretty compelling case against the company. When your father owned it that is, very incriminating"

"shit" you muttered under your breath, mentally thanking any godly being out their that Alfred wasn't there to hear you.

"how hard is it to get a good lawyer?"

"No" Matt's voice was firm, he didn't want to take the case and nobody could make him.

"no what do you mean, no" Foggy didn't get it, I mean he sort of did but you were offering a nice pay- like more than what's in their pay grade- but it had nothing to do with criminal law, sort of.

"I don't want to do it Foggy, it has nothing to do with my job or qualifications"

"I'm going to do it then"

"No" Foggy wasn't even listening, he had already walked out of the room and went to reply to the email your secretary had sent to him and various other lawyers.

Foggy stepped up to Tani's desk- Matt beside him- and smiled, eying to the elevator that led all the way up to your office, two security guards on each side. You had put them there for Tani because when she didn't let people up they'd harass her.

"Hi, we're here to see Miss Wayne" Foggy's voice only slightly louder than the crappy music in the background. Tani looked up, "name?"

"Nelson, Foggy Nelson"

For the first time since they arrived Matt talked, but only to utter his name.

"Through the elevator please"

They walked as silently as possible, neither in the mood to talk to one another. Once they were inside and going up Matt was talking.

"Y'know kid’s probably just gonna be another spoilt rich kid, who's daddy running the business behind their back because they can't do shit"

Foggy only let out a sigh, and walked through the elevator doors when he saw it open, only to reveal another door, one he assumed led to your office.

He was shocked to hear laughter coming from inside the room, what ever happened to professionalism?

"Alfie, I swear this guy was high-"

Matt heard a this 'Alfie' guy chuckle "Miss Wayne you can't say that about them, they're lawyers that came hear to help you"

"I know I know, but you should've seen them" you exaggerated the word seen and it made Alfred laugh.

But the laughter stopped when Foggy knocked on the door and Alfred cleared his through smiling while gesturing for them to come in.

"Oh my god, she's blind Matt" Foggy whispered, as he watched you move from leaning on the desk and stood up straight.

"Sorry I'd shake your hand but I'm not exactly sure where you are"

Matt smiled at that "Don't worry 'bout it, 'cause I don't know where you are either"

"He's blind" Foggy not so discreetly whispered to you.

"I can see that" you whispered back with a chuckle, you cleared you throat "now onto business then?"

"Of course"

Okay maybe Matt was a little wrong about you, alright very wrong about you. You were nothing like he imagined, but then again he hadn't put much thought to what you might be like.

He could tell that you could handle yourself, and that impressed him a lot. He could also tell that you were still grasping the ropes of being blind.

And well he wanted to help you, to train you. He thought it was funny, him training someone but he wanted to try. Maybe you could be the next Daredevil.... scratch that he didn't want that for you.

Now how is someone supposed to reveal a secret identity to a complete stranger?

ᴛᴀɢ/ꜱ: @fandxmslxt69 @jaguarthecat @bxdbxtxh15 @byebyeeye @8-29pm

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, gods, it’s late.”

It’s the movement rather than the words that draw Nico’s attention; Will has been muttering to himself for hours. He usually does. It’s odd for him to stay quiet.

“Hm?”

“Curfew,” Will says shortly, strained as he flips upside down to store his book with the others under his bed. Nico grips his ankle, grinning, the dozens of times his boyfriend has landed sprawled on the creaky floorboards flashing through his mind. (He’s always so whiny after, embarrassment making his cheeks flush. Sometimes Nico just wants to — squeeze him. He’s such a klutz.)

“I could stay here,” Nico offers once he’s upright again. He tries for his most casual expression, leaning back onto Will’s pillows like it’s nothing, no big deal. He hears Austin’s snickering from the bottom bunk and subtly stretches down to kick him in the shoulder. “Might be easier.”

“I’ll walk you to your cabin. C’mon.”

Nico sighs, flipping his DS shut and climbing down ladder after him. Austin sticks his tongue out as Nico passes, so Nico flicks him on the head. Will watches them with a roll of his eyes.

“Teenagers,” he huffs.

Nico slips his hand in his. “You are fifteen years old.”

“In body. In spirit I am leagues beyond you. Sagacious. Wise. Enlightened. Uh —”

“Full of himself?” Nico offers. “Pigheaded? Conceited, perhaps.”

Will pouts. Nico laughs, slowing them down and leaning up to kiss it. He’s warm, even in the cool, late summer night, and he shudders when Nico slides his hand in his hair. His palms rest — hesitantly, as they always do, waiting for Nico’s hum of approval, waiting for him to set the pace — on his hips, fingers curling.

“Harpies,” Will mumbles against his lips. “Bad.”

“They’re afraid of me,” Nico dismisses. (It’s true. They are. It’s one of the many perks of being the son of Hades, he supposes, along with his knack for finding dark, private corners to drag Will into.)

“Yeah, but —”

“William. Può esso. Kiss me, before I lose my mind.”

He can feel Will’s smile against his mouth, feel his willpower — ha — dissolving.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

As much as Will indulges Nico’s bossiness, grinning and saluting and letting Nico get away with things no one else would even push, he’s still Will. And after a few more minutes of Nico pushing the envelope, he sighs, pulling away, ignoring Nico’s huff and rolled eyes.

“C’mon,” he says softly.

Nico lets him tug them down the path to the Hades cabin, only dragging his feet a little bit. He resists the urge to sigh again — he doesn’t want Will getting guilty. He doesn’t actually mind Will’s whole thing about meeting curfew every night, despite his complete disregard for almost every other camp rule. He knows it has something to do with the example he tries so hard to set for his siblings, and besides — on nights where Nico really can’t sleep by himself, Will doesn’t hesitate. If he showed up pounding on the door of the Apollo cabin in two hours, wide eyed and wired, Will would have him ushered inside and layered in his lavender wash-scented blankets in minutes.

“Hey,” Will murmurs, sliding his hand down Nico’s arms to rest on his wrists, squeezing gently. “I love you.”

Nico smiles tiredly. “And I you, tesoro.”

He stands on his tiptoes and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth, smiling at his shiver, squeezing his hands twice before walking through the heavy stone doors. He watches out the one-way windows as Will lingers, grinning, hand pressed to the spot Nico kissed, before turning back and practically skipping to his own cabin.

Nico shakes his head. “Dweeb.”

His own smile makes his cheeks ache.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Wheezy Winters

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: you had always kept your asthma a secret… until you couldn’t.

TW: asthma, fainting, hospitals (at the compound), swear word (just the one)

A/N This is so true for me. I know I shouldn’t be but I’m low key so embarrassed to use my puffer in-front of other people, even if I need it.

You’d had asthma long before you had joined the avengers. But when they had you fill out the medical forms you left out your condition in fear of placing your job in jeopardy. Who knows what they would have done. Less missions maybe? Less training? Less work? No. You loved your job. Over the first few months you found yourself under the two resident red heads wings. Slowly the three of you painstakingly became girlfriends. Joining the red headed relationship. They were sometimes overbearing but that was ok and justified by their traumatic pasts. All was going well until one winter morning.

You woke late. The clock read fifteen minutes until 6. Steve’s morning jogs were the bane of your existence and in your haste to be ready you forgot to take your preventer. The little purple puffer was a must in the winter. With the cold air and exercise being your main triggers, you had to take it each morning of the cold months. However in case needed you always carried around the blue puffer, to be taken if you had an attack. Shouldering your mini backpack you kept with you always, much to the amusement of the team, you ran down to the compound foyer.

The team grinned at the sight of the small bag. Clint and your girls often teasing you for your attachment to the bag. But pride and shyness kept you from telling them the real reason you kept the small black pouch on you always. Tony smiled at the sight.

“Got your bag of secrets?” He asked, poking fun. You smiled along not taking it to heart, they didn’t know.

“Come on love, you can leave it with Bruce if it makes you feel better.” Natasha smiled, kissing your knuckles lightly. You blushed slightly, embarrassed by the attention.

“Uh, no. It’s fine. Let’s just go.” You choked out, not missing Wanda’s raised eyebrow.

“Alright.” Nat sighed, pulling you out into the cold. Starting off slow, you broke into a jog, falling slightly behind the team a bit, matching pace with tony. You cringed at the slight jiggling sounds coming from your backpack. Not missing Tony’s feral grin. He made some snide remark, which you ignored. Focused more on the slight tightness in your chest as you realised you forgot the most impact the part of getting ready. You quickened you pace, wanting to be near Wanda in case of an attack. Your girls always made you feel safe. Nat was too far away to catch up to. Realising your mistake when your chest began to tighten more. Wanda noticed the discomfort, slowing to run beside you. You sent her an appreciative grimace and huffed a small ‘thank you’.

“It’s alright darling… are you feeling ok? You look a little puffed?” Wanda’s worry was justified, normally you ran circles around her without so much as a strained breath. But your chest was too tight to respond. Your breathes becoming shorter and shorter. Wanda slowed again. Dizziness overtook you as you sat down heavily.

“Baby? Are you ok?” She crouched beside you as you laid on the cool concrete. Her brow furrowed at your lack of response. Your arms reaching for something you couldn’t find.

“What do you need?” Wanda asked again.

“Wands? What’s going on?” Nat asked, having come back to see whats was happening.

“Im not sure, but Y/n/n’s breathing doesn’t sound too good.” Nat placed an ear to your chest, frowning at the raspy short breathes.

“Sweetheart, whats happening? use your words baby.” Wanda cooed, stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

“Need… backpack… front… pocket.” You wheezed between short breathes. Your lungs felt like they were being popped.

Nat grabbed the bag you had dropped. Neither of them had seen what was inside before. Pulling out the small blue device Nat frowned. Wanda quickly snatched it off her.

“Y/n/n I need you to open your mouth.” Wands said softly. Your vision began to blur as you lost consciousness. Opening your mouth before passing out.

“Shit.” Wanda swore. “Nat hold her mouth open and support her head.” Wanda shook the puffer a few times before removing the cap as Nat pulled your head into her lap.

Carefully Wanda tilted the puffer up slightly, angling it down your throat as she gave two puffs into your mouth.

“Now shut her mouth and pinch her nose.” Wanda instructed

“Why?” Nat asked not moving.

“Just do it.” Wanda responded. Nat moved and did as she was asked. “We need the medicine to stay in her lungs for a bit for it to work properly” she explained.

Wanda counted to five before telling Nat to let go. Repeating the process, she administered another two puffs before placing her ear to your chest again. Satisfied with the less raspy breathes you drew.

Wanda nodded to Nat, who scooped you into her arms and the two lightly jogged back to the compound.

When the made it to the lab, they placed you on the bed. Explaining to Bruce what happened, he placed you on a low flow of oxygen through a mask.

Coming out of the blackness was hazy. You felt a warm hand brushing the hair from your face, stroking it backwards softly. Eyes flickering, you drew both girls attention.

“Oh sweetheart.” Wanda cooed at the sight of your teary eyes. “Its ok. We understand.” She read you loud thoughts of your fears. “Honey, do you know how I knew what to do?”

You slowly shook you head, peeling back the mask to respond. “No.” You rasped. Nat’s hand placed over yours as she guided the mask back to your face.

“Honey, Pietro had asthma. It did nothing to stop his place on the team. But we needed to know. We’re sorry you felt you couldn’t tell us.” She whispered, her lips grazing your knuckles again.

“Love, don’t worry about anything. I’ll be beating Clint and Tony’s asses if they give you anymore grief about the backpack. Im glad you carried it with you despite their teasing.” Nat smiled, placing a kiss on your cheek.

After a few hours of rest. Life returned to normal. The only difference, now your two girls both check each morning to make sure you had taken your puffer, before they let you out of their sight. It warmed your heart in the cold months to know they cared.

|| PART 2 ||

Master list

[alexthesillybilly]

Take my springtrap x reader angst hurt/comfort idk

You'd been checking on this...thing... for about a week now. It hadn't moved while you were there, but you'd been taking pictures of it before you left, and in every picture, it was in a different position. This thing was moving. And today you were going to figure out why.

Walking up to it and slowly crouching down beside it was the same as always. It stayed perfectly still, no sign of life or movement. But you knew it moved when you weren't there. This time, you were going to trick it. You spent the amount of time you usually did, taking notes, then taking your picture of it. You left the room shut the door, and stood by it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you were already losing your patience wondering if maybe someone else had been moving it, when you heard a noise from inside the room. A mechanical creaking sort of noise.

Perfect.

You opened the door as quickly as you could.

The animatronic was standing up. Its head whipped around towards you, its ears perking up. It made a sort of grunt noise and went perfectly still.

"I know you can move. D'you think I haven't noticed you're never in the same position?"

It looks at you, standing up taller and tilting its head, letting its ears flop to the side slightly. You took in how tall it was - inhumanly tall, even close to seven feet.

"Why wouldn't you move when I was in here?"

Its posture changed again and it looked around. It slowly motioned for you to come closer, as it sat down in the spot it usually sat. You wanted answers, so you did.

It seemed confused for a moment.

"Can you talk?"

It looked at you and tilted its head again. Sitting up a bit straighter, it lifted its head, giving a bit of a cough, followed by a sort of hum, and then nodded.

"You just don't want to?"

It nodded again. It gave a shaky robotic sounding breath, and spoke. "Hurts."

You stared at him for a second. "Oh. I'm sorry. You don't have to, then." He slumped back to the wall and relaxed.

"Should I just ask yes or no questions, or..."

He pointed at your notebook. "Write." He managed to choke out.

"Oh! Sure." You hand him your notebook and a pen. "Uh, do you mind if I ask some questions? I'm just... A little confused as to how you're so... Human-like, I guess. Behavior wise."

He threw his head back, shoulders shaking as if he was laughing.

"You didn't notice?" He writes, before setting the notebook down and lowering his legs, pointing at a rip in the suit.

There were clearly human organs in there.

"I- okay, yeah. I mean, I noticed, but I thought they were just... Really realistic fake parts."

Still laughing, he shook his head, and wrote again. "No, I'm a human inside here. Used to be."

"Used to be." You repeat. "How'd you get stuck in there?"

He paused for a moment. "Ever heard of the Springlock Failure Incidents?"

You'd heard of the accident a few times, but you'd never bothered to research it. You shrugged. "Kind of, I don't know much."

He nodded, and kept writing. "Imagine being in a mascot costume made of metal, but you move too fast and suddenly 500 tiny wires and gears and sharp metal parts puncture and crush your entire body."

You stare at him for a moment, eyes wide. "Holy shit. I'm- I'm so sorry. That's what happened to you?"

He nodded. "Twice. I escaped the suit the first time. I wasn't so lucky this time. I've been sitting in this room since it happened."

"Didn't those failures happen in, like the 80s and 90s, though?"

He tilted his head, confused. "Yes."

You stared at him again.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up with realization. "Wait," he paused, looking around, back at you, then got back to writing, "isn't it 1993?"

Oh no.

You slowly shake your head.

"19...94?"

You hold out your hand and he gives you the pen. On his paper, you write the year.

2023.

He stares at the number for a minute.

He speaks out loud again. "It's been thirty years. I-" he sets the notebook down and stands up. Talking seems to pain him even more, but he does it anyways. "I've been trapped in here for 30 years?" He stumbles and balances himself on the wall.

"Do you want me to leave?" You ask.

He shakes his head quickly, causing himself even more pain. "No- No, please-" he coughs, falling against the wall again, this time not on purpose. He covers his face with his hands. "Please don't go- not... Not yet."

"I won't, I promise." You cautiously step back towards him, and when he doesn't react, you sit down beside him.

"What was your name? I mean, when you weren't in here?" You asked, hoping to ground him again.

He shook his head and looked away.

"I wasn't a good man," he muttered.

"I doubt that. Just... Tell me. Or give me something to call you, at least. Give me a nickname you used."

He shut his eyes and laid his hands on the ground beside him. "Uh... Will." He sighed. He hesitated, and then added, "for, uh, for William."

William.

Oh.

"I... I know who you are, William."

He nodded slowly, then sunk into his corner more, head on his knees.

"You've really been in here for 30 years?"

He didn't respond.

Nervously, you softly placed your hand over his. His posture relaxed a bit. He made a sort of humming noise again.

"Talk to me. I want to know more about you."

He slightly opened his eyes, glancing at you. You started to pull your hand away, but he quickly raised his to touch you again.

"I'm sorry-" he coughed, moving his hand away. "I'm not used to contact. Not anymore."

"Hey, it's alright. Don't worry." You put your hand up against his again, this time letting your fingers intertwine with his a bit.

He leaned slightly closer, relaxing completely and shutting his eyes again.

"It's... It's gonna be okay, Will." You gently placed a hand on his face, getting a soft robotic, almost purring noise out of him. "It's okay. I've got you- I'm here now. I'm here."

That was all it took. He quickly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug, and cried.

You did the same.

[nerves-nebula]

Uh. Thought I'd try my hand at writing fics for you because I had this idea in class where the "good" and "bad" timeline Leos meet. It gets a little uhhhhhh intense. Hope you like it.

The Leonardo who let them go huffed furiously, keeping a white-knuckle grip on his beaten-up katanas. He'd been chasing her for a while now, claiming she was an "imposter" sent by some mystic foe.

The Leonardo who broke his brother's arm fought the urge to collapse. She smoothed back the skin of her skull with an aggravated groan. "Look, I'm just trying to get back home- alright? One of Don's expirements went wrong and-"

"Keep that traitor's name out of your fucking mouth," the other growled, raising a sword to point at him, "And stop acting like you're me."

She dragged a hand down her face. "Can you stop it with this whole 'macho hero man' shtick, already?" Was he really this annoying as a kid? No wonder her brothers hated him, "Yes, I am you- though, from the looks of it, this is the 'everything goes to shit' timeline. Like that one episode of Space Heroes where Captain Grant becomes a villain."

Then the feral idiot was running at him again. He groaned and dodged, as he'd come to do around this horrific version of herself. It seemed that in the other version's time with Splinter, he'd only managed to get sloppier as pent-up emotions took control over years of training and abuse. The one who broke her brother's arm, however, had been an unofficial defender of the Hidden City for quite the fucking while.

With a quick twist to the angry one's wrist and a knee into his plastron, he took one of his attacker's swords and sent her other self collapsing onto the ground.

She slowly pointed the stolen sword to his head. "Look, I just need you to tell me where Donnie is. Maybe he can send me home so I can never see your stupid, fugly face ever again."

The other Leonardo simply started to laugh. It didn't seem too insincere, if he was reading it right. Like he was laughing at a stupid pun or something.

Finally, Leonardo gave into the temptation that crawled into the corners of his mind and slammed a foot down on her counterpart's chest, knocking the wind out of him. "What is so fucking funny, here?" He growled.

"Whoever made you did a really bad job," The other slider purred in response, "I haven't seen that fucking coward in years. Besides, look at you-" He made a vague gesture toward her, "-As if I'd ever be such a fucking sissy to tie up my mask in a bow. What? Did your 'brothers' infect you? Did their fruitiness rub off on you after living with you for so long?" He cackled, "Guess I was always right about little Don and Raphie being fucking pansies after all!"

Something rose up inside him. A blaze of anger scorching through her brain. Digging up old feelings and arguments and- "Does Splinter still like the noises you make?"

The one who let them go went still at that, eyes wide and somewhat panicked. Deep down, she knew it would be wrong to keep pressing with this for her own sick self-indulgence.

"Do you still like it when he pulls your tail?" He needed to stop. This was wrong. Why was she doing this anyway?

The terrified look on his face was intoxicating. He was being put in his fucking place.

"Does it hurt your feewings that they left you alone with him?" He cooed, "Do you still think that daddy is the only one who'll ever understand you?"

"Shut up," The other hissed, panic evident in his voice, "You don't know what the hell you're even talking about."

"I know you had a box of dresses from April hidden under your bed when you were fifteen," She said with an evil grin, "I know that he beat the shit out of you when he found out. No trannies allowed here, no sirree."

"Stop it."

"I know he raped you in one of them. Told you if you wanted to be a girl so bad, he'd fucking treat you like one."

"Stop it."

"I know you couldn't leave him if you tried. No, you're too good a daddy's boy. It's not like anyone would take you in, anyway. We both know that there's no fucking hope for some shithead lowlife who can only take-"

"I SAID, STOP IT!!" He screeched, interrupting his rant.

The one who broke his brother's arm briefly came to her senses. There was something wet on her face, making his mask cling to her cheek uncomfortably. He looked down to his other self. The slider was crying, digging his palms around the rusted edge of his own sword in an attempt to push her back. He'd been so lost in it she'd barely noticed the resistance.

"You- You don't-" the abused man fumbled, "You don't know me! You're- You're just some stupid, defective clone making shit up to get a rise outta me!"

Leonardo took her foot off the other's chest and took a small step back. The spider's hands slid off the blade with a sharp shing. Clumps of blood and torn skin dripped onto his stomach. Too much blood. Too much blood too much blood too much

"Where does your Donnie live? Or... or do you at least know where he works?" He asked. It came out much quieter than he meant to, but he feared if he raised his voice it would crack.

"Big Mama," He breathed, "He works for Big Mama."

She gave a small nod and softly set down his counterpart's sword. The other Leonardo regarded him with great suspicion and lingering fear. "If- If I hear anything about him dying, I- I'll kill you."

Wouldn't be the first time she tried to kill herself.

She took a few steps toward the ledge and stayed there for a moment. He readjusted his things and sighed.

"It's easier for them to want to help you when you try to be nice," He gulped, "But uh... Don't treat them like Father. They get weirded out by that."

There was a clank and a shuffle from behind. He was going to try and attack him again, wasn't he?

"And uh... if you meet a rabbit guy that looks weirdly like the samurai from that old Usagi show," The noises behind him stopped for a moment, "Maybe don't bring up the toy."

wanted to make u some art about how much i liked this <<33 its 1 AM i am. so tired. anyway i really liked the line "do you still like it when he pulls your tail" its so fucked up. she honestly coulda stopped there, woulda had him foaming like a rabid dog.

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 2 (I've Got You Under My Skin)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,326

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: another night, another guest.

----------

The Paper Moon is open to all walks of life– every culture, creed, and color is welcome through the doors of your lounge. This is usually a happy truth, but these days you’ve been harboring a clockwork headache when that cab driver stops by.

He gives you the base courtesy of sticking to a schedule: around 7pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jake will waltz in on the heels of James Wesley and whatever company he has in tow. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Jake sits at the same back table while Mr. Wesley conducts his business. And every Tuesday and Thursday, you play nice as you check in on your patrons. Including the cabbie.

“Another stellar set, Ms. Songbird,” he lilts as you give a courtesy nod, brushing past his table in the hopes of keeping things brief.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockley.” Your voice is tense as you breeze by. Jake Lockley, you’d learned from the wait staff: the legal name for the thorn in your side.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind his presence as much if he didn’t insist on making it known every evening. You had learned to expect him in the crowd whenever you’d hear a high-pitched whistle ringing above the applause each night. The sound grates at your resolve and forces you to plaster on your stage-ready smile a bit longer every time you make your rounds.

“Hey Songbird,” he calls out after you. “Have a drink with me?”

“A drink at my own bar? How inspired.” You press your lips into a firm line, the rest of your face broadcasting your disinterest to no avail. Every week he asks; every week you say no.

“Suit yourself,” he sighs, always backing down but never taking his eyes off you. It’s one thing to be watched onstage; it’s another to feel his gaze on the ground level. You feel a bit of relief every time you see him walk out with his client, tipping his hat to you at the end of each evening. His smile remains undeterred, no matter how cold a shoulder you offer.

It’d be damn near charming if you trusted it.

----------

Today’s not the day to let your guard down, the unmarked letter in your hand reminds you as you pace around the backstage corridor. It’s the third of its kind you’ve received this month. You worry your lip between your teeth as you pour over its contents, even though you know them by heart.

“To whom it may concern….” “...property acquisition…” “...would be in your best interest…” “...other businesses under our care …”

“‘Our care,’ that’s rich,” you mutter. “Remind me to stop opening the mail during business hours…”

“Uh, okay?” Mauricio agrees hesitantly as he rounds the corner. “Was wondering where our ‘fifteen-minutes-to-curtain’ call was, but I see you've been busy.”

“Oh good golly, is that really the time?” You fumble to put the letter back in its envelope. “Haven't even finished my makeup…” you trail off as you head to your dressing room, your drummer right behind you.

When you open the door, you see a small bundle of flowers sitting on your side table. Oh for crying out loud.

“How many times do I have to–” you're muttering to yourself again as you take the flowers in hand, moving swiftly across the room.

"What are you doing?" Mauricio sputters.

"If that man thinks he can weasel into my good graces with a few pretty flowers-" you huff as you drop the bouquet in a wastebasket. "–he's going to be sorely disappointed."

"Those were– those were mine." Mauricio admits softly.

You freeze, turning to him. "Really?"

He scoops up the bouquet. "I wanted to surprise you. Guess I should've left a note," he chuckles.

"Oh, Maurie, thank you." You rush over to bring him into a hug. Sometimes he's too sweet for his own good.

".... This is from Mr. Lockley." Mauricio breaks away to hold out a single white rose he'd been hiding behind his back.

You sigh. "He's a persistent son of a gun, isn't he?"

He nods, dimpled smile growing by the second. “I think he's swell, miss. The boys think so, too.”

You turn the rose over in your hand. “I want you to be careful around him, Maurie. We don't know what he's about.”

“I think he's made it pretty clear,” he laughs.

“Hm. Perhaps.” You raise an eyebrow. "And I suppose you both brought flowers because...?"

Mauricio brims with excitement, taking the rose back and bundling it with the bouquet he'd gifted. "Mr. Lockley sounded real set on gettin’ you something sweet," he starts. He puts the flowers in an empty vase on your vanity.

"I didn't mean to steal his thunder, but I like it when you smile." He wipes his hands on the front of his pants and his expression drops a bit. "You haven't been smilin’ as much these days, Ms. Songbird."

You busy yourself with the fallen petals at your feet. “I smile all the time, what do you mean?”

“I guess I'm saying… there's you onstage, then there's, I dunno, you -you. They smile differently, s'all.”

He's right, as much as you hate to admit it. You look over at the flowers. “Well, thanks for giving me a reason to smile for real, Maurie.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “My mind's a bit out of sorts tonight. So thank you.”

The youth's dark brown eyes fill with concern. “Anything we can help you with?”

You shake your head, moving back to your vanity. “Nothing to worry yourself over, darling. Just make sure the boys are set. We have a show to put on.” 

He nods and leaves your dressing room. As you apply your lipstick, your hand trembles.

----------

Wednesdays have become your favorite part of the week: the day you catch your breath between visits.

In the time before the first half of your set, you make your usual rounds to each table.  Eventually you work your way to the front of the seating area, where you see a familiar silhouette beside the stage. A pair of dark glasses are perched on his nose, which crinkles as he smiles at the sound of your footsteps.

“Mr. Murdock,” you greet him warmly, taking his extended hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, kid.” He squeezes your hand in response, still beaming up at you. Even in the dimmed lounge, Matt Murdock’s smile can light up a room. 

“Come off it,” you huff in mock annoyance. “Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.”

“It sounded urgent, of course I’d be here. Do you have all the paperwork together?”

You eye the empty seat next to him. “I have a whole file waiting for you backstage… I’m sorry, is Franklin not joining you this evening?”

“Not tonight, but I do have another guest coming. Is that drink still on the house for a new plus-one?”

“Any friend of Nelson & Murdock is a friend of mine.” You brush a few stray hairs from his forehead. “Is this a guest for business or pleasure?”

He laughs, waving your hand away. “I suppose that depends.”

“Well, as long as they’re a fan of good music, they’re welcome here anytime,” you hum as you straighten his collar. “I swear, Matty. It wouldn’t kill you to dress to impress.”

“You dote too much. I’ll catch up with you later.” You leave him to his drink, making a mental note to demand his dress shirts for a routine tailoring.

The dinner rush brings the usual crowd, and you eye your friend’s table every so often. The seat beside him is still empty. You wonder if Matt was just pulling your leg and wanted to keep both complimentary drinks for himself.

But you don’t have time to ponder that. Instead, you scribble a few notes down and pass them out to your bandmates.

“Ah gee, boss, changing the setlist again?” Your pianist whines, scanning your notes. He didn’t ask tonight, but last-minute song requests are a longstanding favor to Matt when he has a lady to impress (which is often). For the sake of his mysterious guest, you swapped in some softer, more romantic pieces.

“Jackie, don’t tell me you’re not up to the task?” You eye him sternly. “Half the gig is improv anyway, and these are all songs we’ve done before.”

Jackie’s budding protest is silenced by the bassist via an elbow to the ribs. Arguing with you is never worth it: a lesson everyone learns sooner or later. Some take longer than others. 

Rubbing his side, Jackie concedes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You wink. “That’s a tune I like to hear.” Smiling sweetly, you lead the band's procession to the stage.

“Good evening,” you croon into the microphone, “and welcome to The Paper Moon. I’m Ms. Songbird, this fine-feathered crew beside me are The Jays– let’s have some fun tonight.” You flash a rehearsed smile so dazzling it can be seen from the farthest table in the lounge, and you scan the room with anticipation. The moments before a performance are so precious; even with a setlist, anything can happen the moment that first note is played. Every night, you revel in the possibility. 

A familiar two-toned whistle draws your gaze to Matt’s table right below the stage, where the seat beside him is no longer empty.

Hat resting on the table, chin propped in his hands, you find yourself staring down at the face of none other than that infuriating cab driver bearing a grin so wide you hope it splits his cheeks.

Fighting to keep your smile from turning into a grimace, your eyes snap back to the middle of the room. “This first song goes out to one of our favorite patrons… and his company,” you add, your voice betraying your restraint with a crack. You don’t look down, but you just know that damned cabbie is smiling even harder.

Despite the rocky start, you and your band pull together another unforgettable night of music. You perform with your eyes closed more than usual; you refuse to give Jake Lockley the satisfaction of serenading him with your best love songs.

Once the music portion of the night is through, all the frustration you’d pushed down swiftly rises to the surface as you watch them pal around right under your nose. You rush to the floor level to get this over with.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, glancing between Jake and Matt. Your friend’s eyebrows raise at the outburst.

“Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed into most businesses.”

“No, I mean– it’s not Thursday. You come on Thursdays.”

“Why Ms. Songbird, I didn’t think you cared enough to keep tabs on me.” He leans his head on his hand and stares up at you. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

You want so badly to snap back at him, but instead you look at Matt. “ This is who I changed our set list for?”

“In my defense, I never asked you to,” he grins.

“You didn’t tell me you were so familiar with our lovely hostess here, Murdock. Seems you have more pull with the house than you let on,” Jake muses in surprise.

“A privilege he’s bound to lose if he's not careful,” you say through gritted teeth. Like it or not, Jake is a guest. And you still have an image to uphold. “How’d you have the pleasure of running into this one, Matthew?”

He barely has time to respond before Jake's leaning in farther, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, chin up, doll– can’t say I’m too surprised he’s a friend of yours. Always has a knack for finding the pretty ones, this guy.” He nudges Matt’s side, who’s far too quiet for your liking.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” you huff.

“‘Course, I keep him around for that brain of his, not so much the mug.”

“He's my lawyer,” you say in unison. What makes your brow furrows leads Jake to bark out a laugh, shaking Matt in his grip as he tugs him closer.

“What are the odds of that, eh Murdock?” He beams up at you. Your frown deepens. “He's helped me with the occasional run-in with the law.”

“Oh, so you're not just a smart-mouth but a criminal, to boot?” 

“Nothing but a few civil suits, doll. Got off clean every time.” He winks as you cross your arms, glaring at Matt.

“You have interesting taste in company, Mr. Murdock.” You turn on your heel and head backstage.

“No kidding,” Jake continues to laugh as you walk away. Once you're out of sight, his smile falters. “So when you said you had a friend in show business–”

“Yeah.”

“And when I told you about the dame I've been eyeing at this new lounge–”

“–I knew exactly who you were talking about.”

“So you've been letting me parade around like a putz this whole time? ” A smack upside the head earns Jake a kick to the shin beneath the table.

“That, my friend, was all you. I mean bravo, you were in rare form tonight.” That signature smile returns as Jake pushes a hand through his hair. “I should probably go smooth some feathers. Catch up with you in an hour?”

Jake downs the rest of his drink and stands when Matt does. “You know I love our little talks.” Casting a final glance towards the stage door, he adjusts his jacket and moves from the table.

Matt catches his elbow. “She’ll come around.” He almost sounds convinced of it himself.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got other fish to fry tonight. Promise I’ll save you the big ones.”

Shaking his head, Matt makes his way backstage. “I’m starting to think some of that vitriol isn’t unearned.”

They part ways– Matt heading backstage, Jake to the moonlit streets. 

Bigger fish to fry, indeed: all swimming in the Kingpin’s tank. 

----------

A/N: thank you to everyone who has expressed enthusiasm over this little passion project!! it's been so fun putting it together, and i'm looking forward to sharing more with you. expect to see more of our favorite lawyer in the future (we have fun here)

as always, thank you for reading &lt;3

tag list: @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Tuesday October 9th, 2012.

One thing she had always been oddly proud of was her ability to detach. No matter what was going on in her life, she had always had this uncanny ability to put it aside and focus on whatever it was she needed to focus on. It came in handy both at work and in her personal life. She could stuff just about anything into some hidden compartment of her mind, all but forgotten about until she was ready to address it again.

Or, at least, that was what she had always thought. But now, as she stood in a stall of the 4th floor bathroom at the precinct with her palms pressed to the wall, keeping herself steady as she sucked in each ineffective breath, she was beginning to question whether or not she had ever been able to detach as well as she thought she had.

It had started with an innocent question. How's Castle?

She rattled off the usual answer: he's fine, keeping busy writing, being his usual pain-in-the-ass self. Then she cemented the lie with her best smile.

"Well, tell that pain in the ass that we get it." Espo gestured between himself and Ryan. "We aren't total jerks, we understand the new relationship, want to spend all your time together bliss-"

"But he promised us unlimited Madden," Ryan added with a playfully-disapproving shake of his head. "He's letting the team down."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm sure your wife appreciates the fact that you're not wasting all your time playing video games, Ryan," she said pointedly.

Ryan shrugged. "She doesn't mind. It gives her a chance to watch her shows or read her lovey-dovey books," he explained. "Besides, that's not the point. The point is-" he hesitated and Beckett smiled.

This should be interesting.

"It's Bro Code. You don't bail on the boys," he finished confidently.

Esposito nodded enthusiastically. "Never bail on the boys," he reiterated. "Not even on your death bed."

The words hit her like an iron fist to the gut, knocked the air from her lungs.

"Why would you say that?"

The boys looked at her, confused.

She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, tried to mentally reset, tried to tuck that flare of raw emotion back into it's little corner of her mind. But it fought her, kicked and screamed and clawed it's way free. Tears stung behind her eyes and her anxieties began to build up in her throat.

"I'm sorry." The words came out a breathless, trembling whisper.

Before they could say anything, before they could ask if she was okay, she rushed off to the bathroom. There she had stayed for almost fifteen minutes now, trying to calm the beating of her heart, to ease the fear that kept her hands shaking and her head spinning.

Castle wasn't dying. He couldn't. He wouldn't do that to her.

Still, Esposito's voiced echoed in her mind like a cruel taunt. Not even on your death bed.

Did he know something she didn't?

She heard the bathroom door open and she covered her mouth with her hand to try and stifle her shaky breaths. She listened to each step as the person on the other side of the stall moved closer, until they stopped outside her door.

"Detective?" the gentle yet authoritative voice beckoned.

Beckett let out a breath and wiped her tears. "I'll, uh- I'll just be one moment," she said.

"You have two very concerned partners standing at the door not letting anyone in." Gates waited a beat before continuing. "I understand that you are a private person, Detective. I respect that about you. I don't like to advertise my personal business, either, but sometimes-" She sighed. "Sometimes, when the people we love are unwell, we bottle things up too much."

Beckett unlocked the stall door and opened it, just enough for her Captain to come into view. Gates was leaning against the ceramic basin, her arms folded in front of her chest. If it weren't for the sympathetic smile on her face and the softness in her eyes, Beckett would think she were about to be lectured like never before.

"How'd you know?"

"Last week I stopped by the hospital to visit a friend," Gates explained. Her voice was soft and understanding, almost nurturing. "I saw Mister Castle come out of the oncology ward. He had a patient ID wristband on."

"He didn't mention seeing you."

"I don't think he did."

Gates stepped away from the sink, gestured to it with the wave of her hand.

Beckett stepped out from the safety of her stall and turned on the tap, filled her cupped hands with cold water and splashed it over her face. The water felt like ice against her overheated skin, but it felt good, it shocked the breath back into her lungs. She curled her hands around the ceramic basin and closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply.

In, two, three. Out, two, three.

When she opened her eyes again, Gates was holding out paper towel for her.

"Thank you," she muttered quietly as she accepted the proffered towel.

She dabbed the towel to her face, hyper-aware of her Captain's watchful eye.

"Anything you need, Detective," Gates started after a few moments of silence. She placed her hand on the detective's shoulder and their eyes met in the mirror's reflection. "You just let me know."

"Thank you, Sir."

[kamiversee]

OKAY. HERE WE GO. I DID IT, I WENT OVER THE CHAPTERS AND PULLED OUT DIFFERENT THINGS. IM SO SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG. PLS KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE UR STORY AND IM SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS IS!!!

....

Chapters that include Sukuna: 23, 24, 25, 32, 33, 34

Chapter 23: The Party Era "Well… around a time like now, that asshole is probably somewhere in the middle of the party," Gojo explains.

The way he refers to Sukuna as an asshole has you worried. Are you going to have to deal with another Naoya?

Swallowing down a large gulp of nerves, you bat your eyelashes at Gojo, "Asshole…?"

He tenses up beside you for some unknown reason, "Uh… I mean, yeah." He shrugs, "Sukuna isn't the nicest guy in the world, everyone knows that."

Satoru describing Sukuna as an asshole, tensing up but only saying that he isn't the "nicest guy in the world".

"Sukuna…" Gojo pauses, thinking hard about something before shaking the thought away, "He uh… How do I say this… He'll," The man looks down at you again, "He'll be nice to you."

He wasn't worried that Sukuna would hurt her. It makes me believe there could be a closer hint towards Sukuna knowing who the reader was prior to this. If he knew about her then it would give Satoru a reason to be able to leave her alone with him without worrying that he would harm her (if Choso was being honest about the abuse-- which he would have no reason to lie about?).

Your body language made it so painfully obvious that you didn't want this guy touching on you and you eventually turned your head back to him, noticing that it was the same person Gojo snapped at earlier.

That realization caused goosebumps to form all over your skin and you tried telling the man to back off you. He definitely heard you but clearly ignored you, going as far as groping your ass and creepily smiling at you.

The exact same man from before? It seems suspicious that the guy would go after the reader more than once in the night, especially after being practically threatened with Satoru's eyes… maybe this was set up? (I'm stretching it).

In the blink of your eye, one second he was trying to come to touch you again and the next you saw a fist make contact with his jaw, a crack heard even through the music as his body stumbled to the side and then made contact with the floor.

Sukuna doesn't even bat an eye before he whacks this man to the floor for harassing a woman. It makes me feel like there's something there. Does he know her? Or does he genuinely just hate people making women uncomfortable, but that also defeats the purpose of what Choso said-- why would Sukuna beat a guy up for making a woman uncomfortabe if he beats them.

The smile that was once spread across his face drops completely when he looks at you.

???

Chapter 24: The Heavy Tension

FIFTEEN MINUTES. That was the exact amount of time it took you to seduce Sukuna.

The act was way too easy. Actually, it was suspiciously easy.

It's one thing for him to have made his introduction by knocking a creep out for the sake of you but it's an entirely different thing for the man to then order you to dance with him.

Still feels weird to me, but I'm not too suspicious given his history with women (provided in future chapters).

His introduction seemed pretty odd as well. I feel like because the man was doing this to multiple women maybe this was still planned??? But he's also a creep SOOOO!

A voice was right in your ear, lips brushing over your skin and giving you literal chills, "You're not uncomfortable with me touching you, right?"

SEE IT JUST MAKES ME SO CONFUSED!!!!

"Bullshit," He utters, "Nobody dresses like this without the intent of gaining my attention," Sukuna claims while his hands slide back down along your body.

This is probably nothing but I thought I might just add it?

"Care to be my next victim?" Sukuna requests, his wording making your face scrunch up a little.

"What a poor choice of words…" You murmur in response, taking him by complete surprise.

IM SORRY I HAD TO ADD IT LMAO

You glance over to a nightstand you pass by and notice a single framed picture. Stopping, you can't help but pick it up. It's Yuji. The resemblance between Sukuna and his younger brother is uncanny, they look identical with the exception of Sukuna appearing older and having face tattoos.

"Is this your brother?" You blurt out.

Sukuna's head turns back to you again, his brows furrowed and a vein popping out in his forehead at the mere mention of his sibling. "Unfortunately, yes." He sighs deeply, rolling his eyes at how curious you are and returning his attention to whatever it was on inside the bathroom.

If this isn't Choso's room, which I don't think it is… Why would Sukuna have a framed photo of Yuji? He obviously doesn't like his brother, but I feel like there's something weird about that fact.

Only to be stopped by another banging against the room door, this time followed by some guy calling Sukuna's name.

…

His phone buzzes on the counter and his head snaps back before he snatches the device up. Sukuna's whole face sinks and he looks like he's about to kill someone.

"These fucking idiots…" He sighs, unlocking his phone and responding to something. You sit idly on the floor, staring up at him until he looks down at you again.

With a sigh Sukuna shakes his head, "Someone threatened to call the cops and shut this party down so, I gotta' go." He explains.

I'm sorry this was definitely Satoru no one is telling me otherwise…

Chapter 32: The Heavy Tension

He nods his chin toward the picture you just had in your hands, "You know my brother, don't you?"

There is no way he could have guessed that??? She picked up a picture of Yuji last time and he didn't think she'd know who he was, but Choso?

"He's talked about you before," Sukuna says suddenly.

I know he said this in a joking way, but is there any way that Choso and Sukuna still keep in touch?

It's slow but he soon meets your eyes, "Bad one. Fucker' snuck a hit on me like the little bitch he is," Sukuna curses.

Oh he's definitely talking about Satoru c'mon.

"No, but, I fight a lot and I'd love to have a pretty face like yours taking care of me after each one," Sukuna comments, his words making your heart race.

I JUST DONT UNDERSTAND ANYMORE…

Sukuna releases one and then brings the other to his mouth, placing a kiss on the palm of your hand.

He's being so gentle here????!?!?!

Chapter 34 - The Degrading Era

On your body was this large t-shirt and… your underwear? Except, it was freshly cleaned? Holy shit, how long were you out for?

He even takes care of her the morning after, which feels weird because of his character.

"How do you feel?" Sukuna cuts off, uninterested in your questions as to why he's so close to you.

…

When you opened the device and went through it, you noticed your notification from your bank, a lovely deposit of six thousand USD having been sent to you within the last hour.

Okay so Satoru already knowing did seem fairly suspicious. But then again you were gone for awhile…?? But he wasn't with you… UGH I DONT KNOW!

That's oddly specific. You didn't think much of when he called you a whore last night, since, y'know, you like being degraded. But, something about that being his assumption for your occupation is a crazy coincidence.

Especially considering how hellbent Gojo was on telling you not to call yourself that. The more you think about it…

Gojo got upset at something from Sukuna's party, he didn't want you to call yourself a whore all of a sudden, Sukuna seems to have believed that was your actual job, and you remember how pissed Gojo seemed as he thought about you sleeping with Sukuna-

Holy fuck. Are the two connected somehow? Is something going on? What does Gojo owe Sukuna? Does Sukuna know you only slept with him as payment to clear Gojo's debt? Is-

I DONT CARE IF SUKUNA SAID HE WAS JOKING. THIS IS TOO SUSPICIOUS!!!! "You've got the kinda' pussy men pay for. Hell, I…"

I know this is because he didn't want to compliment the reader BUT 1. he's seeming a little to sweet to her if this isn't how he normally treats women. 2. I DONT THINK HE WOULD JOKE? DID HE PAY??? HELLO!!! IM CONFUSED

You're quick to wrap your arms around his neck as you're lifted into the air and Sukuna carries you to his bathroom.

"Do not get used to this." He says sternly.

You've got a big smile on your face as he assists you with readying yourself for the day.

The man helps you to brush your teeth, cleanse your face, get dressed in your clothes from the night prior that have been washed, and then he basically carries you everywhere around his house.

After which, Sukuna says he's driving you home and you end up spending a lovely morning receiving princess treatment from the man.

I'm sorry HELLO? I'm telling you this is weird behaviour for someone who supposedly fucks and dips… he seems to caring, especially towards her. I know he doesn't have feelings for her but what is it!!!

(i put this on my acc also if it's easier to read that way i dont know if these messages get cut off lmk!)

if u read this... thank u, and im sorry.

ly girl ur great!

Oh you’re gonna eat the next chapter I upload up ngl

So to start, I can’t confirm or deny anything as typically said :/

But I’ll instead give you more things to consider based on these thoughts of yours! These are in no specific order btw so bear with me pls !

—

One, as said before, no one knows the time frame on what Choso said about Sukuna being abusive to women & I’d also like to point out how it’s clearly said that Choso moved out of their shared home the moment he got the chance to years ago.

While this doesn’t make up for anything, it is something to consider since he was quite kind to the reader & for him to act such a way it’s just out of character compared to what Choso says :)

—

Two, the creep who harasses the reader twice is simply just an example of men who just dont take the hint. He blatantly ignored Gojo’s threat and still approached the reader anyways — it wasn’t set up at all ^.^

—

People keep asking why Sukuna would assume the reader knew Choso. Well, they do attend the same university & as seen in the most recent chapter, most people are aware of the two being brothers — the reader being the only one out of the loop. Hell, even Shoko knew a bit about them since she said Sukuna doesn’t like being referred to as Itadori.

—

It’s never stated that Sukuna typically fucks & leaves. If anything, notice how he offers to be fwb to the reader. Never is it specified that Sukuna is the type to fuck someone once & then dip, especially as it’s later revealed the reader isn’t the only woman he’s interested in having sex with as he says he called the “wrong whore”.

Plus, despite Choso’s claim of Sukuna hitting women & us not knowing the time frame on that, note that his aftercare could just be who he is. I had to make him the king of something in this fic & I chose aftercare💀

That being said, sure, later down the line you could assume Sukuna would lose his temper and lay his hand on someone but never would you know if his aftercare to the reader is exclusive only to her or just how he is.

—

Gojo sending the money the next morning isn’t unusual in any way.

When the reader slept with Toji, Gojo knew (assumed) she’d done it without even receiving a text from her so it’s safe to assume he did the same with Sukuna and figured after not hearing a word from the reader, she’d completed her goal.

—

I believe that’s about all I wanted to explain, the theory girlies are gonna eat this tf up so ty for the break down🫶

Oh, you still missed the detail I said no one found btw ;)

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 7 - Gotta Look the Part

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: They eat like royalty and she gets to dress up like one.

note: oh LORDY this one is long (2k words!) but I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you again for all the likes/reblogs. We finally get to gamble after this part!

The door to the bathroom closes with a soft woosh, leaving Din by himself in the wide space of the suite. He waits for a moment, listening to the voices echo on the other side.

She hums while Grogu giggles and water splashes. All clear. He shakes his head, walking over to the console and calling the front desk. “Bring me dinner for two adults and an infant. I don’t care what it is, whatever’s fastest.” If she’s anything like him, she won’t be picky. And Grogu eats anything.

In the interim, Din sits on the couch and deems it safe to take a load off, which in this case, means he can disarm for now. He takes the jet pack off first, being the heaviest and most cumbersome of his tools. Off comes the blaster, the hilt of the Darksaber, and the various blades he keeps concealed. Everything is accounted for.

After about fifteen minutes, there’s a knock at the door – must be the food. He answers it and three waiters greet him with wide smiles, wheeling three trays inside the suite. Din lifts a brow as they set up in the center, uncovering the food and revealing two identical plates of fresh, steaming seafood, a buttery smell filling the air. For the child, there is a colorful bowl of soup, with some mini square cakes for dessert. “And finally,” says a waiter. “A decadent chocolate cake. For you and the lady.”

“Uh.” He is thankful for the helmet hiding his aversion. “She’s not my… never mind.” He knows no one cares in this hellhole, not when thousands of rich men bring their mistresses or escorts to play with them. The last thing he wants is for someone to think that of her. Din tosses them a few meager credits as tips and waits for them to leave. With the sounds of bath time still ringing behind the door and his stomach rumbling, he figures it’s as good a time as any.

He slips his helmet off with a soft sound, breathing in deep to welcome the fresh air into his lungs. All at once, the delectable smell of the food assaults his senses, enticing him to sit down and partake. Such extravagance in food feels almost sacrilegious for the practical Mandalorian, but at least it means she and Grogu will have a decent meal as well. He takes a thick piece of grilled fish into his mouth and makes a small noise of satisfaction. Dank farrik, that’s damn delicious. He eats quickly, downing large gulps of water in between. In the corner of his vision, he eyes that chocolate cake.

She’s probably never had it either.

He finishes his fish, leaving nothing but the bones. Wiping his lips with the cloth napkin, he pours himself a swig of white champagne, just to rinse the aftertaste out. Nothing more, nothing less. As soon as he’s done, he doesn’t linger, and situates the helmet back on.

A few minutes pass as he hears the bath drain, sucking in the water. The door slides open and a cloud of steam escapes. She emerges, a towel wrapped around her head and a silk robe tied around her waist. The robe is shorter than Din expects, halting just above her knees and showing off a stunning pair of legs, shiny and unmarred by any layer of dirt. Even her face glows, renewed and fresh. Grogu has a child’s robe on that is far too big for him, the sleeves dwarfing his arms. A soft chuckle escapes Din.

“Oh my stars,” she says, eyes closing as she inhales deeply. “That smells divine!” She scurries to the couch, setting Grogu down beside her as she gasps at the plate of food before her. “I-Is this all for me?”

“Already ate.” Din holds Grogu, spoon feeding him the soup. “C’mon, you little womp rat. Time to eat.”

She watches them for a moment, her heart skipping a beat at the sight. It’s so odd seeing a bounty hunter, unafraid of blasters in his face, feed a small creature all without an ounce of embarrassment. Noble and caring… Ah, but she isn’t distracted for long, not when a decadent meal waits for her. Her mouth waters as she cuts a piece of the fish, popping it into her mouth.

“Mmgh.” The sound she makes is loud, enough to make the Mandalorian’s head turn. “...Sorry.” She giggles, covering her mouth, and continues to eat. He shakes his head, but a quick chuckle tells her that he isn’t annoyed by it. When she finishes, she looks over and notices the chocolate cake still sitting pretty, completely untouched. “What’s that?”

“Cake.”

“Who’s it for?”

“...You and the kid can have it.”

She shrugs, leaning over to bring it towards herself. The plate has two forks, so she takes one and cuts into it, shocked at its softness. After sniffing it, she brings it into her mouth.

Then, she really moans. Her eyes rolls back and a hand falls onto her chest. “Stars.” She shakes her head. “Oh my, Mando, you have to try this. I’m serious. I’ll leave right now.”

“It can’t be that good.”

She grins, cutting a little piece onto the fork. “Grogu,” she coos. “Open wide. Pbrrr. Here comes the speeder!” He drops his jaw and accepts the cake in his mouth. His ears wiggle and his arms stretch towards the cake, clearly begging for more. “Told ya.”

The Mandalorian pulls Grogu back. “Finish your soup.” After reining in the child and pivoting his focus back to the meal, he speaks. “Fine. Just… finish half of it.”

She digs in again. “I could easily finish this whole thing. You’re lucky I’m being so nice.” Half of the cake remains once she finishes. Once Grogu is done and munching on one of the smaller cakes, the Mandalorian hands him to her.

“Don’t turn around under any circumstance.”

“I won’t.” She sits in a way that turns her back towards him and all she can stare at is the front door while Grogu eats calmly in her lap. Then she hears the hiss of air depressurizing. It’s off. Her head wants to turn, to see what he looks like, but she knows not to betray his trust. So she listens, listens to the clanking of the silverware, listens to the teeth hitting the fork. She holds her breath.

“...Mmm.” Oh, now she desperately wants to see his face. He doesn’t say anything, but she hears the silverware against the plate.

“Told ya.” The plate is set down and the helmet hisses as it covers his face again.

When she turns around, she takes the rest of the plate and finishes whatever he left. Stars, she can’t remember the last time she felt full and heavy. She’s ready to lie down on the couch and take a nap, but that would be hard to do while in a robe, would it?

Speaking of clothes…

“Hey.” She pulls down on the hem of the robe, trying to hide her skin. “So, what am I supposed to wear to the tournament? I can’t wear my usual clothes… right?”

The Mandalorian takes a moment to think, his fingers tapping on the cushion of the couch. He stands and goes up to the console, calling the front desk. “Can you bring me a dress?”

A feminine voice responds. “Do you mean a stylist, sir?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“That easy, huh?” she comments. “Is there anything they can’t bring you?”

He sits back down. “Doubt it. This place caters to all of your vices, legality be damned.” He crosses his arms and rests his ankle on his knee.

Her eyes trail up and down his form. “...Are you going to get anything for yourself?”

“Like what?”

“A suit or robes. Or… are you just going to go in that.”

He exhales. “I don’t go anywhere without my armor.”

“That’s what I thought.” She sighs, hugging a knee against her chest. Out of common courtesy, she tries not to let her eyes wander towards him, but after all of the stories her mentor told her, it’s hard not to. The Mandalorian. A bounty hunter of high renown, belonging to a deadly people that few get to see and even fewer survive an encounter with. He who never takes off his helmet in front of another, who never goes anywhere without armor or weapons.

But he has a child that he feeds with his own hands. And he enjoys the taste of chocolate cake. And he sucks at sabacc.

Some time passes and then a knock at the door alerts them on the couch. “I got it,” she says, getting up to open the door. Standing in the door frame is a tall woman, slender with sharp features in her cheeks and bony fingers. She has the paint that the girl noticed earlier, black lines outlining her eyes as her lips shimmer with gold.

“You poor thing,” says the stylist, taking a chunk of wet hair in her hand. “My goodness! I do have my work cut out for me. Chop chop!” She claps her hands and a swarm of assistants flood into the room, carrying racks of clothes, stacks of shoes, and boxes of tools.

The Mandalorian stands up. “Hey, what is all this?”

“Oh, don’t mind us, sir,” says the stylist. “We’ll just use the bedroom. Come, everyone! You, girl, with me!”

“What the--” She finds herself being tugged by the tall woman, flashing a brief look of fear towards the Mandalorian before they all disappear behind the door of the bedroom.

Alone again.

Din groans and rolls his head, cracking his neck and shoulders. Remember. This is all for the beskar. He rubs the back of his neck as he glances down at Grogu, still in his robe. “...Right.” He finds ways to pass the time like dressing Grogu and freshening up in the bathroom himself, washing his face. It feels like hours before the bedroom door slides open.

The stylist walks out first, followed by her posse of assistants. “Ah… I am a genius.” She grins and steps out of the way. “Come on out, dear!”

Din stands up immediately. Placing one foot in front of the other, she takes small steps out of the room. Light silk sways around her feet like flowing water. The dress hugs her best features while gold jewelry jingles around her wrists and biceps. Drop earrings twinkle and bounce as she walks. Her lips are painted red and her eyes are brushed with similar colors to the dress: blood wine and fiery oranges. At the sight, his shoulders relax, his lips part, and his eyes dare not blink.

She walks towards him, a bashful smile on her lips. Just as she is about to say something, she steps on the hem of her dress. “Oh--!” And she falls forward. Din darts forward, catching her before she can face plant onto the floor. Her jewelry clanks against his armor as he helps her regain her balance.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” She lifts her face. “Sorry. I-It’s these shoes, I can’t…”

“You must!” says the stylist. “I believe my job is done. Let’s go, everyone.” She claps her hands again and as fast as she arrived, she makes a swift exit. Once she is gone, Din realizes that she still clings to his arms as she readjusts herself.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“It’s fine…” He takes his time pulling his arms away from her, just making sure she can indeed stand. “You… you look great.”

“Oh.” She laughs, pushing hair behind her ear. “Um. Thanks. Is this really what rich people wear? It’s so… uncomfortable.”

He lets out a fast breath of air as he laughs. “It’s… It’s just for a few days. Once I have the beskar, I’ll take you home to Tatooine. You’ll never have to wear this stuff again.”

“Right.” She nods, albeit with a degree of hesitation. “Back to Tatooine. That’s… that makes sense.”

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 2: Just Out Of Sight (Almost Caught)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Spy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Uh, my original description for this on ao3 just says “Spy time, it’s Spy time everyone” and I kinda like that

Tags: Reader is the Administrator’s assistant, oral, oral under a desk, reader being a bit of a mess (just a bit), Miss Pauling shows up unexpectedly, playful/flirty banter cause I’m allowed to have fun sometimes

Word Count: 2.4k

The Masterlist

From the moment you saw your desk you knew it was going to be a long day. Sheets of paper, some stapled together, some simply sitting loosely in a pile, were placed in your desk, and from the moment you laid eyes on them you recognized what it was. Paperwork. Mindless drivel that the Administrator likely gave you to keep you busy while her only other assistant, Miss Pauling, ran errands- most of which likely consisted of corpse disposal. While you certainly wouldn’t want to switch places, it was simply a fact of life that no one enjoyed pointless busywork.

Sometimes you wondered if such mundane tasks were simply meant to keep you too exhausted to ask questions, as if your mind would eventually become too numb from boredom to think about anything besides the Administrator’s orders. Then again, you wouldn’t ask questions anyway. All that mattered to you was your paycheck. Either way, it sucked. In fact the only thing that sucked more than paperwork was when a massive stack of it was sprung on you at the last minute, which, as luck would have it, was exactly what happened approximately one hour before the end of your shift.

Pauling entered your office with an ungodly quantity of files in her arms for you. All she offered was a sympathetic look and a muttered “good luck” before leaving. You sighed, rubbing your temples and mentally preparing yourself. You knew how you worked, and you knew your pace well. If you got started now you could get it all finished with about fifteen minutes to spare, as long as you didn’t face any interruptions.

“Bonsoir, darling."

God damn it. Of course he would show up now. You looked up to see Spy standing in front of your desk with a smug look. Well, he always looked smug, it was just especially prevalent at that moment. You hadn’t even heard the door open, leaving you to assume that he had snuck in cloaked when Pauling dropped by. He didn’t even have to say what he wanted.

“Spy, I love seeing you, you know I do, but I really don’t have the time right now,” you said, motioning to your desk.

Spy only ever came to you for one reason, and you knew he liked to take his time. On any other day you would have gladly taken the opportunity for a bit of ‘stress relief,’ but now was not the most convenient time for such activities. He would simply have to wait for another day to mercilessly fuck you on your desk.

“Oh, is that so? Not even a few minutes to spare for me, ange?” He leaned on your desk, fixing you with a half lidded look. It was an expression you had seen many times before, mostly when you were beneath him, and the memory made you shiver. Still, you tried to remain focused, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Firstly- you and I both know that you can go for far longer than a few minutes,” you said, noticing the way Spy smirked at the brief stroke to his ego. “And secondly- don’t start using those fancy little pet names to try to convince me to forget about my work!” He knew all too well how much you enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he spoke his native language. You were positively weak for the words he used to refer to you.

“Unbelievable. You are choosing paperwork over me?” Spy feigned dramatics, doing his best to look positively scandalized by your decision to, well, do your job.

You rolled your eyes with a sigh and returned to your work, hoping that if you didn’t give him the reaction he craved he would simply leave. However, it only exacerbated the issue. Spy walked around the desk, sidling up next to you and draping an arm over your shoulder. You allowed him to kiss your cheek, a surprisingly sweet gesture that quickly turned sensual when he descended down your neck.

You shivered again, and this time you knew that there was no way he didn’t notice. “God damn it, Spy,” you whispered, letting your pen fall out of your grip and turning to press your lips against his. You could feel him grinning against your mouth. So damn smug.

A small bite on your lower lip made you gasp, and Spy let his tongue glide along your lips, a silent request for entrance which you granted with a bit more eagerness than you meant for. His body leaned against yours for balance, as he was stopped rather awkwardly in order to reach you, still seated in your office chair. The way he took control of the situation was no longer as annoying as it was alluring, and you couldn’t help but notice the arousal already building between your legs.

Spy finally pulled back, leaving you panting and breathless. “Is paperwork still preferable to this?” He asked, caressing your cheek with a gloved hand.

“It’s an important part of my job,” you whined, even though your resolve was pretty much gone at this point. “It’s stressful, and definitely not as fun as fucking you, but it has to be done.”

“Then how about I relieve a bit of that stress for you, darling?” Spy suggested. Before you could turn him down again he dropped to his knees. You were too surprised to say anything as he shifted between your thighs, essentially nestling himself in the cubby-like area beneath your desk where your legs usually rested.

“What are you doing?” you finally asked.

“I’d think that would be obvious,” Spy said, his fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt tentatively. “I can’t stand to see you so overworked, and if you would let me, I’d love to give you a well deserved break.”

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were perfectly willing from the moment he entered your office. You pulled your skirt up yourself, spreading your legs. Spy pulled your underwear to the side, chuckling as he saw how wet you already were. He ran his fingers along your inner thighs and you leaned back in your office chair, eyes wandering until they settled on the door of your office. Reality struck you for a moment.

“The door isn’t locked. What if someone comes in?” you asked, sounding only half-concerned, especially since Spy was now rubbing his gloved fingers over your clit.

“They won’t see me,” Spy said, motioning to the back panel of the desk, which thankfully reached the ground, completely hiding the man currently kneeling between your legs. “And as for you, I suppose you’ll need to practice your poker face, won’t you?”

You had never won a poker game in your life. However, you like to live dangerously. After all, someone who strived for the safe path in life probably wouldn’t be working in a building full of violent mercenaries with varying levels of mental stability.

Spy immediately went to work, his tongue delving between your folds and flicking upward to strike your clit. You made an effort to fill out at least a few of the blanks in your work, but quickly gave up and chose to surrender, leaning back in your chair with a sigh. A whimper escaped you, and that opened the floodgates for a full on moan when Spy pushed his tongue further into you.

If he kept this up you might just give in completely and let him fuck you, work be damned. You were already embarrassingly hot under the collar just from a bit of oral, and while the prouder part of you wanted to endure for a bit longer, there was another part that craved immediate satisfaction. All you had to do was choose between the two, and the choice seemed obvious.

You were about grab Spy’s balaclava, pull him back and tell him to fuck you like he originally wanted to when your plans were suddenly changed by the terrifying sound of your office door creaking open.

“Hey, sorry to barge in but I’ve got a few more papers that need to be signed,” Pauling announced, carrying a few documents that were apparently meant for you.

As for you, you reacted to the intrusion with all the grace and composure you could muster- and that would be not very much at all. You immediately jumped the moment Pauling walked in, looking far more startled than the situation warranted, and that was bound to raise suspicion. For a moment you were confident your heart was going to stop right there. With a deep breath, you composed yourself. “Miss Pauling! I didn’t know you were here!” you said with a smile that was just a bit too wide and teeth that were just a bit too clenched.

Your eyes met Spy’s with a brief glance downward. While his mouth was otherwise occupied you could tell that if he could he would be smirking up at you. The devious glint in his eyes was evidence enough that he was serious when you said you would need to exercise control over your reactions, even as he did everything in his power to make you crack.

“Really? I just dropped off your paperwork,” Pauling said, giving you a bemused look. “The paperwork you’re currently working on.”

You looked down at the papers in front of you, unable to focus on the words typed out on them, and then looked back up at Pauling, giving a smile that you prayed didn’t look too fake before muttering an awkward, “Oh. Right.”

“Are you alright?” Pauling asked, tilting her head slightly as she looked you over. You nodded as you pressed yourself against the edge of your desk, just barely hiding the fact that your skirt was rolled up and your panties were pushed to the side.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine-” your breath hitched when you felt Spy’s hands begin to caress your inner thighs again, squeezing and digging his fingers into the supple flesh. You paused awkwardly to regain your composure. “Why do you ask?”

Pauling didn’t look convinced at all. You faked a pained look.

“Cramps,” you said, praying that your lie would be convincing. “You know, that time of the month and all that.”

The suspicion on Pauling’s face melted into sympathy. “Oh, I see,” she said, nodding. “Well, the good news is that once you get that paperwork finished you should be done for the day.”

“That would be perfect…” you trailed off, biting your lip as you tried to keep the last syllable from dissolving into a breathy moan. Spy was nothing if not talented with his tongue, and he was about to prove that he was just as skilled with his hands as he worked his middle and index finger into you. You barely kept yourself from bucking forward. The gentle curl and steady thrusting of his fingers was absolutely maddening. It felt amazing, but you wished he could have chosen literally any other time to show off his many talents.

“You do look feverish, though. I really don’t want the Administrator’s only other assistant getting sick,” Pauling said. The last thing she wanted was to take on your mindless busywork for you when there were far more important tasks she could spend her time on, like disposing of witnesses. “Do you want me to get Medic before I head out-?”

“No! No, I’m fine!” you said, unable to keep the panic out of your voice. You did not need anyone else coming into your office right now. “I’m probably just stressed from all this work.” And certainly not stressed because the team’s Spy was currently beneath your desk working his fingers and tongue on and inside of you in all the right ways. Of course not. That would be ridiculous. “I’ll probably feel much better once I’m done with it! If you’d just…” Yet another awkward pause to give yourself time to muffle a whimper, “…give me time to do so.”

God, she needed to leave. Since when did Pauling even have enough free time to check on your well-being anyway? Surely she had some corpses to bury, some contracts to give out, maybe even some molars to yank out of heads, anything but this. All you knew was that you were getting dangerously close, and you were not going to orgasm in front of your colleague.

“Okay,” Pauling said, the air of finality in her tone giving you hope. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Mhm, take care!” You said, just barely hiding the edge in your voice as you waved her away.

You watched her leave anxiously and the moment the door shut behind her you felt a wave of relief wash over you, finally allowing yourself to relax knowing that you had managed to dodge suspicion. Of course, once you let your guard down, it wasn’t long until you felt the orgasm you had been desperately trying to fend off overwhelm you. In fact it was only a moment later that you found yourself arching against the back of your chair, legs trembling as you came, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle any sounds that tried to escape.

“That was rather quick,” Spy said, finally emerging from beneath the desk. He looked down at his watch. “Only a few minutes. I believe that’s a new record.”

A few minutes? God, it felt like an eternity. A pleasurable eternity, though.

“I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, you enjoyed having an unwitting audience,” Spy continued. “I for one certainly found it tantalizing to watch you struggle to keep your composure.”

You shot him a glare, although there was no real venom behind it. “Don’t get too presumptuous, Spy,” you warned, trying futilely to look and sound serious even as the afterglow settled over you.

Spy cupped one of your cheeks and you leaned into his touch, wondering if he could feel the warmth of your cheeks through his gloves. “Once you’re done with all this,” He motioned to the papers in front of you. “Meet me in my room, and I’ll make it up to you, ma chérie. No audience, and most importantly, no reason to hold back those beautiful sounds you make.”

Flustered, you stammered through a response, but he was gone before you could get a word out, the door to your office shutting with barely a sound. The only evidence of his presence was the lingering scent of expensive cigarettes and the afterglow that was beginning to ebb. With a long exhale, you returned to your work with newfound motivation. After all, the sooner you were done, the sooner you could get fucked properly, preferably with no unexpected visitors this time.

[blazingstar29]

floydsin angst. I need it.

Jake distancing himself bc he doesn't feel welcome and Bob noticing

daddy issues(homophobic bitch ads dad) Jake crying in his room forgetting Bob is home (they were roommates) and Bob comforting him

Uh YES

Standoffish Bob is very near and dear to my heart. Bob who been content to not let people know him and thus, uncertain of how to let Jake in. To Jake, being vulnerable with someone is the highest form of praise and shows your comfortable with someone. When Bob doesn't show this vulnerability, Jake is thrown. Because he's been vulnerable with Bob. Is it something he's done wrong?

And Bob noities, of course he does, he notices everything. He stands on the threshold, uncertain of how far to dive in after Jake. Wondering if Jake even wants to be followed down to the depths.

A few weeks pass and something unrelated occurs with his father. His tricky father, his hard working father, his father who loves you really he just doesn't know how to show it. His father who might not love him.

Maybe he told his parents he's got a boyfriend and his mother's eyes shine with pride even if her lips remain pursed through the zoom call as she sits beside his father. His father who loves him really, his father who might not love him. His father who ends the call wordlessly.

So he doesn't mean to cry. Certainly not like this, not heaving cries that make him feel 14 years old and he's just been outed at school.

Bob hovers by the door, uncertain whether to cross the threshold. He follows Jake down to the depths. His face crestfallen as he pushes hair off of Jake's forehead and kisses away the tears until his own eyes become glassy.

He thinks he's caused this. He thinks he's responsible for the way Jake sounds like his heart his breaking. Because it is.

Eventually he calms his breathing and slows the hiccups and explains. Bob holds him tight, holds him close. Makes Jake feel like he's six years old and in his mother's arms again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I love you, I do. I always will. And I'll love you enough for everyone who doesn't."

They share Bob's parent's after that. There is a face missing form the table, one that appears in the pictures on the wall. But disappears when Bob looks about fifteen. Jake sit's in the fourth chair. (There is space for six.) Bob's parents hold Jake. His father analyses him by the grill, not letting him touch the steaks. (He gives him the corn to cook).

Bob's mother holds his hand when they pray, she rubs her thumb over the crooked knuckles. (It's almost like they've been slammed into the door.)

Bob and Jake sit at the Floyd family table built for six, but forever filled by four and hold hands on top of the table cloth.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent Got a Phone

Chapter 2: The Plot Chickens

Summary: Tifa and Yuffie jump to several conclusions, Vincent tries flirting, with mixed results, Cid sustains an injury, and Cloud wants everyone to mind their own business.

THEY’LL GET AROUND TO FUCKING I SWEAR

Chapter 2: The Plot Chickens

“Mr. Valentine, are you ok?”

Vincent receded into his cloak and pressed his back even more tightly against the wall. “Yes.”

“Well then, why are you standing way over there?” Aerith asked. “There’s a chair, right here.”

“Ms. Gainsborough, this is a lady’s bedroom,” he answered indignantly. “I shouldn’t even be in here. I can’t just go over there. What if I were to see indecent…lady things?”

Aerith looked puzzled. “What are indecent lady things?”

“I have no idea, and no intention of finding out. Hence, this is as far as I go.” He drew a line in the air with his gold gauntlet. “Right here.”

“It’s just a hotel room, it’s not really all that private. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I guess we can go somewhere else,” Aerith offered.

“Where?”

“There’s a cute café around the corner. And it’s nice today, so we can sit outside.”

“I hate cute cafes. And being outside,” Vincent said dolefully. “Very well, let’s go there.”

The two had just exited the room, headed for the aforementioned café, when Tifa and Yuffie, who happened to be returning from shopping, came up the walk, from the opposite direction, a few meters behind them.

Tifa blinked. “Was that…Aerith and Mr. Valentine?”

Yuffie made a face. “Were they…coming out of her room?”

Tifa blinked again. “Together?”

Yuffie’s face intensified. “You think they—”

“No! No way!” Tifa interrupted, with a strained laugh. “Absolutely not, are you kidding? He’s…and she’s…not to mention the monster thing! She…she wouldn’t. Would she?”

“You want me to answer that honestly?”

“No!! I mean, seriously. Ha. Ha ha. There’s some reasonable explanation for it, I’m sure. Besides, Aeri’s a grown woman, who can take care of herself. We’ll just trust her judgment, and if she has something to tell us, she will.”

“You’re right,” Yuffie nodded. “We should definitely spy on them.”

“If we drop all our bags off in my room, we can still follow them before they get too far. Go, go, go.”

Fifteen minutes later, behind a cart full of flowers and potted plants, in the market square:

“What are they doing? I can’t see,” Yuffie complained.

“They’re just sitting there,” Tifa said, poking her head out from behind a pot of orchids.

“At a table?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, in a tree. Of course at a table!”

“Is Mr. Valentine asleep?”

“Uh…I can’t tell.”

“Well, did they order anything?”

“How should I know? Why are you so annoying?!”

“If you’d move your huge butt over so I could see too, I wouldn’t have to keep asking you what’s happening!” Yuffie said, giving her a shove.

“My butt is not huge! It’s toned!” Tifa rejoined, shoving her back. “Now, will you please shut up? I’m trying to figure out what they’re saying!”

“We’re all the way across the street, idiot. There’s no way you could hear them from here.”

“Yeah, but if someone would stop talking, so I could concentrate, I might be able to read their lips.”

“You know how to lipread?”

“I mean…how hard can it be?”

“What are you two doing?” said a voice, behind them.

Startled out of their skin, the two leapt up with a yelp, during which process Tifa jostled the orchid pot, causing it to fall with a loud crash. A few passersby glanced over curiously, and the owner of the stand put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Cloud said to her. “We’ll pay for that.”

“You should pay for it, you’re the one who scared the shit out of us,” Tifa groused, as she handed over the money. “Why are you sneaking up on people?”

“I was just walking by. You two are the ones hiding behind a flower stand. What are you doing here?”

Yuffie crossed her arms. “Tch. Nothing. Definitely not spying on anyone. What are you doing here?”

Cloud crossed his arms, right back. “Also nothing. Taking a walk. Sometimes I like to…walk.”

“Walk, huh? Sounds pretty suspicious, if you ask me.”

“More suspicious than you two lurking in shrubberies like slapstick thieves?”

“Hey, Cloud, since you’re here, can I ask you something?” Tifa cut in, before the argument could get any stupider.

He sighed. “It’s not about my hair again, is it?”

“No, but I still have questions about that. I wanted to pose a hypothetical and get your opinion. So…say I had a friend, and I found out they were secretly seeing someone who was really not good for them. Like, super bad news, totally incompatible, just the worst for each other. To the point that I was even worried my friend might wind up getting seriously hurt by that person. What should I do?”

Cloud’s face lost half its color. “How did—uh. How do you know. That your friend is seeing a person like that? Maybe they’re just…taking time to do some self-care, or something. People have a right to live their lives without being attached to their friends at the hip, all the time.”

“Huh? No, I mean, if I knew for sure that my friend was seeing someone bad for them. Like, I saw them together, and everything.”

Cloud’s face lost the remaining half of its color. “Y—you saw them together? When? How?”

“It’s just a hypothetical, why are you being so weird?” Yuffie said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“It’s a weirdly specific hypothetical!” Cloud defended. “You know, maybe the real problem is that this group has gotten a little too close. Maybe we should all try minding our own business, for a change.”

Tifa tilted her head to the side. “Um…”

“You asked for my advice, and that’s my advice,” Cloud declared. “We all mind our own business, from now on, and not worry about what everyone else is or isn’t doing, with whatever mysterious, hypothetical, totally not real person. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go mind my own business.”

With that, he strode off down the street, leaving the other two staring after him in perplexity.

“Is there a full moon, or something?” Yuffie asked. “Everyone’s acting nutso.”

“Oh no! Where’d they go!” Tifa exclaimed, as she looked back toward the café, and found Aerith and Vincent were nowhere to be seen. “I can’t believe we lost them. Stupid Cloud and his stupid hair.”

“Well, the good news is, they can’t dodge us forever. I mean, we do know where they live.”

VValentine: mission aborted. circumstances unfavorable.

✿FlowerGal✿: what’s going on? he was supposed to be working on the plane by himself all day

VValentine: he is working on the plane. but he is doing so whilst not fully clothed.

✿FlowerGal✿: ooh not fully clothed how?

VValentine: he is not wearing a shirt. not even an undershirt!

✿FlowerGal✿: omfg get pics!!!!

VValentine: absolutely not.

✿FlowerGal✿: boo you suck

✿FlowerGal✿: seriously though what’s the big deal? men go shirtless all the time. cloud wears nothing but his surf shorts for days sometimes

VValentine: cloud is a child. cid is a grown man. it is not the same thing.

✿FlowerGal✿: bet he’s ripped though right?

VValentine: no idea what that means.

✿FlowerGal✿: it means he’s got muscles

VValentine: oh. then yes he is exceptionally ripped.

VValentine: curses he saw me. now he’s calling me over. taking evasive action.

✿FlowerGal✿: no no! that’d be weird! you have to act natural around him, remember?

✿FlowerGal✿: just talk to him, like you would normally

VValentine: i wouldn’t talk, normally.

✿FlowerGal✿: you can do it! i believe in you!

When Vincent reluctantly approached the aircraft, Cid was up on a step ladder, doing something inside an open panel, full of complicated looking mechanical parts. His skin was glistening with sweat, in the sun, golden-tanned, darker than the patch of curly blonde hair on his chest.

He wasn’t tall, but his torso was compact and well-built, with the hard, sinewy muscles that come from heavy labor and fist fighting, and his square jaw always had a good layer of scruffy stubble. Cid was pretty much everything Vincent had always considered to be the masculine ideal, and which he could never hope to attain, with his naturally long, slender frame, death-white skin, and hereditary inability to grow facial or body hair.

He was even further from that ideal, now, with the hideous scars and disfigured torso. And of course, his much uglier, demonic forms. The thought of his own monstrosity made him want to turn and run away, bury himself in his coffin and attempt to forget he'd ever met this beautiful, vibrant person. But he was already standing in front of him, and there was no escape, now.

“Hey Vinnie,” Cid said affably, mopping his brow with a bandana, which he then replaced in his back pocket. “Didn’t come all the way out here just to see little ol’ me, did ya?”

[Tip 7: Don’t be too obvious. Make it look like you’ve run into him by chance.]

Vincent crossed his arms. “No. I…happened to be passing by.”

Cid squinted. “You happened to be passin’ by the airfield?”

“Yes.”

“Uh. Well, ok. Hey, could ya grab that red toolbox for me? It’s by the wheel, over there.”

Vincent went and retrieved the toolbox, as requested. [Tip 29: Try dropping something near him, so he’ll pick it up for you.] Looking Cid directly in the eye [Tip 2: Remember, eye-contact is key!], he extended his arm and dropped the metal toolbox on the ground, with a loud clatter, between himself and the understandably bewildered Cid.

“If you didn’t wanna do it you coulda just said so,” Cid laughed uneasily, as he hopped down from the ladder to pick it up, eyeing Vincent as if he were a bomb that might suddenly go off.

Vincent’s black eyebrows furrowed. Hm. He must’ve done it wrong. Cid picked up the object, as intended, but he was visibly startled. Unless startling him was the purpose, and he’d misunderstood. He should ask Aerith for clarification, before he proceeded.

“I have something to do. Goodbye,” he said, and walked away, leaving Cid staring after his billowing scarlet cloak, utterly at a loss.

From his perspective, Vincent had appeared suddenly, spoken a few brusque words, thrown his toolbox on the ground, then scowled at him and gone off in a huff.

“Well, shit,” he muttered, as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth. “What’d I do to piss Vinnie off?”

“Aeri-chan!” Tifa called out cheerfully, the next day, around lunch time. “Yuffie and I are going to try out that café in the square. You want to come?”

“Hm?” Aerith said distractedly, as she typed something on her phone, then looked up. “Oh, sorry. I can’t, today. I have plans.”

“What do you mean, plans?” Tifa pretended to pout. “What’s more important than lunch with your besties?”

“Ms. Gainsborough,” said a very deep voice, behind Tifa and Yuffie, giving them both a jolt, yet again (only this time, no innocent flowerpots were bystanding, to become casualties).

“Vincent, there you are,” Aerith said, stepping past her stupefied companions. “I told you, just call me Aerith. Bye Yuff, bye Ti, see you later!”

Just like that, the tall-dark-and-vampire-coded man walked off with their friend.

“Ok, ok, ok, no need to panic,” Tifa said, when the subjects of their investigation were out of earshot.

“Do I look like I’m panicking?” Yuffie retorted.

“They’re already to the point of flaunting their sordid affair, in public, Yuffie! I think a little panicking is warranted!”

Yuffie threw her hands up in exasperation. “You just said there was no need to panic! Are you using drugs? Is this one of the signs of drug abuse?”

“You know what we need?”

“I’m starting to think therapy.”

“We need an ally.”

“Huh?”

“Trying to talk to Aeri about this won’t do any good,” Tifa reasoned. “We both know how stubborn she can be, when she’s set her mind to something.”

“You’re too scared to face her head-on. Got it.”

“But Mr. Valentine might be made to see reason.”

“Ok, well, have fun with that,” Yuffie snorted. “No fucking way am I talking to that psycho about his love life.”

“I didn’t mean us, are you kidding? He’s almost as scary as Aerith! Besides, I doubt he’d listen to a couple of girls. But, if we got another guy on our side, and got him to talk to him…”

“Cloud and Cid are the only other guys we have, since Barrett’s not here.”

“Cid and Mr. Valentine are pretty good friends, right? They’re together basically all the time. I think he’d be the most likely to get through to him.”

“Sure. If he doesn’t just tell us to fuck off and mind our own business.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because this is none of our business?”

“That's ridiculous, when has that ever stopped us?”

“Literally never.”

“Exactly. Now, let's go enlist a fellow meddler.”

[Tip 46: Cross paths with him, and *accidentally* brush your shoulder gently against his, while walking past him.]

VValentine: executed tip number 46. mission failure.

✿FlowerGal✿: oh no what went wrong this time?

VValentine: i have a difficult time judging the strength of regular humans. i may have slightly miscalculated.

✿FlowerGal✿: miscalculated how badly?

VValentine: his arm isn’t broken, but the shoulder was dislocated.

VValentine: the doctor put the arm in a sling. they say he’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.

✿FlowerGal✿: oh boy

✿FlowerGal✿: is he pretty upset?

VValentine: he left as soon as the hospital released him, and he refused my offer to help. i think i frightened him.

✿FlowerGal✿: looks like we’ll have to do some emergency damage control. meet me outside my room in 20. we’ll talk strategy

“Cid, wait up! We’ve been looking for you!” Tifa called out, then her smile changed to a look of concern. “Oh no, you’re hurt! What happened to your arm?”

“This? I, uh…walked into a wall,” Cid said vaguely. “You ladies need somethin’?”

Yuffie snorted with laughter. “From a guy dumb enough to walk into a wall? Maybe not.”

“She’s joking, ignore her,” Tifa interposed, elbowing her aside. “There’s a little problem we wanted to ask for your help with.”

“Sure, if it don’t call for any heavy lifting.”

“Oh, nothing like that. It’s about Mr. Valentine. We thought you were the person to talk to, since you guys are friends.”

“Yeah, I’d say we’re friends. Least, I think we are. What about him?”

“Have you noticed him, like…acting strange, lately? More than usual, I mean.”

“Now ya mention it, I have, kinda,” Cid said, scratching his stubbly chin. “Usually, he follows me wherever I go. He don’t talk much—he mostly just hangs around glarin’ at the floor, or pretendin’ he ain’t asleep. But the past few days, he’s nowhere to be found, all the sudden. Like, I keep lookin’ up to say somethin’ to him, and realize he ain’t there. When I do see him, he don’t seem right. The other day he threw my toolbox on the ground and today…well, he says it was an accident, but I think he’s mad at me or, somethin’.”

Yuffie and Tifa exchanged a glance.

“Looks like it’s even worse than we thought,” Yuffie observed.

“Agreed,” Tifa nodded. “Cid, we’ve got something to tell you.”

“Something that will shock you to your core!” Yuffie proclaimed. “Or not, I don’t know what your bar for shocking is.”

Cid frowned. “Somethin’ about Vinnie?”

“I’m afraid so,” Tifa said gravely. “But let’s talk somewhere more private. You never know who could be listening.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY:

cloud during this chapter: [fuckfuckfuckfuck they found out i can't keep sleeping with him i have to end it today]

sephiroth: there you are, little puppet

cloud: [tomorrow. i definitely have to end it tomorrow]