#it's a relief to just see the doctor call a dude hot

[variousqueerthings]

you click on the wrong video and end up not on an analysis of the queer history of doctor who, but on someone going on a rant about how doctor who has never been queer and to shove it in now while pretending it always has been is "gaslighting" and "narcissistic" and it's not homophobic to not want doctor who, the show, to be overtly gay, because none of its fans want that

and this is why - quite apart from anything else - we take the terms gaslighting an narcissist and put it on a shelf and then go wash off the grime of that corner of youtube

but also this is why it's being so overt -- it's not to convince queer fans and just... chill fans... who already saw the queer subtext (and uh... text) -- it's to hammer it home to people who will be turned away by it, and also I guess, simply to say, "we're overt now, that's the kind of show we are"

it's not deep but for the part where anything queer text is always pulled apart, and so might as well not beat around the bush. just fuckn. is the doctor gay now? sure. to anyone who didn't already know

[cemeterygirlrocks]

TESTING | — j.c

Summary; You’re testing a new type of chocolate you made on Jonathan.

Content; P in V, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, black fem reader, reader has female anatomy, sub!jon.

“Can you sit still? God.” You were standing over the doctor while he was in a straight jacket, sitting down in a chair trying to move even though both his legs were tied down to the feet of the chairs.

“I-It’s hard, you know. What the fuck was in that chocolate?” While turning hard to stifle your laugh, you turned your face away from his view.

A whine fell from his lips, licking over his swollen pink lips. This chocolate made him feel warm inside, too warm for his liking.

“Can you l-look at me Y/n, please?”

You and Jonathon didn’t share a home, but he always found his way into yours. It honestly made you mad, but no matter how many locks you get changed, he always finds his way in.

This time, when he arrived you weren’t there. Like he always does, he snooped. Throughout your living room, bathroom, only stopping in the kitchen.

He was so excited, you had made snacks.

There was brownies, chocolates, lollipops. You knew he liked chocolate, you were testing him.

So when he ate it, he couldn’t help but eat four out of the six you had made.

Why would you look at him, after his dumb decision.

You were in lingerie, pink striped bra along with the same itty bitty striped panties.

Your favourite, paired with black heels. You had just got out of the lab, and you came home to this.

The only reason you did it was to give him some sort of relief. It wasn’t in your plan for him to eat the chocolates, you were gonna test them on a random homeless dude you’d freshen up.

All because he was stupid, so stupid, that now you were in this predicament.

Although you couldn’t help but like how precious he looked.

Restricted and hot.

Jonathan really had enough, you were just watching him. His body language, the way he was reacting. Scribbling away in that clipboard of yours, lifting up your black glasses when they slid down your nose.

“Help me, c’mon?” Groaning, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“I did! Took off my clothes just like you asked, why do you have to be so ungrateful?”

A choked moan escaped from him, every insult, every word you let leave your lips made his skin crawl.

He was heating up, just from your stare, “I’m sorry, mmfu—please? D-Do something.” You pouted, your hands falling onto your hips.

Jonny barely said please, surprised you. This really did make anybody beg.

“What do you want? I wanna see how it affects you, okay? Wait, so impatient.” Huffing, you began bringing your attention back to to your clipboard.

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” You yelled, jumping at the sudden presence of Jonathon.

He grinned at you, still stuffing his mouth with the chocolate. You tilted your head for a minute, until it clicked.

Running up to him, you took the last piece out of his hand, smacking him on the head. “You really shouldn’t have eaten this.”

The man rubbed his head, looking at you with the most confused look on his face.

“Ne—Need anything. I’ll take anything you give me at this point. Hurts so bad momma.”

He only ever called you momma once before. It was an accident really, you guys worked together you should’ve never got too close with him.

It happened though, you forgot it ever happened, blocking it out of your brain. He on the other hand, brought it up almost anytime you guys were alone.

You were done examining, now it was time to make it go away. Either he sat like this for at least twenty four hours; or, you helped him.

Crouching down a little bit, you smiled at him, “You want some relief Jonny?” He was sweating, eyeing her pretty pouty lips.

They were so big, so edible looking. “Mhm, p-please?” The doctor was panting, his heart beating out of his chest.

It made him so warm, he was feeling this unsettling warmness, and oh how it wouldn’t go away.

You unzipped his pants teasingly slow, a grin plastered on your face. His hips bucked up at the sudden feel, any touch by you made his stomach clench.

“Ohh f-fuck. Mhm, mmm. Please please please please?”

Giggling quietly, you watch him shake at the slightest touch. “Making you real desperate hm? Huh Jonny? Is it?”

You gripped his member, a shaky breath letting itself show, he wanted to cum, he needed to.

Two strokes in he was mumbling incoherent words to himself, a little tear falling down his face. He wasn’t sobbing, yet.

“I can cum? Fuck please? Oh shit, I’m gonna fucking cum. You’ll let me? I-I can’t hold it in momma.” You smirked, your covered tits hovering just in front of his face.

He could see, smell, but he couldn’t touch. The smell drove him to the end, made his legs shake and his heart pulsate way higher than the regular rate.

“I’m cumming, fuck I’m cumming.” Jonny couldn’t stop with the heavy breathing, made you get annoyed.

“Can you shut the fuck up Jonny? So loud, calm down.” He bit down on his bottom lip, stifling a moan as warm hot liquid shot from his needy tip.

Jonathan was shuffling so much, trying to get free from the straight jacket. It was so hard though; made him pout, and made happy you laugh.

“You aren’t escaping, you done? Ima little tired Jonny.”

“No! Fuck! Please please no, I can take more. I’ll show you, ju-just touch me again. I’ll give you more of me, I promise Y/n.”

Smiling brightly while playing with his cum, you kissed your teeth, humming a soft note.

Rubbing his warm nut all over his cock, you started again. This time you weren’t as nice, swiping your thumb over his tip while doing an up and down motion.

Jonny could feel it, felt so good but hurt so bad. You heard sniffling, moving your head up to see tears flowing down his face in a crazy speed.

“P-Please momma, I really want it. I’ll give you so, so much If you let me. Hm? How bout that Y/n? You want my cum?”

You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes, “Every time we talk it’s always you asking the questions. You always wanna take the lead doctor, can’t you see you aren’t in the position to right now?”

“I’m sorry, oh fuck. It’s coming, it hurts so bad.” He sniffled, still more tears streaming.

“Oh stop that crying, don’t be a baby. You ate my chocolates, your fault not mine.” He couldn’t deny it was his fault, so stupid but so smart.

The knot in his stomach untied and he felt so little relief. He needed more, he wanted more.

“I-I know you’re tired, but I need more. I’m sorry, please?” You huffed. You weren’t tired, even though you made it seem so.

He was so needy, so dependent on you. Made your skin hot, made his skin hot.

“You’re gonna be begging me to stop.”

xo, liah

[abdanisnotonfire]

CHAPTER THREE

CW// Abuse

The next thing Brooklyn knew, she was taken to the hospital and given treatment. She had a broken rib, and major bruising that was expected to heal over the next few weeks, but besides that she was fine. The doctors told her that had she fainted because of the stress put on her body, and as a result of the attack, her new adoptive parents weren't allowed to see her for the first few days.

Something about "resting" and taking the prescribed medication.

'I remember what it was like', Brooklyn wrote in her journal, 'I remember the relief of realizing it wasn't a dream. That I was actually going to be adopted by these two wonderful, loving, people, even AFTER what Bella had said.'

She gripped the pencil harder, hot tears now piercing her cheeks, threatening to spill over. Remembering that day filled Brooklyn with an unspeakable amount of envy and rage. She was so close she could taste it, and yet it still wasn't hers.

'To be an inch away from freedom. An inch from being the furthest away from here that I could be, stolen away. And all because of that greedy little blonde bitch.' 

The letters grew darker as she wrote them, not even realizing how hard she had been pushing until her pencil lead snapped. She let out a frustrated sigh and ran her fingers through her hair and wiped her tears away.

She felt the pain in her ribs and back, but it wasn't anything she wasn't used to. Brooklyn had gathered her own storybook of scars and injuries up to this point in her life. 

From her feet, to her head.

She pulled out her damaged phone (which was covered in paint and glitter and truly needed to be replaced) and opened up her twitter app. Quickly, her adrenaline started rushing and she felt her heart go through her toes. 

It wasn't that her adoptive parents had followed her on twitter and could see everything she said, but that they had a collective 15 million followers together on twitter alone.

"W...hatt the fuuuuucck..." was all Brooklyn managed out while carefully standing up from her bunk bed as to not repeat history with a broken rib.

She quickly googled them, pulling up their videos and jogging over to Amber's room.

She knew she had to tell her best friend, she just didn't know how.

Amber was a red-headed petite ambitious teen with more freckles than you could even count, like the sun and the moon together.

With a knock on the door and an invitation into the room, Brooklyn was ready to go Detective Mode.

"Why didn't you say anything about those guys being the same Dan and Phil you watch on YouTube?!" she said, shoving her phone in Ambers face

"I assumed you had known? Exactly how many 6 foot British dudes named Dan and Phil who look exactly like them do you think exist in the world, Lyn?"

Lyn was the nickname that Brooklyn only allowed Amber to call her. A perk of being friends for five years.

Brooklyn threw herself onto Ambers bed, her phone on her chest. "I don't know! How many famous people have you seen just stroll through here?"

"I think I saw Angelina Jolie in here once--" Amber muttered out, a stifled smile on her face; proud of her own joke. Brooklyn shot Amber a glare.

"I just don't get it, Bambi" she finally spoke. "They followed me on twitter" 

Ambers body quickly shot around, full attention now on Brooklyn

"They did? When?" 

"Ten minutes ago" Brook responded, handing her phone to her counterpart 

"Lyn, holy shit! That's so cool! Whoever they adopted must be so fuckin' lucky. You think they followed you cause Bella was acting like a total crackhead?"

Brooklyn's posture changed. She was more stiff, visibly on edge.

"Woah, I'm sorry brook, I didn't mean to-"

Brooklyn quickly cut her off. "No! It's not that. It's just.. well.."

She fiddled with the rings on her right hand, unsure how to release the anxiety she felt in her stomach.

"They...adopted.. me."

Brooklyn met Ambers eyes, and her anxiety soon settled. She didn't seem angry. At all. It wasn't what Brooklyn was expecting. She scanned her best friends face and saw nothing but support, something Brooklyn wasn't used to.

"For real? Brooklyn, you are literally going to have the BEST life!" the other girl said, rushing to Brooklyn and holding her hands.

The two stood in silence for a moment before Amber brushed Brooks bangs out of her eyes and spoke. "Lyn, this is incredible for you." she had a smile across her face.

"I-I thought you might be upset or something..." Brooklyn finally said. "I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't want you to be mad at me."

"For something you cant control? For getting a better life? Hell no! When do you leave?"

The brunette girl shrugged, instantly regretting it and hissing out in pain. "Well, whenever THIS calms down.."  

She had a million thoughts swirling in her head. What was her life going to be like? She took her phone and looked at Dan's twitter page. 'my life is a joke.' the bio read. Well, same, Brook thought. 

She saw the direct message option, and her finger hovered over the button.

There was no harm in sending a message, but at the same time, her doctor DID tell her to rest.

She was unsure, and honestly, terrified for the future. As much as she hated her life now, its the only life she's known in her unstable-stability. Yes, she left, but she ALWAYS came back.

She always came back.

Bella's words from earlier rang in her head. 

Worthless. Unadoptable. Unlovable. 

Brooklyn's hands started to shake with anxiety and anger. She pressed the direct message button and quickly typed out a message.

'hey, sorry for how bad things were when we last talked.'

She stared at the send button. 

What the hell was she doing? She threw her phone across Ambers room, earning a stare from her.

"Um. You good?" Amber said, quickly walking over to Brooklyns phone and grabbing it.

"Wait, don't!" Brooklyn rang out, but it was too late. Amber had her phone, and was reading the message.

"Why not send it?" she said, frowning.

Brooklyn turned, feeling like the fool. "What if they've changed their minds?"

Amber walked over to Brook, tossing the phone on her bed and put her hands on Brooks shoulders. The window behind the brunette cast a white glow from the sun shining through the curtains. Amber couldn't quite make out her friends details, but she knew exactly what she was feeling.

She didnt need to see her to know.

"They aren't going to."

[kaunis-sielu]

Fire Dogs: 3

When you get home Sam is asleep on the couch and Cooper is waiting at the door.

“Sam,” Steve says and Sam wakes with a start, alert and ready to go, “Go to bed. We got her.” Sam shakes his head then stands and stretches.

“You alright Fawn?”

“I will be, just a bit bruised.” You give him a small smile and he returns it then heads upstairs.

“Glad you’re okay.” He says before he disappears down the hallway.

“Thanks Sam!” You call then Steve’s hand brushes the back of your arm.

“Let’s get a look at your ribs and shoulder.” He suggests you can feel the flicker of an Alpha command but it’s like he’s aware of it so he makes sure he makes it a suggestion.

“You don’t want to shower first?”

“Not really if that’s alright with you. I’d rather make sure you’re okay.”

“Alright, what first?”

“Ribs. Cuz Buck didn’t check.” You sigh softly before taking the edge of your shirt in your hands. You take a deep breath, do your best to hide the wince, then lift the shirt to just under your bra. Steve lets out a low whistle, “Oh Honey.” He breathes and you can’t help but notice that’s the second time he’s called you that. “That’s gotta hurt. I’m gonna put some pressure on a few different places okay? I want you to give me a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad it hurts.”

“Okay.” He gently feels your ribs, the highest he gets on the pain scale is a six.

“I’m fairly confident none are broken but if the pain escalates you let one of us know immediately okay?”

“I will.”

“Good girl,” he mutters before reaching for the blanket you keep on the couch, “Shoulder now, it’ll probably be easier to take your shirt off and wrap yourself in the blanket.” He turns away and you go to peel yourself out of your shirt but it hurts like hell to try and get it off.

“Steve I can’t.” You grumble finally admitting defeat.

“Can’t?”

“I can’t get my shirt off without hurting myself. I need help.”

“Oh, okay.” He turns around and helps ease you out of your tee shirt, thankfully it’s not terribly painful but it is a little awkward to be standing in front of him in just your bra and shorts. “Blanket?” He offers you your blanket again.

“Thanks.” He nods, when you wince again as you attempt to wrap the blanket around you he frowns slightly. Again Steve takes the blanket from your hands and wraps it around you. He’s so close to you that you can smell the smoke on him stronger than his scent.

“Ready?”

“I guess. Same pain scale?” He nods then gently starts to touch around your already bruising shoulder. He gets a seven and a half on this one, right where the branch had hit you.

“How does the head feel?”

“I mean I have a headache, and I’m pretty sure I was unconscious for a while but for having a branch fall on me I’m doing alright.”

“I would really like it if you went to the ER.” He says gently, “You want help getting your shirt back on?”

“No, I’m just going to put on my pajamas and ice my shoulder.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

“Do you honestly think that I need to? Bucky said I didn’t have a concussion. He said I was fine.”

“You went unconscious though. Something you failed to mention.” He frowns down at you, you smile sweetly up at him.

“I’m pretty sure I did.”

“Fawn.” Steve groans dropping his head back in frustration. You bite your lip, you really just, you don’t want to go. His eyes meet yours again and after he searches your face for a second his face softens. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” You lie as you turn to go upstairs but a sudden gentle tug on the back of your blanket pulls you to a stop.

“Honey, I can practically taste the anxiety on you.” He says softly, “are you scared?” You shake your head no, “is it the cost?” Again a no, “Please, let me help?” He soothes, his scent rolls over you and you can feel yourself relaxing.

“I’m,” you drop your head, “it’s my ex. He runs the ER and even if he isn’t there he usually shows up while I’m there.” You admit softly.

“You don’t have to go alone, I’ll stay with you.”

“They’ll ask you to leave. My friend Scott tried that when I broke my wrist.”

“The only one who will get me to leave is you. I promise.”

“Fine,” you relent, “Can you help me get my shirt back on?”

Steve helps you get your shirt back on then you convince him to take a shower. You can wait, you ice your shoulder while he’s in the shower. He comes down in a pair of jeans, a blue plaid shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black boots. Good lord he’s handsome, you grab your purse and Cooper’s leash then follow Steve out the door. Cooper hops in the back and you buckle him in then go to the front seat. When you pull up to the hospital Cooper shoves his head under your arm and you absentmindedly pet him.

“You ready Honey?” You like this new nickname he’s got for you. “Let me know if I can help soothe you okay?” You nod then take a deep breath and pop open your door. You take Cooper out of the back of then meet Steve at the back of the car. When you pause again Steve offers you his hand, when you look up at him he’s got that soft smile on his face again. You take the hand that he offers then head inside, his thumb brushes against your pulse point a couple times and you slow your breathing. It’s not until you’re in a room that you actually start to relax a little bit, but it’s not enough and Coop notices placing his head in your lap.

There’s a tap on your door and before you can say anything the door swings open,

“Well, well, well what did we do this time Grey?” His scent rolls into the room with him, it’s stale and causes your nose to wrinkle.

“She prefers Fawn.” Steve growls and Grant actually looks surprised.

“Who are you?” He asks puffing up his chest at the sight of a new Alpha.

“Captain Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, a firefighter. Thought you liked your men with a bit more brains then a firefighter. I’ll need you to step out Mr. Rogers.”

“No.” Steve says from where he’s leaning coolly against the wall. Cooper licks your fingers.

“Then at least be useful and get that dog out of my way.” Grant sneers taking a step toward you and Steve pops off of the wall,

“Fawn, do you want him to be your doctor?”

“No.”

“You heard the lady. She wants a different doctor. Get out.”

“You might think that you’re some big bad firefighter dude but you don’t get to boss me around.” Grant says standing to his full height, “I’m starting to think that my patient isn’t safe with you around.” Grant sneers and Cooper growls lowly, placing himself between you and Grant, something Steve absolutely notices.

“She’s not the one in danger from me.” You can feel the rage building between the two Alphas and Grant glares at him. “Unless Fawn says otherwise, both the dog and I are staying where we’re at.”

“You don’t get to threaten me in my own hospital.” Grant huffs, “Get. Out.” He punctuates each word with the jab of his finger into Steve’s chest. Steve sighs and when Grant goes to poke him again Steve catches his arm and twists it behind Grant’s back. “This is assault! Security!” He yells and Steve growls lowly.

“Technically you laid hands on me first so this is self-defense. Now, I’m going to politely ask you to get the fuck out and get Fawn another doctor. I’m also going to tell you that if you decide to try and make trouble for me or Fawn one of my best friends is Virginia Potts, New York Attorney General. She really likes knocking bullying Alphas off their pedestal, and the last doctor that went up against her lost his practice license and I think is still serving jail time.” You stare at Steve in amazement, he’s calm, but you can feel the Alpha rolling off of him and still has a firm grasp on Grant. He mutters something quietly to Grant that you can’t hear then Grant looks almost dazed, like Steve had just Alpha commanded him and he didn’t know what to do. Two security guards show up and thankfully one is someone who will actually believe you over Grant.

“Phil!” You breathe in relief.

“Fawn, what is going on here?”

“This is Steve, he’s one of the firefighters staying with me. Grant wouldn’t leave and let me have a different doctor even though I asked for a new one then he poked Steve in the chest and threatened him.”

“I did not! Get this fucker off me!” Grant snaps glaring over at you. “You’re a lying bitch of an Omega Grey.”

“I’m sorry, did I not make it clear you weren’t to call her that anymore?” Steve growls putting pressure on the arm he has behind Grant’s back. “Apologize.”

“Sorry.” Grant spits out and he almost looks surprised that he’s done it. It’s great to see him being bossed around like he used to do to you.

“Continue Fawn.” Phil says calmly, as he eyes the two Alphas in front of him.

“I asked Steve to stay, no matter what, and Grant told him to leave that’s when he poked Steve and threatened him after Steve defended himself.”

“Sir, please let go of Dr. Ward.” Phil says sounding bored, his partner a young woman, seems to be enjoying the drama. Steve let’s go of Grant who turns on Steve and takes a swing at him. One that Steve must have anticipated because he just takes a half step back and the hit goes wide. Both Phil and his partner grab Grant before he can try again and usher him out of your room. “I’ll send in May.” Phil says as they practically drag Grant away.

“Thank you.” You say quietly then Steve gently closes the door.

“I see now why you were so hesitant about coming.” Steve says before sitting down next to you in the second chair, he offers you a hand again and you take it, Coop’s head is back in your lap. “He was abusive wasn’t he?” No one has ever just straight up asked you that.

“Not physically,” you admit, “he’s the one that started the whole Grey nickname and all his friends just kinda ran with it.”

“Abuse isn’t just physical Honey. He Alpha commanded you a lot didn’t he?” You nod slowly before saying,

“I know abuse isn’t always physical. It’s just harder to admit when it’s not physical. People would say I was so lucky to be dating him, this hot, young, Alpha doctor. But no one could see what he was doing to my spirit. Nothing I ever did was good enough. My career was a hobby, I should be a nurse so we could work together. I spent too much time on my books. I spent too much time training and doing therapy with Cooper. Anything that took my attention away from him. He wanted a good little Omega who stayed home and served him. He wanted to mark me but I just couldn’t let him.”

“How did you get away?”

“Cooper actually.” You give the dog a couple of chin scratches, “He told me I had to choose, my dog or him and the choice was easy. People said I was stupid but I was just glad to be rid of him, as much as I could be in a town this size.”

“I’m proud of you.” You look at him in surprise, most people tell you that they’re sorry, “you got out and you’ve stayed out.” There’s a soft tap on the doorframe and after a moment Dr. May walks into your room.

“Hey, so what brings you in today?”

“Branch fell on me and knocked me unconscious. I got the okay from Bucky to go home but Steve wants to make sure I’m good.”

“I don’t think any of her ribs are broken but I’d like to be sure before anything happens. Our EMT cleared her for concussion but the fact that she went unconscious is concerning.”

“Ah, so that’s who Bucky is.” You nod, “I’m seeing some shoulder favoritism too?”

“Yea, it hit my shoulder first.”

“Okay, let’s get your shirt off so I can take a look, if you want Captain Rogers to leave I can help you.”

“He’s already seen it.” You tell her and he helps ease you out of your shirt again.

Melinda ends up ordering some x-rays for you. The only time Steve leaves your side is when she walks you to the x-ray room. She takes the time to make sure you feel safe.

“Honestly, he makes me feel so safe, I wouldn’t have come without him. Did Phil tell you what happened?”

“Yea,” she tells you with a smirk, “I wish he would’ve decked him.” You chuckle softly, “he’s crazy about you.”

“Who?” Oh god please don’t say Grant.

“Captain Rogers.”

“He’s also an Alpha, you know how I feel about Alphas.”

Tag list:

@memyselfandmaddox @thefanficfaerie @patzammit @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @killcomet @thesassmisstress @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @dumblani @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @giggleberts @biskwitmamaw @geeksareunique @paintballkid711 @lumar014 @also-fangirlinsweden @connie326 @inkedaztec @eralen @valsworldofcreativity @strangersstranger @blackwidownat2814

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV- Part 1

I've seen a lot of the memes going around, but I'm not funny enough to write that, so here's my addition to the trend :p

This is part one, because I had a lot of fun with this and want to do it more.

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

Sometimes, it was odd for the residents of the Dream SMP to be reminded of the fact that the constant state of chaos that their server was in was not, in fact, reflective of every server.

"Why did we move here?" One woman in Snowchester whispers to another as the sirens go off for yet another nuke test and they duck down into their bunker.

The other shrugs. She doesn't have an answer. No one does.

Things started out all right, the people supposed. There weren't any wars, at least. Some of those who lived on the server before the Revolution could remember back far enough to tell you about the first true conflict, between Dream, the creator of their home, and TommyInnit, a sixteen-year-old who could yell shockingly loud, even for a teenager. Dream fought against Tommy and Tubbo (yet another teenager), and it seemed to all be in good fun.

Some will tell you now, though, that the signs of tension were already there, and when Wilbur Soot joined, those tensions only escalated.

One moment, things on the server were normal, the next, there was a Revolution.

"Did anyone else hear Dream shouting about 'white flags' this morning?" One person would ask their friends, and receive nods in return. "Anyone know what it's about?"

"A Revolution," one would respond. "Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are starting a new country."

"Oh," the first would hum. "How long until they get completely crushed?"

"Eh, I give 'em a week."

It was only a week, but it did not end the way anyone thought it would. Instead, L'Manburg gained its independence after TommyInnit gave up his discs once he lost a duel with Dream.

"Is the L'Manburg cabinet missing someone?"

"No, I don't think so. Anyway, did you hear that Dream just declared that Eret is to be crowned king?"

"...Can he do that?"

"He's Dream. He can do whatever he wants."

After the Revolution, when the server finally had more than one ruling faction, more than one place to live, things seemed to pick up a bit. President Soot, with Vice President Innit (VP Tommy, the people called him), ruled over L'Manburg, and called it a place of freedom. When word spread to other servers, people came to see for themselves.

And often, they stayed.

It was peaceful, for a while.

"President Soot announced he's holding an election," one man said to his wife one day.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Said it was for democracy." The man snorted. "He and Innit are the only party running, though. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me."

"Darling, I know you're still salty about losing the war, but there's no reason to talk bad about a child," his wife said.

The man wrinkled his nose. "Still."

It was peaceful during the campaign.

For a while.

Then, though, Quackity announced that he was running for president, with GeorgeNotFound, best friend of Dream himself, as his running mate.

"This feels like a sitcom," one girl says as she watches the debate reruns with her friends.

"At least it's entertaining," her friend replies, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

And, for the people of the Dream SMP, from both L'Manburg and the Greater SMP, it was entertaining.

Until the election results came in, Schlatt was declared the winner, and President Soot and VP Tommy were banished.

"Dude, dude!" One teen says to their friends, running up to meet them on the Prime Path.

"What is it?"

"I just saw Technoblade join the server!"

The arrival of the Blood God shifted something in the people of the Dream SMP. When he joined Pogtopia, the rebellion being led by the two ex-leaders of the country, the people felt something settle within themselves.

All of a sudden, choosing sides wasn't as simple as where you live.

It was what you care about.

As the son of the ex-president burned down the old flag, the people of the Dream SMP, of (L')Manburg and of the Greater SMP, realized suddenly that they had to make a choice.

Without even wanting to, without doing anything to deserve it, they would have to fight.

Some people went to Pogtopia, some stayed in Manburg, some in the Greater SMP. Those in the latter two stayed where they were because they wanted to stay out of it.

It didn't change anything, in the end.

In Manburg, they watched their president (Emperor) fall further and further into alcohol, yelling at his cabinet and talking of expanding into territory that they had no right to.

In the Greater SMP, murmurs of King Eret's attempts to assist the Pogtopia rebels filled the alleyways.

In Pogtopia, people sat and watched the decline of the man that they had all once believed in. As Wilbur Soot slowly devolved until he was no longer recognizable as the man who had once led people to freedom, the residents of Pogtopia ate potatoes farmed by a man famous for his bloodlust and pretended that they were sleeping somewhere warm.

The day of the Manburg Festival, though, things felt better. Other than ex-president Soot and ex-VP Tommy (Wilbur and Tommy, the two insisted. No one listened), everyone, even the rebels in Pogtopia, were invited to attend. The people wandered through the stalls playing games, watching as Soot's son attempted (in vain) to drown Technoblade, buying food, and chatting with people from other factions, friends and family that they hadn't spoken to in weeks.

When the time came for the speeches, before the true festivities were set to begin, everyone was feeling good about the day. People congratulated Secretary Tubbo for a successful event, and offered him small words of encouragement for his speech coming up. The teenager would grin at all who spoke to him, and looked (rightfully) proud of how well he organized and decorated the festival.

Secretary Tubbo gave his speech, and people clapped, and then fell silent as President (Emperor) Schlatt laughed, asked for his Vice-President's assistance, and encased the teenager in a cage of concrete.

And then he called Technoblade to the stage.

And then, in front of the people of the Dream SMP, a teenager was executed in a spray of color that shot toward the sky.

Fireworks rained down on the people in the stands, then, and, regardless of where they were from, the people of the Dream SMP ran.

The Pogtopia ranks grew that day, and a nineteen-year-old who claimed to be a doctor without showing any credentials forced four other people to help her heal VP Tommy after he fought Technoblade in a pit, egged on by a man who once might have called himself his brother.

"How is this kid not dead yet?" One of the helpers asked, looking at the unconscious teenager's face.

"Pure spite?"

The first hummed. "Sounds about right."

One day, a bit after the festival, the people of Pogtopia woke to find Vice President Quackity walking through the ravine as if he owned the place.

One resident was noted to rub his eyes, blink three times, and then say, "It's too early for this shit," before heading back to bed.

A surprising number of people followed his lead.

Finally, the day of November 16th came, when Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit vowed to take their country back.

"I heard President Soot is planning to blow up L'Manburg," one Pogtopian woman mentioned to her friend as they suited up and prepared to fight, as they had signed up to be part of the forces.

"That's stupid," her friend replied.

"Bet you ten diamonds he blows something up."

"Fine."

As the country of L'Manburg blew sky-high, one woman was seen following another, screaming that she wanted her diamonds.

When Pogtopia won the war, the forces from both sides sat outside of the remains of the van as President Soot, VP Tommy, Secretary Tubbo, Dream, Technoblade, and many more, all piled inside to confront Emperor Schlatt.

They emerged fifteen minutes later, and Dream announced to the crowd that Schlatt was dead.

There was no time for the news to sink in, as they played hot potato with the presidency, going from VP Tommy to Wilbur Soot to Secretary Tubbo.

"President Soot is leaving, do you see that?"

"Probably going to the river to celebrate the win, if you know what I mean."

"Literally shut up. Never speak again. I hate you."

As the newly-inaugurated President Tubbo finished his speech, the people felt a wave of relief wash over them. Maybe the server could finally be peaceful once more.

Then, there was the tell-tale hiss of explosives under their feet, and the people ran as the ground beneath them fell away.

Stories of what happened next are conflicting, to say the least.

Words of President Soot dying in the explosion, of him turning the blade on himself, of another man killing him.

"He had wings," people who saw the man said. "Blonde hair, a green hat and robes. He stabbed Soot with the guy's own sword."

Technoblade apparently gave an incredible speech, and anyone who was there to witness it lamented that they hadn't recorded it.

Then, two Withers flew through the sky, and blood ran down the newly-exposed stones, and people who had never experienced death on the server before finally knew what it was like to die.

Afterward, though, when the anarchist had fled and the ex-President lay dead, President Tubbo, with VP Tommy by his side, stood and addressed the people, and made promises of a brighter future, and the hope and determination in his eyes was enough for the people to hope that maybe he was right.

("Whoa, cool wings, dude," a resident of L'Manburg said to their newest neighbor, a man in green with wings, burned across all the feathers, sprouting from his back. "Wait, what happened to them?"

"Oh, I was protecting my son from the explosion," the new resident replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is your son all right at least?"

"No, he died just a few minutes afterward. His last life, too." The man sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, he probably deserved it."

A beat. "What did he do?"

"Well, you may have heard of him. Wilbur Soot? He was the president here before Schlatt, I believe."

"...Holy shit, you're the bird man that killed President Soot!"

"Yeah, mate, that's me."

"...He was your son?"

"...Yeah."

"...What the fuck is wrong with your family?")

[huenjin]

shootout.

there’s nothing like a shootout that lets two partners bond the best.

pairing: bang chan x reader | detectives!au genre: action, romance word count: 5k words warnings: crime, blood, killings, language, implicit mention of sexual activity

part of the domestic disturbance series.

"Chan, look at this," you drag your fingers over the side of the muscle car, pointing out several holes, feeling the depression clearly. Your eyes slowly trail towards the fresh blood by the window and you gasp, "Bullet holes and blood."

The thin silence is broken by the scream that comes from inside the warehouse. Your eyes widen and Chan quickly whisper-yells at you, "Quick! Move!" You and Chan move towards the door after drawing your guns out. 

You press your ear closer to the door. Behind it, you can hear mumbling and clanking of metal. You mouth to Chan, "What the hell is going on in there?"

He places a finger over his lips and you nod. Chan crouches down and peeks through a crack in the door. You lean over and whisper, "What do you see?"

"Multiple people. Someone is lying down on his back in the middle of the room. The light is flickering and someone's standing over the man." He peeps further. "There's movement in the back too. Maybe one. No, there are two to three people behind."

Suddenly, in a flash, there's another howl of pain and you grip Chan's arms in surprise, moving closer to him. Chan turns to look at you, your face edging so close to him that he can see your eyes glistening and how sharp your nose is. He takes in a huge breath in surprise and closing his eyes, he informs you, "We're going in."

You stand back and Chan winds up, kicking in the door. Chan yells as he rushes forward, "Police! Freeze!" 

You look around at the makeshift operation room with a lot of medical equipment around. A shirtless man is lying on an operation table in the centre of the room and a man in a white doctor's coat who you presume to be Dr. Kim stands over him, prying a bullet wound from his shoulder. The two bulky men who stand behind have their guns aimed at you, narrowing their eyes. One of them has a scar over his face and the other over his neck, both fierce enough to scare you.

"What the hell is this? What the fuck is going on?" The doctor speaks up, looking at the two of you shifting his gaze from the patient to your guns.

"Put your guns down," the bulky man behind the doctor barks. "Now!"

The other bulky dude yells, "Do it!" You and Chan keep your guns pointed finely at the two said bodyguards behind.

The black build of the gun is heavy and it's awfully familiar. The walls are closing in on you and you take deep breaths in. It's the sound of the child screaming and bullets firing. Your pulse is rapid and hot against your skin. You feel the beads of sweat forming by your forehead.

Chan takes a step to your side, speaking, "Let's just take it easy. No one has to get hurt."

"I have a feeling that it won't be that easy, Detective," Dr. Kim informs Chan, his lips tugging to the right to form a smirk. "I'm afraid so."

Chan's shoulder bumps into yours and he looks at you for a second, nudging at you, "Are you alright? You don't look so well."

"I've been better," you smile nervously. The gun trembles in your hand and Chan looks at you, worried. He notices your shivers and your beads or perspiration by your forehead. He wants to protect you and he swears he'll do exactly that.

The shirtless man on the table moans and grunts, looking to the side to see you and Chan, before yelling, "You bastards. Do you know what my family," he groans, "will do to you?"

"Chan," you gasp, your grip on the gun getting harder. "That's Amanozako Susanoo. Ranking officer and scion of the Amanozako drug cartel. The same case that the NIS put me off."

"Ah, fuck," Chan shakes his head, disappointed. "You're now a mob doctor, Kim? Stitching up cartel foot soldiers? I hope you at least get paid well for this."

"We all have to make our living, Detective," Kim shrugs. "After that sham malpractice, I've struggled. Now if you'd let me, I'd like to operate here."

Chan glances at you uneasily, his tongue poking at his inner curve of the cheek. The bodyguards adjust their grip on their guns and the lightbulb that hangs over the table shifts in the wind, causing the knife in one of the bodyguards to glisten and hit your eyes. Dr. Kim slowly resumes examining Susanoo's wound.

"Back away, pigs, if you value your life," Susanoo seethes and you click your tongue.

"We just want to talk," Chan is firm and Susanoo flips the two of you his middle finger and swears, "On dore, ē konjō shi toru ya nai ke! I ain't talking to you both."

"Not you, Susanoo. We want to talk to Dr. Kim."

"Me? You want to talk to me?" Dr. Kim looks at the two of you, worried.

"They're playing you, doc. The minute you get outta the line of fire, they're going to haul me off. Kutabare! Keep working!"

Dr. Kim looks at the two of you and then the bodyguards before resuming the examination on the wound.

"Susanoo, just tell your men to put down their guns. We'll get you to the hospital," you suggest. He is furious, even more so after your suggestion.

"I ain't going to any hospital, yariman," he seethes in anger and Chan loads the gun in the heat of the moment, yelling back at Susanoo, "Call her that once more and this bullet flies straight into your skull."

You can only guess what Susanoo said, but it was safe to presume it is something offensive because Chan responds rudely enough for the bodyguards to step forward in defense. You yell, "Hey! Hey! Back off."

Everyone's yelling. Chan shifts and points his gun at Susanoo, seconding your voice, "Tell your men to back off, Susanoo or I swear to god, I'll put a hole in your head." There is commotion around when Susanoo yells back, "Oh, big talk, little man. You do that. And you and your girlfriend are next."

"Yeah, probably. But you'll be too dead to appreciate that," Chan bites back. Susanoo's face hardens and he continues, "Just let us take the doctor. That's all we ask."

"It's not going to happen," Dr. Kim refuses. "I'm not going to the prison again. Not when you even brought a former NIS agent with you this time round."

"Who said anything about the prison, doctor?" You ask. "We just want to talk to you about something." The doctor digs deeper into the wound to find the bullet. Susanoo screams in agony.

"It's about the Maskmaker?" He laughs. "You think I'm the Maskmaker?"

Susanoo chides in, "The dude that has been killing all those girls? Doc, is that you?"

"Oh, that's just ridiculous," he digs further for the bullet out from Susanoo's body as he screams again. "The idiocy of this city's police department has no bounds."

"So you'll answer all the questions we have for you?" You ask. Dr. Kim jerks the tweezer out of Susanoo's shoulder and drops the bullet into a tiny steel plate. The patient is screaming in agony and the doctor smiles, "There! That's the bullet. Anyone with even a little medical training can stitch you up from here."

"You're leaving?" Susanoo asks.

"Yeah," the doctor smiles. "I'm going to leave with them to get this absurd mess sorted."

"We'll take the doctor and leave," Chan informs. "You and your men can disperse by then."

Dr. Kim places the instruments carefully, the metal clinking and slowly tells, "I'm just going over to then slowly. You understand?"

"Yeah, doc. I understand," Susanoo smirks. "Understand this!" He yells. He whips his hand out from behind his back, pointing a chromed semi-automatic pistol right at you. You heave in a huge breath, your eyes widening and your grip on your gun faltering.

Chan sees red, like paint that spills over his vision. He has been seeing red from the minute Susanoo laid his filthy eyes on you and so Chan doesn't think much when he pulls the trigger.

The gunshot is as good as a hypodermic to the heart. It isn't simply loud, it cracks into the air and echoes around the walls, resonating and magnifying the feeling of our vulnerability. A bright red circle appears in the centre of Susanoo's forehead. His head snaps back and the blood splatters all over the table and over the doctor's white coat.

"No!" The doctor screams. Susanoo's body falls off the table and the doctor tries to hold it. He falls to the ground and you hurl yourself along with Chan behind a wooden cabinet in the commotion.

"Jesus! He killed the wakagashira," one of the bodyguards says, while the other screams, "Kill him. Kill him. Shoot him now."

Chaos follows. Both the bodyguards open fire, aiming at the cabinet and everywhere in the room, their shots whizzing audibly past you. You fire off one shot, miss and throw yourself forward, flipping over another operating table to use it as a cover. Chan looks at you, worried, yelling over the gunshots piercing through the air, "Are you alright, Y/N?"

"I'm fine," you raise your gun to show you were unscratched. Chan heaves out a sigh in relief, turning his focus back on the guards. You peek around the cover and see the two guards crouching behind the cover. Dr. Kim scampers away, retreating into the darkness.

"Get back here, Kim!" Chan aggravates. Upon hearing his sound, the guards fire again. The side of the cabinet bursts open, spraying Chan with wooden splinters and you wince. Chan pulls himself back luckily.

"You're a dead man," the guard screams. More bullets explode against the cabinet. One of them blows a huge chunk of it and Chan scrambles to stay behind cover. 

"I'm pinned down here," he hisses at you. You look at him worried, wondering how you could help and realise that you are staying covered under a steeled operation table. You tell him, "Get here when you can."

Suddenly, there's the sound of an engine revving in the back to the warehouse. Your knees straighten instinctively and you stand barely up, swearing, "Damn it! He's getting away!"

The guards see you and Chan groans, "Ah, Y/N," and he leaps forward, pulling you down with him, taking cover behind the operation table as the guards open fire again furiously. Chan falls on top of you and you wince in the impact. He quickly lifts himself up, his body weight supported on the hands that are pressed on the ground by either side of your face. He whispers, leaning closer towards you, "Let him go. We can't get him without risking ourselves, you idiot. Stay down!"

Outside, the car revs up and zooms away and your head falls to the side, disappointed, "He got away."

Chan supports his body weight on his left arm as he leans closer and brushes the hair away from your face, cupping your face with his right hand for a second or two. Your cheeks stain red and you hate that you're having a moment when you could be shot dead along with Chan. He presses a quick kiss on your forehead, his feel lingering for a long time before he sits up, "We'll get him the next time, okay?" And you nod, biting your lower lip and tugging at it nervously.

Caught up in the moment you just shared with Chan, you don't notice how quiet the room has gone. You nudge at him and mouth, "Listen, Chan." The room is eerily quiet and neither of the guards shoot.

"Are you two ready to surrender?" Chan asks.

There's no response. None at all. You can hear the soft padding footsteps and the sound of someone fumbling with a glass bottle. You smell rubbing alcohol and your eyes enlarge. There's the sound of the cloth crumpling and a lighter flicking.

"They are making a Molotov cocktail!"

"We have to shoot," you tell him. "Now!" Chan listens to you. He ducks low, under the bottom of an adjacent cabinet as he slowly crawls till there with you hot on his heels ("I'm not losing you now," you had said.) and Chan gets a clear view of the bodyguard's feet from here.

Chan's kind enough to give a heads up as he shouts, "Hey, you!" before firing off a shot. The bodyguard's shoe bursts open and he screams, falling down and dropping the Molotov cocktail on himself. He writhes on the floor, engulfed in bright red flame laced with blue trails and you press your lips at the site, looking away quickly.

"That leaves one." Chan walks ahead and looks around for the other person. Meanwhile, the other bodyguards loom eerily behind your back, covering your mouth tightly and pulling you back with him. Chan pops over the cabinet and sees no sign of the only remaining bodyguard.

Susanoo's bodyguard drags you to one corner away from Chan. You try breathing loudly but the man has his arms choking your passage and you begin coughing, only for the man to cover his hand over your mouth, the gun edging dangerously close to your face. Impulsively, you throw your head forward, hitting the gun and sending it sliding away after making a loud noise. You cough out loudly when he uncovers your mouth after swearing, "Bitch," and pulling out the knife that you had seen earlier in his pocket and holding it by your neck. It cuts through your skin lightly, blood dripping down slowly.

Chan's eyes embody what you identify as fear. It's the same look you had on the day Minhyuk fell down before you, bleeding after being shot. It is fear that changes to anger when the guard's head peers over your shoulder, breathing onto your skin, telling Chan, "She's a pretty one. A very pretty one. Too bad I can't have more fun with her before shooting her dead."

Chan's knuckles turn white as he grips on the gun tightly, lining up the shot. The man barks, "Put down your gun. Put down your gun, man, unless you want her dead!"

"Okay, okay," he raises his hand, slowly kneeling down. "Just let her go." He lowers his gun, the sound resonating the walls as it hits the ground and kicks it to the right.

"Good boy, good—" He takes his hand away from your neck for a split second but that is all you need to seize the opportunity. You grab his arm and jerk him down — his knife cutting your skin by the arm and the dermis opens painfully in the hassle — and elbow him brutally in the side of his head. The bodyguard drops to his knees, wobbles for a second and then falls over unconscious.

Chan rushes towards you, pulling your unharmed arm forward, your body falling into his hold as he hugs you tightly. His head snuggles into the curve of your neck as he holds you tightly, mumbling, "I was so scared if he'd kill you. I was so scared." His hand rests on the back of your head as he pulls you into him, your nose buried in his broad, warm chest. He places a kiss — a peck, a barely there contact of his lips — against your forehead as he pulls back to look at you properly. The blood from your forearm stains his shirt but he doesn't seem to mind, caught up in the overload of emotions he feels.

Your head is empty. The pain is still loud but it seems to be fine when Bang Chan hugs you so tight that he wishes he could do that always. You pull away from his grip and look around the place. 

"We just killed Amanozako Susanoo," Chan reaffirms. 

"Yes," you smile at him, your cheeks still heated up. "Yes, we did."

"Yes, sire," you respond politely, "Yes, I will have the full write up given to you by tomorrow. Goodbye, sire." And you hang up. Chan starts the car on ignition as soon as you are done with the call. You look to your left and through Chan's being, you see the police cars parked all around the warehouse, the red light illuminating in the late evening. Officers rush into the warehouse, swarming around the place.

"Hey, Y/N," he pauses. He rip out a piece of his shirt absent-mindedly and pulls you forward, trudging your being into the gear stick as he holds your injured arm up and ties the bleeding wound up, the cloth of his white shirt staining red slowly. "Are you alright?"

"A little shaken up," you smile. "And the slight scratches," Chan glares at you and you chuckle, insisting, "I'm fine."

"I'm glad you didn't get hurt," you mumble, relieved. Almost like you can take easy breaths now and the air is a lot less suffocating. "I am, oh my—"

"Hey, hey," Chan frowns. "But you got hurt."

"Meh," you shrug. He looks towards you and your hair is loose, barely keeping it up in that ponytail of yours after the entire commotion but you don't bother to tie it back up properly, letting huge strands of hair fall forwards as you look down at your knees, the jeans now ripped.

"Have you ever been in a shootout before?" Chan asks. 

"Of sorts," you mumble. "It didn't end well though. I was worried today would be a repeat show of that. Sorry for being a wreck in the beginning." 

You pull down the window of his car as he finally pressed on the gas, the car pulling forwards. The breeze pushes the strands of your hair behind and Chan holds his breath in moments like these. He wonders if it is possible for someone to look pretty even after a shootout with scratches and injuries on their body, but you pull it off so well that he thinks it's hot. He thinks it's hot enough that you took the big bulky man down but the way you were unfazed after that, that was sheer excellence in Chan's eyes and all he could do was gape at how beautiful you are. 

"Hey," Chan brings your attention back to him and away from the passing trees and the low noises of the sirens ringing the air. "Did the District Chief reprimand you or something?"

You laugh, "You're kidding, right? Amanozako Susanoo was a drug-runner and a rapist who we suspect of at least eighteen gangland murder. I might just get a medal for this."

"Find Dr. Kim and you might get two," Chan teases, his right hand on the gearstick and the other on the steering wheel, occasionally flashing you a smile or two as he drives.

"Chan," you frown. "I don't think he's our guy. I don't think he's our Maskmaker. The way he acted in there and the way he reacted to us? He didn't seem like it. He doesn't seem to me as someone with a deep psychosis."

Chan sighs, "I had a feeling you'd say that."

Chan's phone rings and the car audio rings along with it. He presses on a button on the steering wheel, putting Captain Han through the line. 

"Detective!"

"Cap!"

"Hey, Captain," you laugh over. Chan smiles and informs, "You're on speaker technically, Cap."

"About Dr. Kim," Captain Han starts.

"We don't think he did it, Cap," Chan cuts him off. He nervously chews on his bottom lip and looks at you. "We don't think Dr. Kim is our guy."

"What in the world?" 

"He doesn't seem like it," you explain further. "I know it might seem like he is the guy but we spoke to him, Captain. He doesn't seem like it."

"I don't want to hear it, the two of you," his voice is firm and authoritative. "Amanozako Susanoo is dead, Dr. Kim escaped and now you're telling me that he might not be the killer?"

"It's a working theory," Chan protests and you heave out a sigh in frustration.

"I appreciate that you're working on theories, Chan—" 

"Thanks," he sheepishly smiles. 

"But what facts do you have to support it? All the evidence points towards Dr. Kim being the Maskmaker. He even matches the profile Y/N made," Captain Han tells and your eyebrows rise at him calling you by your first name. 

"Ah, yes, but—" you trail.

"I don't want to hear it, Y/N," he says, frustrated. "Unless the two of you can back up your allegation, Dr. Kim remains as our prime suspect.

"Listen to me, Cap—"

"No, you listen to me. Because of you, we've got one cartel officer in the morgue, one in the burn ward and," Captain pauses. "Y/N resulted in the third one with a broken jaw." You click your tongue in annoyance.

"I did what I had to do," you blatantly say.

"It was a righteous shoot!" Chan whines and Jisung is quick to respond.

"I know and that is why you're not being suspended. Again. I pulled every string and cashed every favour I had with the Commissioner to let you two continue this case, or at least till we have Dr. Kim brought to justice."

"Thank you," Chan decides to choose his words wisely. "I appreciate it."

"I want the two of you back at the precinct to search for—"

"I can't, however, oblige with that request of yours, Cap," Chan cuts Namjoon's sentence and you're surprised at him refusing an order.

"Why, may I ask?"

"Y/N's injured. I'm not coming anywhere near the precinct till I have her taken care of," Chan responds in monotone and you look away, cheeks staining red. You also want to yell at Chan to stop treating you like some fragile doll but you won't deny that the care felt nice.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Captain's voice booms through the speaker, louder this time.

"I'll be fine, Captain. It's probably nothing and Chan is overreacting."

"You won't stop bleeding, so shut up."

"Uh, I'll leave you two to it." Captain Han's voice pipes in between your quarrel and you mumble, "Okay."

The Captain hangs up and you roll your eyes at Chan, "I'm not injured severely."

"You're injured nonetheless," his voice rises and he glares at you, pressing on the gas a little bit more. 

You mumble, incoherently, "I'm fine," and Chan chooses to ignore it, turning on the radio news.

Captain Han's voice booms through the speakers as he addresses a crowd of reporters, "Thank you for coming here today. As you already know, we have a break in the Maskmaker case. We now have a primary suspect: Dr. Kim Ilwoo. At the moment, Dr. Kim remains at large but we hope that the citizens of Seoul will cooperate in our attempts to bring him to justice…"

"Everyone — Every cop — is going to be behind Dr. Kim while the real Maskmaker is still at large."

"That's not good," you sigh and you notice Chan pulling into the parking lot of a residential complex.

"Yeah, it isn't," he says, unbuckling his seat belt after parking. He leans forward and hovers over your body, as you can feel his breath by your face, the cold essence of peppermint chewing gum fresh from his mouth. He unbuckles your seat belt for you and looking at you with his nose brushing past yours slightly, he says, "We're here."

This night is definitely going to be a recipe for a disaster. You know it.

Chan fumbles with his key, trying one after another from the bunch and you laugh, murmuring, "Should have divided them."

"Then, I'd lose them," he pointedly stares at you before finding the right one and opening the door. 

The room gives away his new bachelorhood, or the very least you presume he has had a recent breakup.

Everything is functional. The mantle is where he puts his keys and garage door opener. On the coffee table is a wrench set and a new set of wheels for a longboard. Under the small eating table is a pack of beer. You are guessing that the fridge-freezer holds meals for one and he has more clothes in his laundry basket than in his closet. He's not hopeless though, he clearly knows one end of a vacuum cleaner from the other. He's got modern looking prints of the wall and a small photo of his folks on a side table. You identify Jisung, Felix and Hyunjin from there. He's never decorated, that's for sure, but then who paints a rental place? You know you wouldn't.

He turns, smiling shyly, not a look you've seen on his face before. Spending time with Chan entitled you to see a lot of different shades in him. You can't help but smile back — he brought you to his place against the order of his captain just to take care of you. You are dead sure that this is enough to steer you from the loud thoughts screaming at you to not let history repeat again. But you're a fool. A fool for Bang Chan.

Your eyes linger uneasily on the cardboard boxes taped with elephant tape that is arranged carefully against the corners. Chan tells you to sit on his sofa. It's a pretty nice place for a detective of his ranking and you watch him move around in his house. He brings a bag full of content and pushes the table in front of the sofa to the side as he kneels before you.

In the dim lighting of his home, Chan looks beautiful. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. You guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they normally looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Of course, the blush that accompanied it was a dead give-away. 

This is a man you wanted to know more than you'd ever felt before. How could you ever hold back your soul from touching his?

Chan helps you out of your boots and you laugh, "I'm not handicapped, Chan," and shove his arms away, your chest vibrating and the walls echoing your laughter. 

He continues to help you out of your boots even after that, mumbling, "Let me help." And your hands stop midway as you watch how gently he takes them out and places them by your side. He sits by your side and drags the bag closer to him along with the tub of water and cloth. He unwraps the piece of cloth he had tied your injury with and throws it to the side. 

He winces visibly, "That's a deep cut," and rubs his forehead before muttering, "Ah, that bastard."

You don't say anything as you watch him. He uses his left hand to apply pressure on the cut, praying that the bleeding reduces. He dips the new white cloth into the water and cleans the area along with the help of a soap. You clench your teeth in the pain that hits you as he cleans the injury. He wipes the cloth over your neck too, edging his face closer to you as his left hand leaves your arm and grips your face to angle it. You are flustered and take steady breaths in, praying that he doesn't notice your heartbeat rising because of him.

He applies antibiotic ointment over it and covers the area with a sterile bandage, the two of you engulfed in nothing but the silence, your breathing and the sound of the fan rotating. He moves back and smiles to himself, "There, all done," and moves his gaze up at you only to find you staring at him already.

You had promised yourself to never repeat history again; to never fall in love with a fellow partner; to never like another man who swore to protect justice at all costs.

But promises are meant to be broken and as you gaze at Chan under his dim lights, his face so temptingly close to you, you are more than ready to break the promise you've made with yourself.

As you lean forward, your fingertips tracing his jawline, Chan knows and feels the same because he meets you halfway, his hands creeping behind your back by your waist and tugging you closer, your bodies touching and your lips on his, soft and testing waters initially. Chan pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours, angling your face to delve deeper into you. 

He has his lips against yours, nearly knocking you off all the wind in your lungs. You sigh into the kiss, find your hands in his hair, tugging at the roots and moving against his body, your legs stretching by either side of his body. His hand sprawls over your neck, his thumb caressing against your jugular before pressing into the neck, rubbing slow circles. He kisses the top of your lips, your hands tugging at his shirt. 

And the two of you move against each other as the night darkens, covering everything and the gasps and breathless sighs that take over the soft air in the room has nothing against the two of you — the two of you that hold each other in some sort of desperation for physical reassurance. For some sort of hope that the two of you diffuse into each other.

[kinglazrus]

Deep Wounds Ch. 1 - Who's to Blame?

Phic Phight | Next | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @q-gorgeous: Identity reveal. Dash finds out Danny is Phantom. Could be swagger bishie or not, either or is okay.

Submitted by @aj-itated: Dash catches Danny changing after gym, and spots a huge (poorly stitched) wound on his side. Dash is now convinced Danny is either abused or part of a gang, and has no idea how to deal with either - or how to interact with Danny, now that he can't bully him.

Summary: Dash didn't mean to see it, not that it was his fault. If Danny didn't want anyone to notice the bloody mess on his side, then he shouldn't be checking his bandages in the middle of the boy's changing room. But it's too late, and Dash has no clue what to do now that he thinks Danny might be getting hurt at home.

Word count: 4253

“He’s gonna know.”

As Tucker's shadow falls over him, Danny starts, rudely yanked out of his daydream. The hand cradling his chin drops to his lap, fingers brushing the grass, and he fixes Tucker with a confused glare. "What?"

"You are super unsubtle," Tucker says. "He's gonna knooow."

Tucker and singsong aren’t two words Danny would normally use together, but it is the best way to describe the lyrical bounce in Tucker's voice as he drops onto the grass. Too bad his musical prowess seems limited to teasing jabs and not the screeching caterwaul Danny usually associates with Tucker and singing.

"What are you talking about?" Danny asks, his annoyance mounting.

"Oh, come on." Tucker leans back and sweeps his arm out to the field, motioning to the warm-up game some of their classmates are playing, which Danny had been watching fervently until he was interrupted. His gaze skims over the scuffle taking place over the ball, settles briefly on Dash lounging in front one of the nets, then goes back to Tucker.

"I don't know what you mean," Danny says.

"Tucker, be nice. Don't tease the oblivious," Sam cuts in. Sitting on Danny's left, she is flipping through a book rather than watches the scrimmage. How she got the book past Tetslaff, Danny has no idea. Magic, maybe. The more likely answer is that Tetsflaff saw it and just didn't care since Sam one of the best students in their class.

Danny could never get away with it, though. "Seriously. What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, poor Danny." Tucker tsks and shakes his head. "In time, you, too, shall mature enough to understand your own emotions."

"I'm mature enough to ectoblast you in the face," Danny says.

"That is literally the exact opposite of mature."

"You're the exact opposite of mature."

"Game time!" Tetslaff's bellow cuts off what surely would have been a clever retort from Tucker. Her booming voice, powerful enough to challenge Danny's father's, echoes across the field and brings the scrimmage to a halt. At the far net, Dash rises to his feet and brushes the grass from his shorts.

"Captains!" Tetslaff calls. Valerie and Dash's hands shoot into the air, faster than anyone else's. Sam, still focused on her book, raises her hand half-heartedly, then lowers it to turn the page. No one else offers to be team captain, but Tetslaff doesn't seem to mind. This is how their classes usually go when they do team sports. "You know the drill. Pick your players, take your positions, and for heaven's sake, someone take Fenton."

Snickers break out through the class. Danny drops his face into his hands, muffling a groan against his palms.

He hates gym class for a lot of reasons. For one, sports aren't really his thing. He might be strong, thanks to his ghost half, but that doesn't make him any better at sports. Because of that, he's usually the last picked when it comes to games like soccer. And then there's Dash, who sucks sometimes, but he used to suck more. A lot more. He has mellowed out since freshman year, although he's not opposed to jostling Danny in the hallway now and then.

But the absolute worst thing about gym class is playing when he's injured; it doesn't happen often. Danny's been ghost fighting for nearly three years now, and he doesn't get hurt as much as he used to. Experience has wizened him up to the wonders of dodging. His enemies still get lucky sometimes, though, and last night, Technus got him good. Hacking and slashing isn't usually Technus' thing, but the rabid dishwasher the ghost sicked on Danny was damn good at it. He has the deep slash across his left side to show it.

It's healing well, but a wound like that needs more than a few hours before he is back in peak condition. Sam, whose house was closest after the fight, stitched Danny up as best as she could. Both she and Tucker had gotten good at that over the years, but for all Sam's skill, she was still just a high schooler who learned off YouTube tutorials. Before bed, Danny bound the wound tight, took a couple of Advil, and slept with an icepack slapped against his side.

It still hurts like hell, though.

A sharp whistle pierces Danny's thoughts. He winces at the noise, along with most of the class. Dash and Valerie, the victims of Tetslaff's ire, actually flinch.

"Baxter, Grey, stop bickering," Tetslaff says.

Caught up in his thoughts, Danny hadn't noticed their argument, but it's impossible to miss the tight anger in Valerie's crossed arms or the annoyance in Dash's glare.

"Baxter, Grey made her pick. Mr. Cheong goes with her." Tetslaff points at Kwan, then jerks her thumb toward Valerie. With a despondent sigh, Dash pats Kwan on the back, watching his best friend trudge to Valerie's team as if he was going to his grave.

"They're so dramatic," Danny says.

Tucker nods in agreement. "I know, right?"

Sam lowers her book to stare at them. "You cannot be serious."

"What did we say?" Danny asks.

Sam sighs and rolls her eyes but doesn't elaborate further.

Back on the field, Valerie gestures to the dwindling number of classmates yet to be claimed. "Your next pick," she says to Dash.

Dash scans the lineup, his gaze lingering on Danny for a few moments before skipping right over Tucker to Sam. "Manson, you're with me."

"Ugh, of course." Sam marks her page and passes the book to Danny. "You gonna be okay? How's your side?"

He holds back a grimace. "I'm good. I'll tell Tetslaff I'm sick or something so I can sit out."

Sam nods, satisfied, and joins Dash's team.

"Tucker!" Valerie calls.

"Good luck, dude." Tucker gently pats Danny's shoulder before stepping onto the field.

With his friends gone, and the rest of the class distracted by the team pick, Danny shuffles over to Tetslaff. "I don't really feel good. Can I sit out?"

Tetslaff looks him up and down. "You gonna throw up?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

"You got a fever?" Before Danny can even answer, Tetslaff slaps her hand against his forehead. He flinches back, wanting nothing more than to peel her warm palm off his skin. She holds it there for a few seconds before finally drawing away. "No fever. got a doctor's note?"

"Uh... no? I've been at school all morning."

"If you feel like you're about to throw up, book it off the field. Otherwise, you're playing."

"But—"

"Fenton, do you really want to be the only kid in Casper High history to fail gym class?" Tetslaff asks.

The threat might have been more effective if Danny hadn't spent half his high school career one bad grade away from flunking out, but he doesn't have the energy to fight her on it. "Okay, Coach."

"That's the spirit! Now get out there and show me some hustle!" Tetslaff slaps Danny on the back. He bites back a cry of pain as he stumbles forward, one hand shooting to cradle his side. Tetslaff's hand, though broad, missed the actual injury, but the sheer impact made his bones rattle and his wound flair with pain.

"Okay," Danny mutters. Just stay out of Dash's way and move enough to escape Tetslaff ire. It can't be that hard. He presses a hand to his side, feeling the thick gauze through his shirt. Closing eyes so that no one sees them glow, he phases his palm through his shirt and ices over his injury. The numbing cold helps, somewhat, and it should hold up for the whole class.

"I can do this." He falters when he steps toward the field. It looks like Valerie and Dash finished picking their teams while he was busy with Tetslaff and the game is already underway. He hovers on the sideline, unsure where to go.

"Getting worked up already?" Valerie's voice startles him.

Danny flinches and twists toward her, sending a sharp twinge across his ribs. He hisses, regretting the sudden move, and squeezes his side once more.

"You okay?" Valerie asks.

"Just fine. Sorry, what did you say?"

"You look like you're stressed out already. It's just soccer."

Danny rolls his eyes and nudges her arm. "Sure. Tell me that when Dash's team is up by five and I have stop you from kicking his kneecaps in."

Valerie laughs, no denial falling from her lips. "Oh, please. We both know I'd go for the throat. You're with me, by the way."

"Oh, thank God."

"Don't kid yourself, Danny. We both know you'd love to be on Dash's team."

Danny's mind blanks for a moment, his cheeks growing hot against his will. "Uh... what? He literally used to beat me up every day."

"Keyword, 'used to.' And I never said you had good taste." Valerie shrugs. "Except for me, at least. But don't worry about it. Now come on; I want you on defence. You suck at scoring, but at least you can take a hit."

Danny hopes he doesn't need to.

—

No hits come his way, to Danny's immense relief. At least they are playing soccer and not football. Or floor hockey, God forbid. Danny's ankles still smart from the last time they played that. With soccer, there's not a whole lot of opportunity for Danny to get knocked around. Stuck on defence, he even has an excuse to hang back, hold off on all that "hustle" Tetslaff wanted to see. His teammates charge up and down the field, shouting and jeering as they fight over the ball, and Danny gets to trail behind, halfway between the throng and his team's net. He spends most of his time watching Dash. Purely so that he's ready if Dash decides to go after him, not for any other reasons.

"Suuure that's the reason," Tucker says when he notices Danny staring.

"It is!" Danny's protest falls on deaf ears.

Dash catches Danny's gaze more than once. Rather than looking away, Danny can't resist offering a shit-eating grin and a friendly wave every time. If he had any self-preservation skills, he would stop immediately. But there's a reason he's half-ghost now, and it's definitely not because of his critical thinking skills.

He manages to stay out of the action, for the most part, only rushing in when the ball comes close to him. Otherwise, Tucker and Elliot handle the rest. Tucker knowingly spares him the pain of ripping his stitches. Elliot, meanwhile, likes to swoop in at every opportunity to show Danny up. It might have gotten a rise out of Danny any other day, but right now, when his side throbs every time he takes a step, Elliot is welcome to do whatever he wants.

When they have class outside, Danny can't tell how much time is left. He guesses they are about halfway through, and nothing bad has happened yet. Maybe he can get through this, after all.

That's when he jinxes himself.

"Heads up!" Valerie's warning shout comes just in time. Danny ducks instinctively, hissing when his injury pulls. The soccer ball flies over his head, skimming the top of his hair. Then, Dash collides with Danny, his shoulder digging into Danny's side. He cries out as he goes sprawling, hands shooting to his side. It burns, searing across his ribs, almost as bad as when he first got the wound. The pain makes his head spin and his breath ragged.

He must blackout for a moment, because one second his face is pressed against the cool grass, and then suddenly he's staring up into Tetsalff's concerned face, Valerie, Sam, and Tucker hovering behind her.

"Deep breaths, Fenton," Tetslaff says.

It would be great advice if breathing didn't make his chest expand, and his chest expanding didn't make the gash on his side strain against the few stitches that hadn't popped when Dash rammed into him at full speed. What the hell. That was such a dick move.

"Okay, Fenton. You're out for the rest of the class. Go to the nurse if you need to," Tetslaff says.

He nods but makes no move to get up. He doesn't know if he can.

Tetslaff sees his plight, whether she understands the reason for it or not, and barks over her shoulder. "Baxter! Your fault, your problem. Help Fenton inside."

"We can take him," Tucker says. At the same time, Dash whines, "Come on, Coach. There's no way I hit him that hard."

Tetslaff sticks out an arm, holding Sam and Tucker back. "Get to it, Baxter."

Dash groans but relents and steps into Danny's field of view. Rather than kneeling, or doing anything actually helpful, he bends down a little and sticks out his hand.

Danny stares at it.

"Well? You're holding up the game, Fenton."

Danny almost gets up on his own, just to spite Dash, but the second he tries to lever himself up, his side screams, and Danny has to bite back another cry of pain. Reluctantly, he grabs Dash's hand. Dash hauls him upright, far from gentle, and sets Danny down on his feet. Dash starts forward, but Danny hangs back.

"Hurry up," Dash says.

"Just... hold on a second." Danny squeezes his eyes shuts and clamps his hands against his side. The pressure helps, a little. If he's bleeding, it'll at least hide the evidence. He really hopes he put enough gauze on the wound. He didn't exactly think he'd be dealing with this today when he wrapped it.

"Dude, we can take you," Tucker says. He and Sam haven't moved away. Even Valerie still hovers close by, giving Danny a concerned look over his friends' shoulders.

"Manson, you're team captain until Dash gets back. Foley." Tetslaff shakes her head. "Your grades aren't much better than Fenton's here. Let's go, back on the field. It's game time.

"But—"

"It's fine, guys." Danny tries to smile, but he is sure it comes out like a grimace instead. Neither of them look like they believe him.

"Ms. Tetslaff!" Valerie steps in front of the teacher. "Danny's on my team. I want to make sure he's okay. Kwan can take over as captain for me."

"Okay, fine. Now let's get back to the game, people!" Tetslaff puts a hand on Sam and Tucker's shoulder each and pushes them toward the field. Over her shoulder, Sam mouths "Thank you" at Valerie.

"Can we just hurry up?" Dash says. Before Danny is ready, Dash's hand clamps down his shoulder and starts driving him forward. Danny stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and is forced to open his eyes or else go tumbling all over again. Valerie appears on his injured side, walking fast to keep up with Dash's pace.

"Are you okay?" she asks. She reaches toward Danny, but holds back, her gaze flitting down to the hand over his ribs.

"Yeah, totally fine. I, uh, got caught up in that ghost fight yesterday, got a little bruised," he says.

"You should have told Tetslaff. She would have let you sit out," Valerie says.

"Yeah, I should have." Too bad Danny hadn't thought of that lie before. And it wasn't even a lie, technically.

The walk to the gym doors feels much farther than it did at the start of class. Dash yanks the door open once they're close enough and deposits Danny on the nearest bench. "There, you're fine. Whatever."

"Don't be such a dick, Dash," Valerie says.

Danny wobbles, bracing himself against the wall as he sits down. While Valerie helps, grabbing his arm and keeping him steady, Dash doesn't make a move.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. I'm just gonna sit for a bit."

"If you say so." With one last concerned glance, Valerie leaves the gym.

Danny sits, one hand pressed against his side, feeling the deep, pulsing ache that won't leave. The ice he applied earlier hasn't faded yet, but if Danny's stitches are ripped as he suspects, a little numbing cold won't help for much longer.

Dash clears his throat, reminding Danny that he hasn't left yet.

"What?" Danny glares at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry, or whatever. I thought you were gonna move, okay?"

"You sure sound sorry."

Dash bristles. "Whatever, Fenton. I was trying to be nice, but I guess I'll just fuck off then."

"Yeah, you do that."

Dash stomps out of the gym without looking back, slamming the door behind him. The bang echoes through the empty room. Alone at last, a whimper slips through Danny's lips. You would think that, over the years, he would get used to getting injured so much, learn to adjust to the pain. Whoever first said that was such a liar. It never stops hurting. Dizzying pain is dizzying pain no matter how often you experience it.

Danny sits for a few minutes, breathing slow and even, bracing himself for what he knows is coming. Peeling his hand away from his side, he checks his shirt. Faint pink splotches greet his eyes, not a lot, but enough to make him groan. He reaches under his shirt, slipping his fingers underneath the bandages, and probes the tender skin. His fingers come away slick and red.

"Shit." He applies a fresh coat of ice, enough to seal over the wound, and pushes himself off the bet, slick hand sliding against the wood. The entrance to the boys' changeroom lies only a few feet away, but it feels farther. He shuffles inside, bracing one hand against the wall. The hall leading in stretches for a good ten feet before cutting into a sharp right angle and opening into the main room.

The silence inside is just as oppressive as the quiet of the gym. Even though it's the middle of the school day, being here without the chatter of other boys as they change feels odd.

Danny lets himself slump onto the bench, breathing heavily

"I'm gonna kill Dash," he says to the empty room. But knowing his luck, Dash would come back as a ghost and haunt the hell out of him. It seems like the kind of asshole thing he would do

Danny fumbles for his bag, hooking his finger around the strap and dragging it close. It takes him a minute of digging to find his phone, which he stuffed inside at the start of class. He quickly checks the time. There are ten minutes left of class. More than enough time to check his side and get patched up before Tetslaff dismisses everyone to get changed.

The smart thing would be to go into one of the showers, make sure he has complete privacy, but he doesn't want to put in the effort of walking that far.

"It'll be fine," Danny says and gets to work

—

Dash doesn't return to the game. As the gym door slams beside him, he leans against the wall and stares down at his shoes. Outside, he looks composed, but in his head, his thoughts tumble about. He can't shake the image of Valerie's glare. Fenton couldn't take a hit, so what? It's not like Dash actually didanything. He's gotten Fenton a lot worse than that before. It's not his fault the guy was already banged up from some dumb ghost fight. Not his problem.

And yet, the pained cry as Dash bowled Danny over, the sight of his crumpled body on the grass... it makes Dash shudder.

"I apologized," he says. There's no one around to hear it, to justify him. He wonders what his therapist will say about this, if Dash bothers mentioning it at their next appointment.

Valerie's glare flashes through his mind again.

"Okay, fine!" He throws his arms up and shoves away from the wall. One quick moment to check on Danny, then he'll return to the game. He's only doing this so that his therapist doesn't give him that look on Monday; the look that isn't quite disappointed, because she could never be disappointed in one of her clients, but comes pretty damn close.

Dash only receives that look when he does something dumb, like shoving nerds in lockers or taking his anger out on someone else.

Dash eases the door to the gym back open and peeks inside. The bench he left Danny on is empty. A smear of red stands out against the pale wood. Dash creeps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His heart sinks as he nears the bench, and comes to the unmistakable conclusion: blood.

Not my fault, Dash reminds himself. It does little in the way of reassurance. Walking briskly, he heads for the doors leading further into the school. If Danny is bleeding, he must have gone to the nurse. Which means he will be fine, but Dash needs to be sure.

A low groan stops him in his tracks.

For a moment, he thinks he imagined it, but then it comes again, accompanied by a pained hiss. The sound comes from the changing room. Holding his breath, he turns from the door and enters the changeroom.

Short, sharp breaths greet him, growing louder as he nears the main room. A shaky whimper cuts through, followed by a gasp.

Dash peeks around the corner. He sees Danny's shirt first, discarded on the bench. Next to it is a pile of wrappings. It looks like the ace bandages Dash uses whenever he gets a sprain, although he doesn't remember seeing Danny wearing any. And then, he looks to Danny himself and pales.

One arm drawn back, head tilted forward to see his side, Danny peels a stained gauze pad away from his bloody ribs. Suddenly, Dash can't breathe. His throat feels clogged. His heart hammers in his ear. The gash in Danny's side is easily the length of Dash's hand. It rips across his ribs and curves up toward his armpit, ending just under his arm. Dash doesn't know much about first aid, but the stitches holding the wound together look sloppy. They pull in different directions, turning what appears to be a clean cut into a wobbly mess. Around it, Danny's skin is stained red. Blood seeps between the stitches.

A few small drops slide down Danny's exposed skin as Dash watches, pooling briefly against the waistband of his gym shorts before they are absorbed

"Fuck," Dash whispers.

Danny jumps back, spinning mid-air to face Dash. In his horror, Dash doesn't think to question the impossibility of that action. Danny drops the gauze pad, which lands bloody side down on the floor, and clamps his arm down over the injury.

"What are you doing?" Danny's voice hitches, caught between an accusing growl and a startled squeak.

Dash gapes, mouth opening and closing as he searches for something to say. His mind comes up blank. "Danny, what... what the hell? What happened to you?"

Dash's voice seems to snap Danny out of his shock. All at once, his body goes rigid and his expression turns cold. "Get out."

"You need to go to the nurse!"

"DASH!" Danny bellows.

Dash stumbles back, falling against the wall. Tetslaff's laugh voice is loud. Jack Fenton's voice booms. But just now, Dash felt the floor shake under his feet. Danny's voice rumbled in Dash's chest, knocked him off his feet. The whole school must have heard it, they had to.

"I won't say it again. Get the hell out right now," Danny says.

Dash obeys. Whether it's out of fear or a genuine desire to follow Danny's will, he can't tell. He books it out of the changeroom, across the gym, and bursts outside, only to come face to face with Kwan and the rest of the class.

"Whoa!" Kwan reels back in surprise. "You missed the rest of the game. Val's team won."

"Oh, the game. Right." Dash takes a deep breath, struggling to get himself under control.

"So... you gonna let us in?"

Dash doesn't move.

"Get out of the way, Dash," Valerie says. Pushing to the front of the group, she tries to shove past him.

Dash leaps in front of her. "No!" He can't let anyone else see Danny.

"Dude, not cool. We want to check on Danny," Tucker says.

Dash wavers. Danny's friends have to know what's up with him, right? There is no way he could have stitched that up himself, not with how much struggle it took to even look at the injury. When Tucker and Sam slip by Dash, he makes no move to stop them. Their entrance opens the floodway, and soon enough everyone is pushing past Dash into the gym.

"Wait!" He latches on to Kwan's arm as his best friend passes.

"Did something happen?" Kwan asks.

Dash swallows, unsure how to answer. "Sort of?" Now isn't the right time to tell Kwan, though, not with their classmates around them, and the rest of their friends absent.

"Let's go get changed." Kwan pats Dash's shoulder and guides him forward. Every step closer to the change room, Dash's anxiety mounts. Danny reacted so poorly to one person finding him. Dash can only imagine what will happen—what stricken look Danny will wear—when half their class walks in on his shirtless and bloody.

Except, when they turn the corner into the change room proper, Danny isn't there. His stuff is gone, too. Tucker's crumpled gym shirt covers the spot where the gauze pad landed. There are no signs Danny was there at all.

Next

[lorenzobane]

Okay, live thoughts watching the first episode of Strange New Worlds. LOTS of spoilers so I'll put it under the cut.

Obsessed with the fact that Pike is a horse girl, also Pike is SO funny trying to outrun a space shuttle on a horse

UGH I know they’re doing it on purpose but the opening really is hitting me right in the nostalgia

Spock and T’Pring are so funny. I’m crying. But also fascinated by the implication that they had many courtship events. I think that’s a good idea actually- it always felt creepy that Vulcans basically allow arranged marriages that are set up for people as actual children without giving them a chance to see if they’re compatible so I’m fine with this retcon

SHE ASKS HIM TO MARRY HER???? Also screaming at the implication that Vulcan women are the ones who ask for marriage. I guess they’re also retconning out that it’s an arranged marriage…?

They fucked??? Excuse me? I mean, fine- Ethan Peck is hot so I’m fine seeing him be shirtless for no reason but this is wild bc TOS! Spock always seemed like a turbo virgin. Then again- in s3 of TOS Spock was in his manwhore era so.

Also Vulcan pillow talk is funny funny funny. I have so much to say about this scene

SPOCK ANSWERED A VIDEO CALL WITH HIS BOSS NAKED!!! No wonder he didn’t really comment when Kirk took his first video call shirtless

Okay, this actually makes the Spock/T’Pring relationship in Amok Time make more sense. No wonder she was willing to let him die- she asked him to marry her and repeatedly said she wasn’t going to chase him around the galaxy/that she wanted him to stay on planet and he’s very ambivalent about her feelings on the matter

Also a more general note, it seems like they're softening the Vulcan emotions a little bit. T'Pring seems fairly openly affectionate with Spock and makes her irritations with him very known.

Aww pike is so awkward about having a new Number 1, he really wanted it to be Spock or Una

Jesus this Pike trauma re: his tragic accident and radiation poisoning is a really interesting angle.

Lmao Spock’s “girl what the fuck” face during Pike’s welcome speech to the enterprise is killing me

“Captain I do not wish to overstep.” A long wry pause, “overstep”

Also, this conversation makes Spock’s mutiny in TOS make more sense. Like, it always made sense but I really like the way Pike and Spock’s relationship is being developed. There is going to be so much slash fic about Spock and Pike. I can sense it.

YAY!! I love a good old-fashioned trek plot. There are warring factions on the planet! Some main characters are stuck there! It’s up to the enterprise to Save The Day! Honestly love it

I love Star Trek doctors. They’re always wonderful. Looks like M'Benga is no exception. I like nurse chapel… though I think it’s because I find her voice really really hot.

LOL Spock and La’an are great, they have a fun dynamic. He’s like “we should be ethical and follow Star Fleet protocols” and she’s like “we should commit crimes”

Aww, this poor dude got beamed up- he got alien abducted by the enterprise! Hilarious!

YES! Uhura uses empathy and kindness to calm down the random dude that the command team kidnapped

“Captain, the pain is unbearable” *SCREAMS* “ah. That’s better.” I see clearly now that Spock is going to be the comic relief on this show.

This really is so much fun, like legitimately just a fun show

Love the classic trek premise where they are able to heal a fighting world through negotiation and debate and one lovely monologue from a charismatic captain.

A classic trek monologue about optimism!! “Reach for the stars” but high key terrifying that they used actual footage from the Capitol riots to discuss the destruction of the earth in the 21st century…

This is the biggest fuck you I have ever seen of the prime directive but I do love it

LMAO Samuel Kirk!! Rip dude, I remember your dead body. They even kept the stupid mustache. Love that. But obsessed with the implication that Spock worked with Jim’s brother and didn’t say anything. Love it. Such a bitch all the time.

I’m such a sap, Pike says the “boldly go” lines at the end and I’m beaming.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Online dating

darcy lewis x reader / masterlist

summary; darcy decides to try a dating app, least to say, the guy isn’t anything like his picture. and thus she ditches him, and finds someone else in a hot second / warnings; the oc guys in this fic are dicks, homophobia, darcy being bae, swearing, mentions of sex and cheating, mentions of joy x reader.

he was a polar opposite to what he had portrayed his online self to be, screw the internet! this date was truly tragic, darcy had plenty of things that she could be better using her time for, rather than sitting opposite this oaf, that was licking his unappealing lips, and staring at the waitress when he thought that she didn’t notice.

“huh?” the scientific doctor pulled her phone out, ushering a puzzled expression on her face as she stared at the blank screen. she of course recognised that no one was making any attempts to contact her, but he didn’t know that. “one second.” she held her finger up, bringing the phone to her ear as she blabbered into the speaker that was inherently catching nothing that she was saying.

“slow down jane.” darcy falsely ushered, using her hands to exaggerate the conversation in her head. she put the phone down, a facade of panic elaborating behind her spectacle adorned eyes as she grabbed her belongings in a frenzy, standing upright and out of her seat. “im so sorry, my friend has just hit some guy with her car and she needs some moral support. tonight is going to have to be cut extremely short.”

short was a relief, but the hopeful expression on this dude’s face wasn’t. perhaps it was cruel to leave this guy hanging, and well, she couldn’t blame him for wanting more, she sent him an awkward smile as he began to speak. “we should do this again some time - properly.” darcy wasn’t dumb, she noticed how his eyes sped to the side as the curvy waitress walked by.

“sure...” no, definitely not. darcy was well aware that she was wasting her time with this moron, she didn’t need a man, let alone a dweeb of one. a quick wave was all she bade him as she exited the coffee shop, only to become engrossed in a scene erupting on the local streets. there was a woman, flinging shirts, and a bra within the bundle that looked as though it was not her size, what was she thinking, clearly it wasn’t, at said example of figurative masculinity.

“screw you durkus!” any guy named ‘durkus’ was basically a label confirming that he was a dick. “i don’t need you, nor the next man! i am a well established woman who has done more for this country than you could ever know, you’re dust beneath my feet, a pathetic layer of residue that i want nothing more to brush off.” perhaps she was being harsh, but it sounded like he deserved it.

from the red lipstick, that the woman was not at all sporting, from the random bra that she had flung at her partner, it was a safe bet to assume that he had cheated on her. darcy plodded closer, listening whimsically in, and realising that her life was pretty calm, there were no longer asguardians or dark elves infiltrating her life, nor the work that she had attained to field in.

she had only recently earned herself the title of doctor, and it was frustrating that people would assume that she opted for a profession in a hospital room, or they would forget the professional endorsement all together, and address her as ‘miss lewis’. she was no one’s puppet, she had scaled herself up the ladder of her career to be where she was now, but another thing that she was alongside such a wave of potential was a feminist.

this dick was shouting in the streets, calling her inexplicable names such as a ‘whore’, and a ‘two faced bitch’. having the ability to hear the insults brew anger in her stomach, she couldn’t just stand there. “what are you going to do, turn into a complete lesbian?” now that was the last straw, it had darcy marching over, and promptly she shoved the guy, making him drop all the items that were grasped in the basket of his arms.

a flabbergasted ‘huh’ was riveted from him, and it made darcy smirk as she attuned his attention towards her; the stranger that had gotten involved in his public display of disrespect and homophobia. “how about you watch your damned mouth before i make sure you can’t open it again. and whilst you’re at it, get some new shirts, you’re not a model, unless you’re the kind that are put on prison pamphlets.”

“who the fuck are you?” he spat his saliva on the ground by darcy’s feet, establishing her with the information that her first impression of this dick had been correct. women just knew with this kind of thing, they could sense trouble from a mile away. “you know what, keep that crazy bitch. maybe you can help her store her katanas, and go on double dates with danny rand and his plus one. rather you than me.”

“don’t ask.” the woman shook her head, tired of the drama that durkus always seemed to bring. she had enough trouble, involving work and extracurricular night time activities, without him adding to them. darcy presented her with a sweet smile, picking up the box of random bits and bobs that was on the floor. “that’s just work stuff, i’m moving offices and as i came to collect some things from our apartment, and i found him- well let’s just say he wasn’t alone.”

“that was pretty easy to pick up on. how’d you not realise that you were dating a total sleaze?” she was blunt with her enquiry, though the woman shrugged, a guilty expression cowering upon your features, like an ashamed shadow. a small, attractive smile graced her lips, secrets hidden beneath the span of the expression.

“oh, i knew. i just had to pretend to be happy, so that my ex, or well now, my other ex joy would stop chastising me, claiming that i haven’t got over her. she’s so up her own ass sometimes and it drives me- shit, i’m sorry, you don’t know me, nor do you need to hear about my problems.” the y/h/c haired woman shook her head, stretching her hand out to miss lewis. “i’m y/n, thanks a bunch for helping me out back there.”

darcy accepted her handshake, completing the action as she smiled. “i’m darcy.” this woman didn’t need to know about her doctor title, in fact, darcy was keen on knowing everything about her instead. “so’d how you meet him?” referring to the person that had most recently became y/n’s ex. y/n was relieved that darcy had shown up, she was sure she’d have used her martial art training for more than composition; she’d have kicked durkus’ flat ass.

“on a dating app.” it was a normal answer, she wouldn’t share the intel that before that she had saved his ass whilst wearing a black hood, stopping him from getting mugged in the dead of night. perhaps she should have saved someone else that particular late evening. darcy couldn’t help but let a small laugh out, finding both their circumstances quite amusing. she was sure a similar situation would have unfolded if she had decided to regularly see the date that she ditched.

“online dating man, it sucks, am i right?” it had quite the reputation, for the two of them especially. “maybe we should just date each other.” she joked, though she was being partially serious. it felt right, they had bumped randomly into one another’s faulted situations on the same day, it almost felt like fate, though that subject was too cheesy to say aloud.

“well doctor lewis, i would not at all mind going on a date with you.” darcy frowned at the title that she had been called, pointing at the side of the woman’s jacket, that had a recyclable label stuck upon the material. “so you majored in science, if i am correct?” finally, someone got it! she could get used to that.

y/n did not appear as a deity nor a creature from another realm, she was normal. or so as far as the eye could tell, in fact, she did not suspect a thing from this woman, much less to be a defender of the earth that worked in a small and less know league than the avengers, yet still roamed the us to protect its people.

darcy though had won this battle for her though, giving her a moment of peace from fighting, and had idly sent durkus on his route far away. y/n could get used to not being the hero all the time, more so if this doctor was her knight in shining armour.

[brekkerism]

Strange Addiction(Spencer Reid One-Shot)

A/n: So, this is my fic for the lovely @andiebeaword in the swap fics event that my lovely @imagining-in-the-margins hosted, and it was a blast writing it. Pom also was my beta, as always, and also the sweet @definitelynotkatesblog. This was super fun to write, and I hope y’all like it!!

Couple: Spencer Reid/Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Rating: 18+

Content warning: hinted age gap, smut, cunnilingus, professor!Spencer, angst, misunderstandings and fluff. I think that’s all.

******

I don’t know much about addiction, but if I had to guess, I thought it would feel something like this.

When his hair falls in his face, and his hands are so warm they manage to stop me from shaking.

When his lips taste like coffee and the way he insists on sleeping over, even if we both know he’ll never hold me until the morning.

Craving something that is slowly killing you, refusing to give it up.

It’s an addiction. It has to be.

Or maybe I’ve gone mad. ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.’ ’ I could hear it in his voice, telling me that “actually the quote was never linked to Einstein formally, but-“

I had to stop it. I had to stop myself, and put an end to it. It’s been weeks since we saw each other, it’s the perfect time to end-

Ding.

“I miss you. Can we see each other today?”

A few words on a text.

That’s all it took.

Well. It’s supposed to be bad to stop cold turkey right?

******

He spilled coffee on me the first time we met. It was on one of the campus coffee stands and I was already having a shitty day. I would have been furious if I had the strength for it.

“FUCK!” Burning. Hot coffee burning it’s way down my chest.

“Are you okay?” The stranger that had spilled his unnecessarily hot cup of coffee in me said.

“Dude?! It’s fucking hot!” I tried to pull my dress away from my body, to try and stop the burning in some way.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just saw this bird and it reminded me of someone and I got distracted and-“

“Please get me some napkins.” I cut him off promptly.

He did, and tried to help me clean up before realizing it was all over my breasts, and it really wouldn’t help his situation to touch me there.

“Again I’m so sorry. Uhm, whats your name? I can pay for your dress or if you’re hurt I can take you to the infirmary.”

“My name is girl you burned the tits of.” I snapped. “And I’m fine, don’t worry that much.” I finally looked up at him, with his suit, his fluffy hair and the scruff. Cute. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” A professor then? Hot, older, professor. Wait, didn’t I hear something about this?

“Well doctor, you can just buy me a coffee and some pastries and, we’ll be even. Then you can go on your merry way and forget about the totally embarrassing afternoon that you spilled coffee all over a girl.” And maybe you can be so sorry that you slide me your number or something. A girl can hope.

I could have forgotten the whole thing. But he was himself: totally apologetic and cute, so tall and handsome, and his eyes-

I accepted his apology, and the coffee he bought me to make up for it, and we parted ways.

And if I went to my dorm and immediately tried to find out who he really was, it wasn’t completely weird right?

And yeah, maybe I sneaked into one of his classes, just to see what all the gossip and fuss was about (like I didn’t already know) but it didn’t start because of that.

******

It started way later at a bar. It’s not like I sought him out, maybe I had been going out a lil more than I used to in hopes that maybe, just maybe...

And then it happened. He was there, sitting at the corner of the bar sipping from his glass. Freshly out of class and all alone. The fucking universe. A chance to talk to him.

He was up from his seat, going for a refill at the bar when I rose from my seat before I even had time to come up with a plan or say goodbye to my friends, making a beeline to his direction.

Maybe it was the universe conspiring against us, or for us, because before I could tap him on the shoulder to get his attention, someone bumped into me sending me with force so that I would collide directly into him.

I luckily grabbed onto his suit jacket, stabilizing myself before I could do something stupid like fall to the floor and make a spectacle of myself.

He turned towards me, finally looking at who shoved him forward, and the recognition on his face was like relief washing over me.

“So, are you just gonna stare at me or will you buy me another apology-drink?” I tried my best to be charming and pretty, to keep his attention on me.

“Well this time I didn’t spill on you, so I don’t think I owe you one.” His smile. Fuck. He had a great smile.

“Okay. I’ll buy you one then.” I called over the bartender, getting him his scotch refill and something for me. Before he had the chance to do anything, I was taking the drinks back to his table. We wordlessly sat down and drank from our glasses.

“Should I ask why you went to one of my classes?”

Oh. oh. He saw that.

“Should I ask why you didn’t kick me out?”

“I asked first.”

“And I still don’t want to answer.” I pretended to inspect my shoes, racking my brain for ways to keep him here, talking to me. “Why are you drinking tonight?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions for someone who won’t answer any of mine.”

“It’s part of my charm. So, what’s the reason?”

“What?” He did this cute thing with his nose, kinda scrunching it up, and he never stopped licking his damn lips, and maybe it was the alcohol in my system but I wanted to see how he tasted.

“There’s not that many reasons to be drinking alone at a sad college bar. You either have a problem with booze, can’t get a date, are drowning your sorrows, or trying to forget something.”

“Why don’t you try to guess?”

“Hm.” I leaned back on my seat to study him, using it as an excuse to look him head to toe. ”You’re both too put together and uncomfortable enough in this setting to have a problem. You’re too hot and have like, a billion college girls trying to get in your pants, so it’s not the date thing. You don’t look melancholic enough to be drowning your sorrows, especially with that choice of drink. So, who are you trying to forget, then?”

“Can’t a man just want to get a drink?” He chuckled.

“But that option would be no fun.” I could feel myself pouting and my cheeks getting warmer. Maybe it was the alcohol catching up to me.

“Well, it’s suiting, since I’m no fun.”

“That’s a lie. I’m talking to you and I’m having a blast” it was a joke on his part, but the way he said it sounded upset. Truthful. I wanted to make it go away.

“Kinda sad if this is your definition of a blast.” It sounded like a joke, but the way he said it... he sounded upset. I wanted to make it go away.

“Maybe it’s just because you’re hot. Who knows.”

“That's the second time you called me that.” He said it suspiciously, like he doubted that I really thought that.

“Can’t help it if it’s true.” I’m ridiculously attracted to you, I thought. Can you please realize that soon?

“What about you. What are you doing here?”

“Same reason as you.” Lies. Little liar. I’m here because I have been waiting and hoping to see you again, somewhere, anywhere.

“To drink cheap scotch?”

“To forget.” I’m so fucked up. I’m lying to the guy for what? So he can relate? That’s so stupid.

“Who is he?”

“Who is she?”

“She’s... A friend.” Oh. So there was a she. Shit. But that meant... was he looking for a rebound? A shoulder to cry on?

“Some guy I met at college.” You.

“Wow, an answer from you.”

“Wild, right? Next you’ll ask me my name and I’ll actually give it to you.”

“Your name isn’t actually ‘girl you burned the tits of’? Shocking.”

“No, I could only hope to be named something as elegant as that.” He laughed at that. If I could bottle up the sound, I would. Hell, I wanted it as my new ringtone. “C’mon, that’s what you laugh at?”

The night kept moving, and I learned little things, like that he worked for the FBI, his socks were mismatched, he didn’t blush at my dirty jokes after a while, and he was exceptionally bad at taking shots, but exceptionally good at magic tricks. It was nice. It was more than nice. It caused my face to flush and made my knees go weak.

“You should tell me your name now.” The seriousness in his voice made something inside me tremble, and warmth rose up deep in my guts.

“W-why?”

“Because I won’t fuck you if I don’t know your name.” Finally. Fucking finally.

He was giving me a out. If I wanted, I could just say ‘no, thanks.’ and walk away.

Jokes on him if he thought I would give up that easy.

“(Y/n). My name is (y/n).” He took a shuddering breath in, lowered his hands down to my upper thigh and squeezed.

“Go to the second to last stall in the bathroom and wait.” There was no room in his voice for questioning. I did it anyways.

“Here?”

“Here.” He confirmed with a firm nod, his eyes never leaving mine.

We were both too desperate for it.

And it happened. In the second to last stall of a dirty bathroom, with him fucking me against the door and whispering dirty things in my ear. It was perfect, it was fucking heaven. It made me crave.

It happened again in my dorm room. Again and again. And then in his apartment. In his empty office. In my car. In his car. Not as frequently as I like, with his job at the FBI and teaching, but more than it should be for what we had. We weren’t in a relationship. We were just fuck buddies. And yeah, maybe he also gave me his time with the sex, with the sweet words, the occasional lunches and the not-dates to his favorite bookstore, but it didn’t mean anything. Six months in, and he didn’t seem any more over the mysterious girl he had loved for decades.

He was just using me to get over the woman he truly loved. The young college girl who he thought was also in love with someone else was the easiest choice. The least messy.

But it was messy. Because there was nobody else. There was just him. He was the one I was in love with.

I was trying to get over Spencer Reid, by sleeping with Spencer Reid.

Funny, right?

******

I didn’t have to knock twice at his door.

He hugged me as soon as he opened it. I melted into him, like I always did. He smelled like coffee and home to me.

“Rough day?” I asked.

“Rough week. Rough month.” Yeah, I think I know the feeling.

“Can I help?”

“Always. You always help.” He said softly.

Stop saying things like that. Stop making me feel like this.

“Come here little girl.” He led us to his bedroom, sitting on the bed and guiding me to his lap. It felt safe. Felt loving. “You’re always so pretty for me. So good. You don’t even know how much I.... how much I want you.”

He took my dress off with ease, kissing a wet trail from my face, to my neck, to my tits. I wanted his hands everywhere, I wanted him to touch me, to make me forget why I ever considered stopping this.

“You’re gonna be good for me right? You’ll be a perfect girl?” Always. Just for you.

“Yes.”

“That’s my girl.”

His girl. I was his. I will always be his.

He just wasn’t mine.

I swallowed back the tears and tried to push down the lump in my throat. He needed me and I wanted to please him, to be good, to show him how much I loved him with this.

He always knew how to work my body, and this moment was no exception. Always knew how to make me go crazy with a swipe of his tongue on my pussy, a finger curling inside me, a thumb circling my clit. Sometimes I thought he was the only one that knew me at all. I was probably right.

The orgasm built and built and built, and I couldn’t do anything but hold on to his hair and smother him between my thighs while I rode it out. He was perfect. It was perfect.

I wanted it forever.

Tears. Pooling on the corners of my eyes, rolling down, no matter how hard I tried to blink them away.

It was killing me.

I loved him. Three little words. I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you-

“I love you.” It felt natural rolling off my tongue. It felt okay. The world would still spin if he knew I love him. I might not have him anymore, but it would be okay.

“W-what did you just say?” He rose from his place between my legs, the frown on his forehead and his shaking hands making me just as nervous as he was.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re... Why are you sorry?” That was the part he was worried about?

“Because I didn’t mean to. I know you can’t love me back. I’m sorry.” I retreated from him, bracing myself as tight as I could. Maybe I could use his shock to my advantage; dress quickly and leave. There wouldn’t be any awkwardness or tears or rejection-

He was kissing me. He was kissing me, coaxing my mouth open with his tongue, holding on to me like I would disappear if he didn’t ground me to him.

“We’re so stupid. I’m so, so stupid.” He was saying the words in between kisses, like he couldn’t take the time to pull away from me and actually talk.

What was happening?

“How can you not know? I thought you knew, I thought that was the whole reason-“ more kisses now, all over my face and my mouth.

“Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Listen to me. I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now.” He was holding my face in his hands.

I must have gotten into a car accident on the way to his apartment. I was dead, or dreaming, or hallucinating.

He loved me?

He loved me.

“I thought the reason you were pulling away from me is because you knew, because I’m a shitty liar when it comes to you, and I don’t know how to hide how desperately in love with you I am.” He continued to ramble and I almost couldn’t keep up. I felt like I was inside a dream. “I was so sure you still loved the guy from your school, and I didn’t want to risk losing you, losing us, so I didn’t tell you. I’m so dumb.”

“But... but what about her? The woman you love? Your friend?”

“She’s just that: a friend. I think because we never had a shot at having a romantic relationship, I idealized it for so long. I thought that it was love. But I met you. I got to know you. I got to love you. This is love. Whatever I felt for her doesn’t come close.“

Blissful. I felt blissful. I felt like the universe gave me everything I wanted all at once.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since I met you.” I get to say it. I get to say it, I get to love him, and have him.

I needed him. Now. I needed to make love to him, needed to be his.

We kissed for too long, slow and sweet and perfect. When he drove himself inside my body, he looked into my eyes and told me how good I was for him, how much he loved me. When I came, it was with his name on my lips. It was everything. It was impossible for someone to be so right for me. He was everything.

We laid next to each other, too needy to not be touching every moment possible. My legs tangled between his, my hand in his.

Everything was out in the open, and we were together.

Except…

“Spence…”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the guy at college that I liked? The one I was trying to get over?”

“Yes” his tone was tentative, like he halfway expected me to take back all that was said between us.

“He... kinda doesn’t exist. Well, he also kinda does, but I think it might be you.” He was silent, and for a moment I thought he fell asleep and didn’t hear me.

“…Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised” there wasn’t any anger in his tone whatsoever, and the last of my worries was gone.

“Still love me?”

“Always, pretty girl.”

And I guess that was more than okay.

[halloweenhoneylover]

the struggle bus

summary: spencer is the kindest human alive, which makes things tough for the reader :/ (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 5.3k (a doozy kinda!)

warnings: i guess angst, but really just idiots in love (my fav trope). reader is kind of a hot mess. also, mention of overdose via multivitamin.

author’s note: hi, it’s been approx 4000 years since i last posted, but it’s just because i have no concept of ‘efficiency’ or ‘speed.’ but it’s okay. some of this is good, some of this is eh, make of that what you will. also, this is supposed to be #funny sometimes so uhhhh, keep that in mind. ALSO, the title is majorly stupid, but it was the title of the google doc, and i couldn’t think of anything else......anyways, love u!

For once, the bullpen was quiet.

Spencer was immersed in some case file, doing some work that you should have probably been doing as well, but it was approaching the late hours of the night, and you would barely be able to keep your eyes open if you came even close to trying to read or write. Your desks were situated against each other, so you shifted your gaze across the small divider to him. His sharp features were softened in the lamplight, a sight that tugged on your heartstrings, and you took a moment to just look at him. Most everyone else was gone or was too focused on getting their work done to pay attention to your reverie. Derek, if he were here, would dub you as ‘lovesick’ and shoot mischievous smirks and wiggling eyebrows in your direction, but luckily for you, he was not. Twisting carelessly in your chair with your feet propped on the desk, you chewed absentmindedly on a pen, lost deep in thought. “Hey, Spencer?”

“Yeah?” He continued scribbling on the file without so much as a glance towards you, but that was perfectly fine by you, more time for not-creepy staring.

“How many of my vitamins do you think I could eat before I died?”

At this, he furrowed his brow and neatly laid his pen down.

“That depends on what vitamin you’re taking. If you’re talking about iron supplements, the limit is somewhere around 20mg of elemental iron per kilogram of body weight. Any more than that will have incredibly unpleasant side effects like abdominal pain, persistent vomiting, rapid breathing, and coma. However, if you’re talking about Vitamin C, it’s virtually impossible to overdose, but you might get a bad headache if you supersede 2000 mg.”

“Okay, what about my gummy vitamins?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “While it still depends on what vitamins are included, eating a whole bottle of your typical multivitamin could easily result in death.”

You mulled this over. “So, I should definitely not go home and eat the rest of my gummy vitamins tonight?”

Spencer chuckled, “I’m not a medical doctor, but yes, I’d recommend that you don’t do that.”

Tossing your head back and letting out a small groan, you protested, “But Spencer, my gummy vitamins taste so good! And I have no food at home, so I guess I either die by overdose on gummy multivitamins or starvation.”

He couldn’t help but grin at your melodrama. It could be 12:06 in the morning, and you could still somehow make him laugh. He was starting to understand that he was in too deep, but he also had the startling realization that he didn’t mind drowning if it was in you. 

“You’ve got quite the predicament on your hands there, (Y/N). Maybe you should go grocery shopping with me the next time I suggest it, so you don’t end up in this situation again.”

“Oh my god, dude!” you moaned. “I told you I was actually busy; I had to take Oscar to the vet for his vaccines! I try to be a good mother to my dog, and you know I’m not an anti-vaxxer. I’d never decline time with my favorite guy without a good reason.”

Spencer’s heart was doing somersaults at the thought of him being your favorite guy. He’d won plenty of awards and medals in his lifetime, but somehow, none of those measured up to the accomplishment of being your favorite. Pride and butterflies boiled in his stomach. 

“Alright, fine, I’ll let it slide this time.”

You snorted, “I appreciate your unmatched benevolence, Dr. Reid.” Locking eyes with him, you tried to dampen the lava flow of heat in your chest that erupted when he looked at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen, but you failed miserably. You had to clear your throat and look away; it was becoming all too much. “Hey, I’m gonna run to the restroom. Don’t leave without me!”

As you dashed away, a thought crossed Spencer’s mind, and he stood up and set off down the opposite hallway.

You returned a few minutes later to an empty bullpen which made you frown, and your heart sank. You had thought he was going to wait, but guess not. Sighing, you tried to not let it sting too badly when you noticed a light on in JJ’s office. You knocked and pushed the already ajar door with a quick hello? before being met with an exhausted-looking JJ.

“Hey, (Y/N). I thought everyone had left by now.”

“Nope, not quite yet,” you replied, offering a weak smile. JJ noticed and wrote it off as fatigue. “You didn’t happen to see Spencer leave a couple minutes ago, did you?”

“Uh, no, I thought he’d gone too.”

“Hm, okay, thanks anyway!”

You prepared to leave, but she stopped you, cocking her head. “Why do you ask? Is he still here?”

Leaning your head against the doorframe, you sighed. “I’m not sure. He was here when I went to the bathroom, but he wasn’t at his desk when I came back. I’m a little disappointed. We always walk out together because we’re both afraid of the parking garage at night.”

A grin simmered on JJ’s face at that fact. “Well, I could walk you out if you’d like?”

“Nah, that’s okay; I don’t want to bother you.”

There was something behind JJ’s eyes you couldn’t identify as she replied, “Alright, then. Just let me know if you change your mind.” She definitely wasn’t thinking about how you didn’t want her intruding on a you-and-Spencer tradition. Not that she minded! She’d been rooting for you both since the minute you’d stepped into the BAU, and Spencer had looked like he was about ready to melt into the floor at the sight of such a pretty girl.

“Thanks, Jayje.”

Dragging your feet a little, you made your way back to your desk to gather your things, trying to fend off the disappointment. You had gotten your jacket on and were about to pick up your bag when you heard a (Y/N)! from down the hall. Well, that was certainly not JJ. Hesitantly, you called out, “Spencer?”

He finally emerged with his arms loaded with...something, you couldn’t discern what in the dim light. His face lit up like the Vegas strip when he saw you. “(Y/N)! I didn’t want you starving or eating all of your vitamins, so I went down to the vending machine and got you a couple snacks!” Arriving at his desk, he dropped the various bags and packets on his desk, and your eyes widened immensely.

“A couple? Dude, did you buy out the whole machine?”

Slightly breathless from his quick jog back, he waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing. And hey, look!” He picked up a bag. “Fruit snacks! Just like your vitamins, but without the part where you get really sick.”

You were astonished, to say the least. And minorly speechless too, as evidenced by your mouth that was gaping like a fish. “Spencer...this is so nice. You really didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it; I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.”

At that, your face nearly split in two, and he mirrored your grin. You thought you might pass out at his kindness, and you knew you’d be thinking about this every day for the next two weeks at least. Your expression then turned mischievous, as you tried to tamp down all of the warmth bubbling in your stomach. “Do you want to help me try to fit all this in my bag?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

——— 

Garcia had been practicing her ukulele peacefully when she got the call.  (Well, ‘peacefully’ might have been a stretch as she had threatened to smash the object on her coffee table when she simply could not get the finger picking pattern she’d practiced for what seemed like hours, but it was supposed to be a relaxing hobby, so yes, it was peaceful.) Huffing a sigh of relief when the caller ID said [(Y/N/N)!!] with the longest stream of heart emojis and not [hotch >:( ], she picked up with her usual air of cheer. “What can I do ya for, my loveliest, most bewitching—”

She was cut off abruptly by the sounds of your horrible, heart-wrenching sobs, and her brows furrowed in concern. “Oh no, my sweet! What’s wrong?” She had to wait a few moments for your tears to calm (somewhat) while you tried to wrangle in your breath, so you could form some sort of sentence.

“Penny!”—gasp—“Oh my God,”—hiccup—“it looks so bad!” With your last word, you tumbled into incoherent bawling once again.

“Dear, what looks so bad?” She held her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she began to gather up her things. Whatever was wrong, it was clear you needed some good, old-fashioned Garcia TLC, and she was ready to give it.

The sniffling subsided minorly, and you choked out, “Remember when we were talking the other day, and I mentioned that my hair had gotten a little too long for my liking?” Oh no, Garcia could see where this was going. “Well, I figured I’d spend our evening off getting my hair cut, and I went to that new hairdresser, and oh Penelope, it looks awful. I don’t think I can ever go out in public again.” With that, your tears resumed.

“Darling, you know I’ve been where you are, and I know it seems bad right now, but everything will be fine. Let me grab my scissors and I’ll be over faster than you can say, ‘Penny, I love you so much, you truly are my fairy godmother.’”

You paused before whispering into the phone, “Penelope, I do love you so much, and you are my fairy godmother. But please, hurry.”

And hurry, she did.

Garcia was knocking on your door a little over five minutes later, which was incredibly suspicious because she lived at least 10 minutes away on a good day, but in the state of your disarray, you were not inclined to care. She sat you down on the toilet in your bathroom, whipping out her hair care set (she had definitely spent a significant amount of time dabbling in cosmetology, and it was desperate times like this when it came in handy). Squeezing your eyes shut through most of it, she snipped here and there, trying to make the best of this...horribly atrocious cut (seriously, that hairdresser should be sued), and when she was finished, it was not as bad as when they started, but it still wasn’t great. The rest of the evening was spent watching cheesy rom-coms and baking in an attempt to get your mind off of your hair.

Everything was mostly fine until the next morning, when you realized you’d have to go into work like this, and as terrifying as that prospect was in a normal work environment, you also worked in a place with an abnormal amount of hot people. (And you happened to be developing feelings for one of those hot people, but your brain was insistent upon ignoring that for the time being.)

Already anticipating your worries, Penelope had sent a text without your knowledge to a BAU group chat that excluded you (she had one of these for every member, it just made surprise birthday party planning so much easier).

[penelope :)] please DO NOT MENTION (Y/N)’S HAIR!!!! she got a bad haircut and she feels really terrible about it and doesn’t want to think about it so do not talk about it!!!

[jennifer!] Oh, no! :( Lips are sealed!

[rossi ;)] rip.

Emerging from the elevator in the nicest work outfit you own (an attempt to distract from the monstrosity), you scurried to Garcia’s lair before anyone could see you. Once inside, you slammed the door shut, and leaning against it, you slid down and covered your face with the files in your hands. “Pennyyyyy,” you moaned. “I don’t think I can do this!”

She swiveled to face you with a look of empathy. “Sugar, I know you can. It—it doesn’t even look that bad!” But Garcia was a horrible liar, and if looks could kill, she would have been dead instantaneously. 

Heaving yourself up off the floor, you came to sit in the seat next to her. “Can’t I just work in here today? And maybe for the rest of time?”

“You know I would love that, but those other lovely people on our team need you! Especially the young doctor, you know he’d be lonely without you.”

As if her mention had summoned him, Reid opened the door to their secret meeting, files in hand, and your eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. Garcia stared at him very intensely, attempting to telepathically tell him to not mention the hair, and you looked like a deer in the headlights, trying to figure out a way to hide yourself from him and possibly the entire universe. And poor Reid shifted his gaze between the two of you, helplessly confused as to what he had walked into. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no!” Garcia said in the least convincing manner.

“Okay,” he responded, not convinced in the slightest. “I just came to give you some files from Hotch.” So, he handed Garcia the papers and then turned to leave when you caught his eye. 

And because he was not the greatest with technology, Spencer had not checked his phone that morning…. Meaning he had not seen Garcia’s text. So he looked at you a moment and cocked his head. “Your hair looks really nice today, (Y/N). Did you get it cut?”

This time, it was Garcia’s turn to glare (because read your texts, dammit!), and you fumbled for a response. As you scanned his face, searching for a sign that he was lying, that he was just saying something to make you feel better, you came up empty. He was telling the truth. He genuinely thought your hair looked nice. “Um, uh—yeah. Yeah, I did. Thanks for noticing.”

“You’re welcome.” He offered you a smile, which you returned easily (a fact that surprised you). “See you.” Retreating from the office because the vibes in there were weird, he shut the door, finally leaving you and Garcia alone again. 

You were reeling.

You thought about when you had gotten dressed that morning, and you had entertained each outfit with great scrutiny, trying to come up with something that might draw attention away from your hair. In that half hour you’d spent, you had realized that you didn’t really mind looking bad in front of Morgan or Emily or Hotch or really anyone on the team. Almost anyone. With an increasing amount of discomfort, you had realized you didn't want to look bad in front of Spencer. Of course, he’d never judge you, but you wanted to look good for him. For your best friend.

And he told you your hair looked nice.

You smiled to yourself.

Garcia turned to you with a look of shock on her face. Had that been anyone else, she was sure you would have curled up in a ball beneath her desk and would not have left until every single other person had left the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but you hadn’t, and she smirked.

Oh, she knew where this was going.

——— 

To put it lightly, it had not been the best of mornings. 

It seemed that everything that could’ve gone wrong did, so you burst past the glass doors of the BAU six minutes late with a coffee-covered shirt, mud-stained pants, soggy shoes, and a most miserable attitude. Hotch, while a sympathetic man, was still your boss with rules to follow and when you stumbled into the bullpen, gave a pointed stare between you and the clock, and you nodded sullenly. You understood his silent admonition, but knowing that he was even slightly disappointed in you, made your knees want to buckle. Swallowing around the slug in your throat, you set your bag down beside your chair and noticed a foreign object sitting on your desk. Interest thoroughly piqued, you reached forward to find it was a book with a satin ribbon tied on it.

It truly was a beautiful book with a deep crimson hardcover and the kind of deckled edges that you loved. Running your fingers along the rough-hewn pages, you finally noted the title, and you gasped. Beloved by Toni Morrison. Your favorite. The cursive words curved in black on the cover to match the ribbon, and you carefully traced the curling letters, wondering where this gorgeous book could have come from.

In the desk across from yours, Spencer watched the scene in front of him with a grin. He couldn’t help but feel pleased at the look of awe on your face as you inspected the book with careful fingers and a gentle gaze, and his heart swelled more and more the longer he looked. “Did you know that Margaret Garner, the woman the character Sethe is based on, her trial was used as part of an effort to dismantle the Fugitive Slave Act?” Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and those stupid freaking butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach as you realized who had gifted you the book. “The presiding judge didn’t accept her lawyer’s argument that the act violated the right to religious freedom, but it was still somewhat of a turning point in the movement to strike down the law.”

“I did not know that, but thank you. For the fact and the book.”

“You’re welcome.” He had to avert his eyes from your strong gaze because he thought he might melt otherwise.

“Please don’t misinterpret this as me being ungrateful because I’m so, so thankful, but why?”

He shrugged, “I was just in the book store, and it made me think of you.” No, he didn’t keep an eye out specifically for this book on his weekly trip to the bookstore by his apartment after you had briefly mentioned your love of Ms. Morrison’s metaphors. And he definitely didn’t ask the owner Alice if she would let him know if she ever got any new copies.

Frankly, you were at a loss for words. Combing back through your conversations with him, you tried to remember when you had talked about the book, but you couldn’t come up with anything other than a couple words tossed briefly here and there. Suppose it wasn’t really the fact that he had heard, but the fact that he had listened. He listened and remembered things about you, little things tucked in the back of his brain, and it was how he thought about you even when you weren’t around. So, you clutched the book to your chest tightly as if it could meld with your heart and let your thoughts rage with the implications for a minute before smothering your mushy grin and tucking the book into your bag.

(Later, you pulled it out on your ride home on the metro. Spencer had already gotten off at his stop a few minutes before, so you took this moment of solitude to revel in the glory of your new gift. Every time you smoothed a hand over the cover, your mind was overwhelmed with what-ifs. What if he felt the same? What if his stomach rumbled with the same butterflies when you looked at him? What if this means he likes you as more than…. And abruptly, you were doused in doubt once again, muzzling those dangerous, rearing hypotheticals. This was a path that would only lead to disappointment.

Those thoughts only got worse when you read his inscription, though:

Dear (Y/N/N),

I hope you find great joy in reacquainting yourself with the graces of Ms. Morrison’s elegant prose in this new copy. I was inspired by your praise and read this classic again, and I can say that I definitely understand your veneration of her story-telling. Hopefully, we can discuss it soon, so I can try to see all of the details that you so admire. You are always much better at appreciating the finer things in life.

She says that, “something that is loved is never lost.”

I hope you know that you will never be lost to me.

Sincerely,

Spencer

(P.S. I wrote this in pencil, so you can erase and have the clean copy you wanted.)

You would never erase it.)

——— 

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sat at your desk with your head in your hands. Your responding “no” came out muffled. 

Spencer frowned and sat on the edge of your desk. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Running your hands over your face, you finally met his gaze. His eyes were soft as they searched your own, and the expression on his face was not of pity or frustration but empathy, and of course, he was just being his sweet self. Your eyes watered in response, and his heart clenched at the sight. You shifted your eyes somewhere else, anywhere else. “Uh, no.”

It was clearly a lie.

Furrowing his brows at your obfuscation, he scanned your face for any indication of what might be the problem. A small sigh. He came up with nothing. “Alright,” he conceded hesitantly. “May I ask what is wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

You stared down at the files neatly ordered on your desk, trying to mentally shoo him away with the sheer force of your willpower alone. But Spencer Reid was a stubborn man, and you knew this, and you also knew he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were alright. So, you both sat in the silence of the bullpen that only accompanied the arrival of midnight. The glow of your lamp bathed the vicinity in a warm yellow, and the tick of the nearby clock rattled around your chest as you attempted fruitlessly to subdue your incessant thoughts. He was close enough that you could hear the soft susurration of his exhales as his eyes flitted about the room to give you some sort of breathing room, and you shut yours for a moment to appreciate this moment of peace before the inevitable catastrophe to follow.

“I’m—uh, not okay.”

Finally turning back to you with a mildly surprised expression (he didn’t expect you to say anything so soon. Or so bluntly.), he offered you one of his signature tight-lipped smiles as encouragement to continue.

“I’m kind of really struggling…” you trailed off, gaze empty, ensnared in your thoughts.

Ever the gentleman with persistence that could last a thousand years, he gently prompted, “With…?”

A strong gulp and eyes squeezed shut. “With you.”

Well, that was not the answer Spencer was expecting. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him, and he was hollow and shaken and in pain. Gaping, he fumbled hopelessly for an answer, trying to find some reason you could be upset with him. He had always thought you two were the best of friends; he’d never doubted that before. How could he have missed this?

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he strained to ask, “Uh—um, what—what did I do?”

Upon witnessing his struggle, you quickly amended your previous statement. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m not mad at you, well, I kind of am, but you don’t need to feel bad, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m not really sure what to make of that.”

You huffed a sigh and covered your face with your hands in a poor attempt to try to hide the blush rapidly coloring your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I just—you’re so nice!”

Now Spencer was really confused. “You’re mad at me...because you think I’m nice?”

“Yes, Spencer! You’re so nice, and it makes me incredibly frustrated. You see this?” You picked up a book from your desk and waved it frantically. A little intimidated by your crazed look, he nodded timidly. “Do you recognize this book?”

“It’s a special edition of Beloved by Toni Morrison.”

“It’s the special edition of my favorite book that you bought for me because you know how much I love this book.”

Spencer looked like a deer in the headlights. “You always said that your book at home was so messy with your annotations and that a fresh copy would have been nice.”

“You didn’t even buy it for my birthday or a special occasion! You just saw it in the store and said that you thought of me and had to buy it. That’s so unbelievably thoughtful! Not to mention the fact that I can barely look at fruit snacks now without tearing up. And—and the other day! When I got my haircut, I hated it, but I came in the next day, and you were the first person to tell me you liked it. You weren’t even lying to make me feel better; I’m a profiler, and I know that you were telling the truth. And it took no effort or thought because Spencer, you are the most kind-hearted and compassionate and generous person I’ve ever met. You are so—so genuinely good. 

“No, you are the best. You are the best person I know,” you stated with finality, holding his stare with an unshakeable firmness. It was the first time you truly looked at him all night, and his heart felt like it was going to expand past his ribcage and burst open like a balloon. Your resolve melted though and your voice dropped to a near whisper. “And you’re not just nice. You’re nice to me. Which just makes it so hard.”

You deflated, withering into your seat.

“Makes what hard?”

“It makes it so much harder for me to not fall in love with you.”

Stunned silence. 

Until it was shattered by a hiccup, and Spencer finally noticed the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes, and he tried, he tried so hard to puzzle through all of this new information and the fact that you just admitted you’re falling in love with him, and for some reason, you’re crying? He couldn’t even get his stupid genius brain to come with a single word before you started stumbling into an apology. “I know that’s not what you want to hear because we’re supposed to be friends, and I know that you’re just a good person, so you’re nice to everyone. Believe me, I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t keep holding on to this by myself, and I knew if anyone would let me down easy, it’d be you.” You chewed on your lip and avoided his stare at all costs. “So, I’m sorry.” You sniffled. 

The quiet that followed weighed heavy on your chest, and you couldn’t seem to breathe. You had expected rejection; you hadn’t expected complete silence. And this was somehow so much more unbearable. In a voice so faint you weren’t even sure if he could hear, you begged, “Please say something.”

A beat.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

A whisper just barely verging on hopeful, “What?”

“(Y/N), I—I love you so much.” His heart felt like it was in his throat, and his voice broke slightly as he stood. “You’re the first person I think about when I get up in the morning, and you’re the last person before I fall asleep. I dread going home at the end of the day because you’re not there. When you’re not with me, even if you’re in the other room, it feels like I’ve forgotten something, and for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out what I was missing, but it was you. You consume my every thought, which is saying something because I think a lot. Actually, it’s kind of funny,” he chuckled somewhat morosely, “I truly cannot comprehend the fact that you don’t know how much I’ve liked you, how long I’ve loved you because it feels like it’s so obvious and so potent that it seeps out of me, whether I want it to or not.

“And I’m nice to you because no one else is more deserving of kindness. I’d be lucky if you let me be the one to remind you of that, everyday. Because you’re the best person I know.” You looked up at him with shining eyes and the meagerest beginnings of a smile, and he just beamed right back. With a creased brow, he ventured, “You’re my favorite person in the world, you know that, right?

Failing to suppress your growing grin, you nodded your head meekly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

Spencer felt pleased with himself until he remembered that he had forgotten the most important part. “Would you like to get dinner with me sometime? Like a date?”

Standing from your seat, you wrapped your arms around his neck and burrowed your face into his chest, and he immediately reciprocated, clutching you as close as he could. “I would love that.” It came out muffled, but he understood well enough as he pressed his face into your neck. And you stood like that for a few moments, just existing together, and for the first time in a long time, nothing hurt. There was no worry of unrequited yearning or pain of terrible pining; there were just two people who finally knew peace. Knew that the person they loved most in the world loved them back. Neither ever wanted to leave.

However, sometimes necessary duties like breathing take precedence, so you pulled back from him enough to finally claim some air. Your hands slid down his front, resting on his chest, his on your waist, and you just stared at him. The most beautiful face you’d ever seen looking right back at you with the same expression of awe that made you realize just how lucky you were. And slowly, hesitantly, you both leaned in ever so slightly with heads wavering and tension buzzing. Gingerly and sweetly. Neither could commit, but no one could pull away from fast-approaching revelation. 

Finally, a breath away.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nodded.

When your lips met, your chest heaved with your eager, romantic hopes and dreams bubbling up near your lungs, finally coming to fruition. His hands came up to caress your jaw, and you leaned into him. His touch was so gentle, but he also touched you with intention. For once in his life, Spencer Reid felt no hesitation, kissing the girl of his dreams. And you felt held by him. You were bursting at the seams of your existence, swollen with infatuation and tenderness, yet totally and completely encompassed by him. You could shatter into a million tiny, little pieces, and he would be there to collect every shard. How cheesy.

Both of you grinned into the kiss; the sickly sweet itch in your heart was contagious. You finally released him, and wanting to savor the moment, you tucked yourself into the crook of his neck, so his chin could rest on the crown of your head. “I love you a lot, Dr. Reid.”

He hummed in agreement.

It didn’t need saying.

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction | Praise Kink [M] [Request]

WARNING!: The following piece of work contains smut.

Praise Kink: When someone, typically a submissive, gets off on being praised. "Good boy" or “good girl” or being told they're beautiful, well-behaved, etc

 Seokjin:

This was one of the last places you though Jin would ever let you do this, under a desk in one of the studios, the door left unlocked so that any moment someone could walk right in and see this happening right before them. His left hand held your hair in a makeshift ponytail while the other was resting in his mouth trying to subdue the moans he was emitting.

"Oh shit, just like that, such a good girl." He grunted, as soon as you heard the words your head began to bob faster and your cheeks hollowed out so you could take more of his length into your mouth.

"Ah, fuck- does my baby like being told how well she's doing?" He hummed looking at you, you were staring up at him with pleading eyes. Begging to be told you were working him just the way he liked. He moaned out seeing the way you stared at him, you looked so innocent and cute it was irresistible to him.

"You are such a good girl," He cooed thrusting his hips a little, hitting the back of your throat, you gagged a little but you didn't care. You wanted to keep hearing the praises fall from his lips, making him feel so good he couldn't help but compliment you.

"Anyone could walk in right now but you don't care do you, princess? You just want to please me?" He pulled you off his length wanting to hear it from you, a string of saliva mixed with his precum connected your lips to his throbbing cock.

"Mmm," You whined in displeasure as he took you away from the thing you loved doing the most. You didn't care when or where you were as long as you could take Jin's length into your mouth you'd be happy, you were sure you could get off on that alone without being touched.

"Answer the question," He ran his lip along your lip and you whimpered out wanting nothing more than to take him back into your mouth,

"Yes! I want to please you now will you let me?!" He smirked and you resumed your work, pumping him slowly in your hand before making small licks on the slit of his cock,

"Ahh-Shit baby no teasing, I thought you liked being a good girl." There was a knock at the door so you took him into your mouth and he pushed the chair further under the desk so you were concealed.

"Come in," The door opened but you didn't care who was there, you continued to work your mouth around Jin feeling him twitch as you took him from your mouth and licked the underside right up to the tip. You took just his tip back into your mouth and began to swirl your tongue around it, sucking and switching between slow licks and fast ones while pumping the rest of him in your hand.

"Yeah, s-sounds good. I'll c-call her up later," You smirked as Jin bucked his hips and you knew what that meant, you took him back into your mouth once again, hollowing your cheeks out and cupping his balls.

"Yeah just feeling a little sick," Namjoon was taking too long to get out of the room but you didn't care, Jin was close to cumming and weather he did it or not in front of Namjoon didn't matter to you.

"You're sweating dude, maybe we should get you to a doctor?" You licked once more and that was all it took for Jin to release into your mouth, spurts hitting the back of your throat as he told Namjoon he was fine. As soon as the door closed you crawled out from under the desk to show Jin that his seed was still in your mouth, you wanted him to watch you swallow every last drop.

"Good girl," He whispered watching as you swallowed and then started to lick him clean.

"Always such a good girl." He mumbled rolling his head back in ecstasy as he could feel himself getting hard once again from the small licks you were giving him.

Yoongi:

The night hadn't meant to end like this, you were meant to come back to your shared apartment with Yoongi and have a nice chill night but instead, he'd decided since you wanted to act up you should be punished for it.

"Be a good girl and tell me what you did wrong?" You were bent of the desk in your bedroom while he stood behind you, your dress was hiked up to your midsection and you were biting down on your lip.

"Not answering will only make it worse," You hissed as his hand came into contact with your bare ass,

"I-I flirted with Jungkook in front of you." Another slap across your ass cheek and you gripped onto the table closing your eyes tightly as he then began rubbing the skin he'd slapped before.

"And?" You looked over your shoulder at him and he smirked at you,

"What else did you do tonight baby girl?" His hand slapped your ass for now answering him and your hips bucked against the desk he had you bent over.

"I went out without panties and Taehyung saw me." Another spank across the ass followed by another and you whimpered after every single one of them.

"Good girl, taking your punishment really well babe." You nodded at him and he smiled at you kissing your neck and telling you to wait there for him. This had been something new in your relationship, he wanted to try something new in the bedroom and you loved it.

"Here," He squirted something into his hand and then the cold substance came into contact with your skin, you hummed in relief as it had already started to soothe the burning sensation on your skin.

"You okay? Do you want a hot bath?" You shook your head as you stood up from your bent position, he took the rest of your dress off and pulled you in the direction of the bed, he laid you down and then got in beside you rubbing your lower back as he kissed your forehead. Another thing he'd been doing recently after spanking you, it was praise and aftercare and it was one of the best things to come from the spankings.

"You did wonderfully, I wasn't too harsh was I?" You shook your head but it wasn't good enough for Yoongi, he needed real answers from you. He had to know you were okay with everything, communication was key.

"Use your words baby,"

"It's fine Yoongi, I'm okay." You whispered, he brought your head closer to him and kissed you softly.

"Such a good girl," He whispered kissing your lips while drawing invisible patterns into your naked skin, you hummed - too tired to form actual words anymore. He left another kiss on your lips and waited for you to fall asleep in his arms while he continued praising you the entire time.

Hoseok:

It wasn't something you'd done before, well a couple of times but you would always give up because your thighs would burn or you couldn't bring yourself to climax this way.

"You're doing so well baby," You whimpered hearing the positive affirmation come from Hoseok's mouth as you rode him, your hands falling onto his bare chest as you tried to keep yourself steady. His hands were resting on your waist holding you in place while you slowly rose up and down on his length taking him into the deepest parts of you and moaning loudly. He grunted feeling you clench around him, he knew how much you adored being praised even if you wouldn't admit it to him so he continued to do so.

"F-Fuck Hobi, my thighs." You whimpered feeling them start to burn and cramp whenever you rose up, he smirked up at you.

"I know baby, but you're doing so good. Such a good girl for me," The words were like a confidence booster and all of a sudden the pain in your legs was gone, you were swirling your hips a little more whenever you came back down onto him and he chuckled.

"You like that? Being called my good little girl?" Your nails dug into his skin as you continued to ride him, nodding your head to his question instead of answering. Words were lost in your brain fog as you could feel yourself getting closer to your release, you were clenching around him and he threw his head back against the pillow breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

"You gonna cum?" You nodded again and he chuckled loving how lost you got whenever you got close to coming for him, one of his hands left your hip and he began drawing circles against your ever sensitive clit. Your legs and arms began to shake as you continued riding him, your hips not being able to make it the full way up, just small and quick bobs as you felt yourself getting closer.

"I-I can't." You panted, hands gripping onto his waist silently pleading for him to take over but he wouldn't,

"You can do this baby, come on." He thurst up a little and you whined out, continuing to ride him to match the buck of his hips.

"That's it...Good girl," He grunted as you clenched around him, one last rub of his thumb and you came undone around him, shaking as you came around his cock and screamed out his name. Your orgasm rolled his on and he released inside of you hissing as he continued to buck into you throughout his high.

"Good girl." He whispered as you fell down onto his chest, both of you panting heavily as you came down from your highs.

Namjoon:

You'd told Namjoon about your kink a couple of nights ago and now he was really trying to make it work inside of the bedroom, it was turning him on at the thought of it.

"Oh fuck, look at you baby. Taking me so well," You giggled at the sudden praise he was giving you, you were on all fours on the bed but your back was arched so deeply your chest was touching the sheets. Namjoon ran the tip of his aching cock over your folds,

"Need you," You whimpered looking over your shoulder at him as he continued to tease you with his cock,

"Need me again baby? We've only just finished." You hissed as he dipped his tip in only to pull away so he could watch you clench around nothing. You'd already fucked twice that night but you were desperately needy and nothing could fix that need except Namjoon.

"Please," You begged him and he slowly eased himself into you knowing he wouldn't last long thanks to the two orgasms he'd already had that night.

"Shit baby, you're so warm and tight." Your hands dug into the sheets as he slowly pulled out of you only to slam back inside hitting your hilt with ease. His free hand reached down and pulled your hair so your back was against his chest, he was hitting all of the deeper angles he hadn't that night,

"Such a needy little girl aren't you?" You nodded moaning desperately as you felt him slowly pumping in and out of you, it wasn't enough. You needed more of him and at a faster pace.

"Please, need more." Were the only words you could form, your head was still smashed from the four orgasms you'd had that night and he chuckled moving his hand from your hair to your neck and gripping just a little, just enough to cut off a little of your breathing.

"You're taking this so well baby, you're such a good girl for me aren't you?" You nodded again and he chuckled pushing you down roughly against the mattress and ramming into you from behind. It felt like the world was spinning as he continued to plough into you from behind, the sound of slapping skin and whimpers filled the air,

"You better cum soon little one- ugh fuck - I can't last long-" You moaned out his name as you felt him twitching inside of you, your eyes rolling back as you felt the familiar feeling of your approaching orgasm coming.

"C-Close." You whimpered and he smirked at you continuing to fuck you into the mattress as hard as he could,

"Good girl, cum for daddy." That was all it took. As though your orgasms were voice-controlled by him it ripped through you and you cried out his name as you felt him release inside of you.

"Agh-Fuck." He continued thrusting and holding you close to him until he finally came down from his high.

Jimin:

The boys were right across the way, if you made one sound it would be game over and they would know what you and Jimin were up to. But you were desperate for him to be inside of you and you had been all week, hiding your relationship seemed like a bad idea right now. His hand was over your mouth to stop any moans from slipping out, your left leg was wrapped around his waist while the other helped you stand against the countertop.

"Doing so well baby, so quiet for me." Your eyes rolled back as he reached the deepest parts of you, you whimpered lowly under his hand as you felt yourself clenching around him.

"You want the boys to notice me fucking you? Keep quiet." He smirked sucking on your neck while thrusting up into you. It was his idea to bring you on tour with him and the boys, he promised he could keep himself to himself and yet here he was fucking you in the hotel room bathroom while the boys waited outside thinking he was just having a shower.

"You like that? I can feel you clenching, you want them to walk in and see me taking you like this." He pulled out of you and pushed you against the counter, bending you over and slamming back into you. You let out a cry and prayed that the running water covered it up,

"Good girl, fuck I can feel you tightening whenever I hit your spot, you like this?" You nodded and looked up at him in the mirror, reaching around for something to grab onto as you felt your fast approaching high. The pit in your stomach was growing and you were desperate for a release, he'd barely touched you all week.

"P-Please Jimin." You begged him staring into his eyes through the mirror, he smirked as you and began thrusting faster, holding onto your hips so tight it was sure to leave a mark for people to see.

"Cum for me babe, be a good little girl." You clenched around him some more and the pit grew larger and larger with each pounding of his hips.

"F-Fuck! Jimin! I-I'm cumming!" Your moans were way too loud to be masked by the running water but by now neither of you cared about that, your high was washing over you and you giggled as you came around him.

"Shit baby," He groaned filling you up as you cried out over and over again that you were cumming, he pulled out and you whined as you felt his cum drip down your leg and onto the floor. He stared at you with his mouth agape,

"You've never moaned like that before," You smirked at him before dropping to your knees and cleaning him off, but he wasn't going soft. If anything he was getting ready for another round. The thought alone of you screaming about cumming sent him wild all over again, he wanted you to cry out his name like that, have everyone know who was ruining you.

"Have fun you two! We'll see you at lunch." Jin yelled through the door and you smirked around Jimin's length as you bobbed your head.

"Such a good little girl," He moaned running his hands through your hair and thrust into your throat.

Taehyung:

The movie was boring, it was dragging on for what felt like hours but you were doing this because it was something that Taehyung had been wanting to see. You laid your head on his shoulder and placed your hand on his thigh - something completely normal. But you noticed Taehyung shift in his seat and you smirked to yourself, you hadn't been having sex all week because of some silly bet you had on with one another. The first one to engage in sex lost and had to buy dinner for the other, looking on it now it felt fine to pay for dinner. You slowly traced invisible patterns on his thigh until your hand-worked your way up to his crotch and he sucked a breath in,

"What are you doing?" He whispered looking around you, you were on the back row with no one around it wasn't a big deal.

"I'm bored," You whispered back to him palming him through his jeans and smirking as he began to grow beneath your touch,

"Watch your movie baby," You said to him as you slowly took your hand away from his crotch and began to unbutton his jeans, slipping your hand in was easy and he moaned lowly as your hand came into contact with his length. He'd needed this all week but he wasn't going to be the first one to lose. You pulled his trousers down a little more so his length was free from them and then you leant down, slowly licking the tip because you knew he hated how slow you always were with him.

"Be a good girl and take it," You shushed him before licking from the base to the tip making him grunt and roll his head back against the seat, once his head was back you unexpectedly took him all into your mouth at once and began bobbing your head, trying not to gag around his thickness.

"Shit, that's it...That's it good girl," He whimpered above you hands falling onto the back of your head to keep you at a steady pace. You moaned around him and he grunted bucking his hips up so he could hit the back of your throat, it was turning you on more and more by the second. You needed him badly. You pulled off and looked at him,

"Need you."

"Here?!" You looked at the movie that was still playing,

"You can still watch it," You sat on his lap moving your panties to the side so he could slip right into you and he groaned feeling you sink down onto him.

"Ugh fuck," He grunted as he felt you making fast pulsating moves on him,

"Good girl, such a good girl for me." You giggled at the compliments he was giving you and he thrust up into you completely forgetting the movie was even playing.

Jungkook:

Jungkook's fingers were thrusting in and out of you at an unruly pace and you were biting so hard on your straw you were sure it was putting a hole in it.

"Y/n? You okay?" Jimin asked looking at you, your brows were furrowed together as you stared at a napkin, you were trying to fight off the oncoming orgasm that Jungkook was trying to get out of you and you nodded not trusting your voice.

"She's being very good, she's been trying this new studying technique. She's doing it now."  He began to give Jimin some bullshit story while he continued to finger fuck you like no one else was in the room. You leant back against the chair and bit down on your lip, your hands clutching onto his wrist to try and stop him from doing this.

"You want a drink Y/n?" Jimin asked noticing your empty glass,

"Same a-again." Your voice cracked and he left the table so you and Jungkook were alone,

"You better be a good girl and cum before he comes back or I'm gonna keep this up all night." You slowly started to buck your hips to help him reach deeper and he smirked at you.

"Good girl, look at you riding my fingers even though we're in public. My dirty girl." You smiled at him in a spaced-out state.

"Be a good girl, he's coming back over here." His thumb began rubbing your clit and you moaned out a little into your hand moving your head so it was leaning on his shoulder.

"Fuck, I'm cumming." Your hips bucked off the seat as you clenched and came around his fingers, biting on his shoulder as you suppressed the moans you wanted to cry out. Your legs began shaking so Jungkook pulled out his fingers and nonchalantly brought them to his mouth and licked them clean. The whole scene had you whimpering and wanting more of him,

"I feel sick, we should go home." You said as Jimin came back to the table, he looked a little worried.

"You are sweating a little, you should head back. Make sure she gets some rest Jungkook." Jungkook nodded along with Jimin and you got up from the table, hugging and kiss Jimin goodbye before heading out towards Jungkook's car. You both knew you weren't going to make it home, he'd drive off and find somewhere quiet for you both to park up.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies​ @yoongisdumplingcheeks​ @snowy-meowl​ @lynnthevirgo​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @fan-ati--c​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : santiago garcia x reader (eight)

Word Count: 2.3k+

Excerpt: “He still can’t reach out and touch her. All he has to do is move his hand a few inches forward and he could be touching her but he just fucking can’t, he can’t do it and he wants to scream at himself for being so weak.”

Warnings: Mentions of malnutrition, mentions of death but if you’ve made it this far you know that already. Cursing. I think that's it but please tell me if I’ve missed something. 

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

Santi’s been awake for a few hours now. They’d moved from the ER to an actual room at some point, but just like earlier, he doesn’t really remember how he got there. All he knows is that now he’s sitting in a chair by her bedside, watching his leg bounce in time with a ticking clock from somewhere in the room, and he still hasn’t allowed himself to fully believe that he’s actually where he appears to be.

He keeps telling himself that it’s just a sick, twisted trick, that his mind is simply playing a game with his heart. He drank or he smoked too much before bed, and he’s stuck in some fucked up fever dream. It’s not real, she’s not real. He’ll look again and she’ll be gone.

But every time he lifts his head, every time he pinches his skin until he’s bruised, she’s still there. She’s there, and her chest is rising and falling with each breath, and the monitor above her bed is spiking with her heartbeat. The IV connected to her hand is dripping with a cocktail of vitamins and medications, fluids.

She’s there. She’s alive.

She’s not okay.

But she’s alive.

The door behind him opens with a soft click, and he doesn’t turn around to see who it is. Now he’s afraid that if he looks away, she’ll disappear again.

Jay takes a seat on the opposite side of her bed, and Santi briefly, so briefly lets his eyes flutter up to the other man’s face, only because he could still see her out of the corner of his eye, but he still doesn’t risk taking his attention off of her for long.

Several minutes pass in silence, and Santi’s not sure if he should break it or if Jay was just wanting to be close to her too. It’s weird, how the room feels so empty yet so full at the same time. So loud yet so quiet, it’s making his anxiety skyrocket. Santi sighs without really realizing it and runs a hand through his already messed up hair.

“What did the doctor say earlier?” he finally asks once it becomes too much. He adjusts in his seat and lets his head rest in the palm of his hand, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her hand. He hadn’t touched her yet, he’s almost scared to. Definitely scared to. “I was-”

“Kind of out of it, I know,” Jay mumbles, nodding his head. Santi watches out of the corner of his eye as Jay refuses to look away from her as well, and somehow that manages to quiet his nerves just a little bit. Two people watching over her is better than one.

But then Jay leans forward and puts his hand on her leg through the blankets, and that small bit of comfort is gone again. He’s not jealous, he just wants to touch her. Why can’t he fucking touch her?

“She’s dehydrated, malnourished.” But you can tell that just from looking at her. “Her blood tests were all over the fuckin’ place. She-”

Santiago nods along and listens with rapt attention, holding onto and memorizing all of the information that’s being thrown his way. He listens, and there’s two things that really stick out to him through the rest.

Her white blood cell count is so extremely elevated and her blood test results show a number of vitamin deficiencies that could take months to bring back into normal or even acceptable ranges. He expects that though, he’s not shocked by it.

But it sticks out to him because there’s fluid in her lungs — pneumonia, and for a moment, he can’t believe that she caught it in early October, but then he remembers he has the undernutrition to blame for that.

And then he remembers all of the complications that come with malnutrition, and how her body is going to struggle to fight off that sickness. It sticks out to him because he’s seen undernourished children die from a common cold because their little bodies just couldn’t handle it.

It sticks out to him because he knows what pneumonia could mean for someone in her state, and he can’t bear the thought of losing her, actually really losing her when she’s right there in front of him again.

But still, he listens, and Jay can tell that Santi needs some time alone again to process it all. He squeezes her leg once, then stands up from his chair and walks out of the room with the promise of bringing a fresh coffee and a change of clothes for Santiago.

Santi doesn’t move for some time, he’s not sure that he even blinks. He just sits there and stares at where Jay’s hand had been while his leg starts to bounce again.

He shakes his head, knowing he needs to pull himself together. The last year had been hell, if he could handle that he can sure as fuck handle this.

She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay she’ll be okay she’ll be okay.

He finally stands and moves to the edge of the bed, letting his hands rest on the rail. He grips it tightly, and he’s almost sure he could snap it if he really wanted to.

He still can’t reach out and touch her. All he has to do is move his hand a few inches forward and he could be touching her but he just fucking can’t, he can’t do it and he wants to scream at himself for being so weak.

But when he opens his mouth, it’s not a scream that comes out, it’s a whisper.

It’s hardly audible and he doesn’t even realize what he’s said at first, but he lets her name slip past his lips for the first time in so, so long it feels almost foreign.

But God, it’s just as fucking sweet as he remembers. So sweet it feels like honey dripping off his tongue and his anger at himself immediately evaporates and is replaced by something he can’t even think of a word for. Something like guilt, maybe?

He still can’t reach out and touch her.

“Wake up.”

He needs her to open her eyes. That would be enough.

“Just please hold on.”

OCTOBER FOURTH — DAY ONE

He hates it when they have to take her away the next morning for an MRI, just to rule out any sort of head trauma. He hates having her out of his sight, he hates thinking about the possibility of her opening her eyes and he’s not standing right there. Santi can only imagine how scared and confused she’ll be, and he wants to be there for her. He just wants to keep her safe, do what he couldn’t do before. He just wants her.

But he knows he’s not allowed to go with her and he doesn’t even try to argue it, he wants to stay on the doctor’s good side.

He decides to use that time to take the longest shower of his life, and he just sits there on cold tiles with the water pounding down on him for what has to be an hour. It’s long enough that his knees fucking hurt when he tries to stand again, and he has to brace himself on the wall for several minutes before he even tries to take another step. He changes, uses his fingers to comb through his tangled hair — he’d forgotten how dry hospital shampoo always makes it, and by the time he’s finished she’s still not back. The silence is closing in on him again.

So he calls the boys, somehow managing to get them all into a conference call to let them know that she’s okay, they found her.

Will and Benny are both stunned into silence, but the relief is evident when they finally start to ask questions, and Santi’s sure he hears Frankie crying softly, though he otherwise stays silent.

“And Nathan?” Will asks during a small stretch of silence.

Santi’s hair stands on end at the mention of his name, and the blood coursing through his veins feels hot like venom, like fire. He hadn’t thought about Nathan, not yet. His entire focus had been on his wife, of course it had been.

But now, his mind was racing with different thoughts and possibilities. Different things he wanted to do to him. How he wanted to make him suffer.

“Yeah, did they catch him?” Frankie sniffles, pulling Santi away from his thoughts.

“No.” His voice is clipped, and he can picture the boys holding their breath, can see in his mind how they would share nervous glances between each other, ‘cause they all know what that tone means.

“We-”

“We don’t need to be talking about this right now.”

It’s Will again, always the voice of reason, and Santi knows that he’s right. They don’t need to be talking about it over the phone.

“You guys wanna grab dinner or something sometime this we-”

They all interrupt him this time, but it’s Frankie who breaks through the noise and takes over.

“Dude, no. Not this week, fuck, maybe not even next month. Just...focus on her right now, okay?”

“But-”

“Santiago, she needs you. Just be there for her.”

Again, Santi doesn’t argue, because he knows the boys are right.

He needs to get with Graves, figure out what’s new, what they know though he assumes it’s not much.

He can’t help but think that’s a good thing.

He wants to get to Nathan before anyone else even has the chance.

She hears him. She always hears him. It’s always his voice in the back of her head, his voice in her dreams. It’s always him him him him him.

Santi.

She hears him, and the light in the room is so bright through her eyelids she’s sure she’s died and moved onto whatever, wherever existed beyond life and Earth. She can’t remember the last time she woke up to sunlight. Sunlight, Santiago, a warm blanket covering her shivering body.

She’s dead.

That’s okay.

But she doesn’t want to open her eyes. Even in the afterlife, she’s afraid that if she opens her eyes, he’ll disappear. She’s afraid she’ll open them and see Nathan, not Santi.

She just wants Santi. Only ever Santi.

And so when she hears a second voice, a man’s voice, one that she doesn’t recognize, she panics. She starts crying. She doesn’t want Santi’s voice to go away, she needs him. She fucking needs him.

She opens her eyes and he’s right there. He’s right there and that’s when she knows for certain she’s dead.

He looks almost the same. There’s a little more gray in his hair and he’s sporting a short beard instead of his usual stubble. His hands are shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie — it’s one that she recognizes, one that she’d wished for on cold nights when Nathan would chase her through the snow for fun, dangling freedom right in front of her face but always managing to track her down.

She wants to call out to him, she wants him closer. She wants to yell at the other man to leave the two of them alone but her voice feels stuck in her throat. She just cries harder, but she knows she doesn’t make a sound. Nathan never liked it when she cried.

A third body enters the room and she immediately slams her eyes shut, but it’s Jay. Just Jay.

And he saw her before she had time to look away.

“Her eyes were just open.”

Santi doesn’t even glance back towards him. His full attention is immediately on her, and he leaves Graves standing there to move back to her bedside, though this time he doesn’t even reach out to grip the rail like he had the night before.

He still can’t touch her.

But he does gently call out her name again, hoping and praying that Jay’s mind hadn’t been playing tricks. For a second, he thinks that must’ve been it. She’s not responding. But then he says her name again and he watches as her fingers twitch and grip the blanket between them.

Graves is out of the room to grab a nurse before Santi can even ask him to, and she opens her eyes again at the sound of retreating footsteps, beyond terrified thinking they belonged to Santi.

But he’s still there. He’s still right there, and Jay is there, and she’s in an actual bed and not on the floor.

Sunlight, Santi, blankets. Voices drifting from down the hallway, Jay, a bed.

She’s dead and that’s okay. It’s perfect. It’s all she’s been wanting for...she doesn’t even know how long she’d been with Nathan.

He says her name again, and she thinks it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard. So sweet it’s like honey dripping off his tongue.

It’s the little push she needs to finally find her voice, and it’s weak. It’s so weak, but he can still hear it, still understand her words and they make Santi’s chest ache.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on.”

She doesn’t give Santi a second to even register her words, doesn’t give him a second to respond or ask if she’d heard him begging the night before.

“Please don’t leave, you always leave.”

It breaks Santi’s heart.

He needs to reach out and touch her, he needs to let her know that he’s still right here, that she’s here. She’s okay and he’s never going to let another bad thing ever happen to her ever again.

He still can’t touch her.

All he can do is say her name again, but this time, it’s broken. He feels broken.

He hates that he feels this way when in comparison, this last year has been easy on him.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.”

[platypanthewriter]

Sun

Harringrove April prompt 15, Sun.  After the Mindflayer, Billy’s kinda weird, but Steve figures that makes sense.

Steve took the kids to pick each other up, sometimes, and sometimes, Max was at the hospital, to see Billy.  In Steve’s head, Billy nearly dying to save Eleven kind of...balanced out beating Steve’s head in.  Didn’t mean Steve liked the guy, but he thought...well, Steve Harrington had been no kinda prize until he started fighting for kids, and maybe Billy had changed, at least a little.  

Also, it was hilarious, because post-Mindflayer Billy Hargrove didn’t give a shit.  Steve had thought he hadn’t before, but then he saw a nurse outside, trying to get Billy to go back in—or at least put his clothes back on—and Billy just leaning against the side of the building by the dumpsters, naked in the sun.  She saw Max, and sighed with relief, heading inside.

Before, Billy had cared too much, Steve realized—about what Steve was doing, about who ruled the school—but he only cared about the sun, anymore.  

That, and probably annoying his sister, some, because when she leaned around the corner of the building and yelled, “Billy Hargrove, put your damn pants on,” he leaned his head back, eyes still closed, and replied, “Don’t look over here and you won’t see anything you don’t like, Maxine.”

“You better have left your bandages alone,” she shouted, and he laughed, then grimaced, wincing.

“You better stop bossing me around,” he yelled back.

“You’re gonna freeze your ass cheeks off,” she hollered, her hands firmly over her eyes as she meandered hesitantly towards his voice.  

“Don’t fucking come over here,” Billy groaned, bracing himself against the wall to look over, but one of his knees bent, and his legs both collapsed.  He landed with a soft “—oop.”

“...can I look?” Max asked, stopping.

“No, don’t,” he muttered, trying to push himself back up, and Steve took a step forward automatically, grimacing.  

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Max told him, putting her hands on her hips.  “I’m gonna get you a wheelchair.”

“The sun’s only over here for like fifteen more minutes,” Billy hissed at her, squirming until he could lean back against the building, at least.  “Lemme alone.”

“I can hear you shivering,” she snarled back.  “You’re probably getting dirt under all your bandages.  I’m getting a wheelchair.”

“Get the wheelchair,” Steve told her, and Billy twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes.  “Once he’s in the shade, we can throw a blanket on him, and push him in the sun again.”

“...fine,” Max growled, and stomped off.

“...y’know if you leave a bottle of water in the sun for six hours, it disinfects it,” Billy said softly.  “The UV rays.”

“...okay,” Steve said, keeping an eye out for anyone he needed to prevent walking around the edge of the building.  Billy mumbled something, and Steve wandered closer, trying not to notice how thin his shoulders looked, or the irritated red skin peeking out from under his bandages.  “...what’s that?”

“It doesn’t like the sun,” Billy whispered.  “Can’t take the UV.”

“...you know it’s gone, right,” Steve told him, and Billy snorted a laugh, his knuckles whitening as he gripped at the scrubby grass.  

“Mmm,” Billy said, and Steve crouched to grab his hand.  

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll help you stand up.”

Billy laughed.  “You’re gonna see shit and wish you hadn’t, Harringto—fuck,” he gasped, as Steve slid an arm around him, and slowly stood.  “You’re warm, fuck,” Billy muttered, staggering, and shivering harder.  

“We showered together,” Steve reminded him, trying to hold Billy so he faced the sun, but not touch him anywhere weird.  “I’ve seen it all.  I mean, you didn’t look as shitty, then.”

Billy laughed again, then took a few shuddery breaths, touching his bandages.  “...fffuck,” he breathed.  “I’m hot as...hell, Harrington,” he gasped, his whole face screwed up with pain.  “Just...got no taste.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Steve played along.  “The stubble really helps.  And the goosebumps, can’t forget those.”  

“Shit,” Billy breathed, pulling him a couple of inches further into the sun.  “...yeah.  I gotta...hide back here,” he said, coughing, and groaning.  “My public keeps wanting autographs.”

“...what about a tanning bed,” Steve asked, watching the last sliver of sun slide behind the laurels that shielded the dumpsters.  “Surround you with the same thing, right?”

Billy’s breath caught.  “...they’re not gonna let me out,” he whispered, curling a little against Steve’s shoulder, worn out.  “I can’t get to one.”

“I will talk to your doctor, okay,” Steve told him.  “Would you lie down and sleep, after?  If we get you in one?  Surrounded by the what, the UV light?”

Billy gripped his arms, and nodded, swallowing.  “Y-yeah.  I—I just need to—”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, as Max pushed the wheelchair around the corner.  

 Billy draped himself over the chair like a throne, and Max groaned at the drama, but tucked a blanket around him with annoyingly thorough pokes.  Billy grumbled, batting at her hand.

Once Steve wheeled him into the room, Billy lolled his head back and hollered, “Max!  You were so right, I’m dying, I need water.”  

“Like a plant,” Steve said.  “He needs to be watered.  I kinda have to take a piss—”

“Sounds like you two can work that out,” Max said, wrinkling her nose, but running off.  

“You piss on me and I’ll tear your dick off—” Billy started, then trailed off, watching her go.  “Check my back,” he whispered, yanking at the blanket, and Steve grabbed his hands.  

“Get in the bed,” he whispered back.  “I can’t see anything with you in the chair.  I’ll check.”  Billy’s shoulders were bony in his hands, and Steve bit his lips, helping him back onto the hospital bed.

“...don’t get fresh, now,” Billy grunted, shaking with exhaustion as he flopped too far down on the bed, his feet hanging over the edge, but too tired to move.  

“I would never,” Steve told him, snorting a laugh.  “Lemme scoot you up—”

“Just look,” Billy hissed, clenching his fists, and Steve kept his sigh silent, and yanked back the blanket.  

There were still a bunch of bandages down Billy’s back, and Steve grimaced, trying not to stare at a dude’s naked ass.  “”You’re fine,” he sighed, and Billy slammed his hand against the mattress so hard the bed rolled a little.  

“You didn’t fucking look—”

“I did,” Steve hissed back, and Billy shook his head, wrapping his arms around his pillow and his face.  

“Look harder,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Everything hurts, there’s something there this time—”

Steve rubbed his face, and then, grimacing, reached out and touched Billy’s shoulder.  Billy gave a full-body shudder, flinching away.  “—the fuck,” he gasped, sounding strained, but Steve just set his jaw and ran his fingertips down the back of Billy’s arm.  

“I’m looking.  There’s nothing.”

Billy stayed still, for once, letting Steve run his fingers down the whole length of his body as Steve’s face flamed.  When Steve finished running his fingers down Billy’s sides and along his legs and feet, he stuck his arms out behind him, and Steve carefully inspected his hands and forearms for black veins.  

“Back here,” Billy said, grabbing his hair off his neck, and Steve leaned in to inspect the back of Billy’s neck, and behind his ears, listening to the panting, snuffly breaths he was taking into the pillow.  

“You’re clear,” Steve said, and Billy finally relaxed, swallowing hard.  

“...fuck,” he muttered, between slow, shaky breaths.  “Shit.  I thought—”

“Try to get some sleep,” Steve told him, sighing.  “You’re fine.”

“I’m so fine,” Billy muttered into his arms, huffing a laugh.

Steve thought about telling someone that “looking” with fingertips worked, but he couldn’t see Max wanting to try it, or Billy letting her.  

“...you want me to come look tomorrow?” Steve asked, resignedly, and Billy went really still.  “...I can check for you if you’ll feel better.”

“...you just wanna get your hands on my ass,” Billy whispered finally, his voice cracking.

“That’s definitely it,” Steve snorted, pulling the blanket back over him, and tucking it in.  “Stay under there, it didn’t like warm either, right.”

When Max came back in, she had a tray of food, and started bickering with Billy over the applesauce on it, so Steve left.  As he opened the door, Billy called out “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Steve agreed.

 He tried to find Billy’d doctor to ask him about a tanning bed, and then the nurse on duty, but she must have thought Billy wanted a tan, because she rolled her eyes.  “That kid is gonna die of vanity,” she said, and Steve laughed uncomfortably.

 When he’d been at the grocery store, they had cactuses.  He drove over there and wandered around until he found a lady holding flowers, and grilled her on how to make somewhere warm and sunny enough for a cactus.  After writing a lot on his hand about grow lamps and minimum temperatures, he turned away, and she said “...you aren’t gonna buy a cactus?”, so he did.  He picked out an especially spiky one to call Billy, and a shorter wooly one that looked like it was crouching to lunge, and called that one Max with great satisfaction.  

The hardware store didn’t have grow lamps, so he ordered two, and bought some bulbs.  When he got home, he put Billy and Max into the window, and carefully watered them, then frowned at them through the evening, half expecting them to wither and die.  

 The next day, Billy was waiting for him after work, his hands shaking a little, but he looked less exhausted.  

“You get some sleep, finally?” Steve asked, pulling Billy’s hair away from his ears to check, and then lifting it off his neck.

“Don’t get distracted,” Billy muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, I gotta appreciate the sights, right,” Steve sighed, and Billy laughed, relaxing already under Steve’s careful fingers.  

“What about under the bandage,” Billy whispered, when Steve’s fingers grazed his ribs.  “Where it went through me.”

“Doesn’t the nurse change that out every day,” Steve asked, having seen it, and Billy’s fingers clenched around the edges of the mattress.  

“She’s not looking, she thinks I’m nuts,” he growled, and Steve grimaced, lifting the edges to look underneath.  

“I think they’ll throw me out if I mess with your bandages.  How about you have Max watch?”

“...she doesn’t wanna see that,” Billy muttered, and Steve rolled his eyes, thinking ‘because I do, right.’

“She wants to make sure you’re safe too,” he told Billy, who was silent.

 “His room at home doesn’t get any sun at all,” Max said, when she showed up, and Steve frowned at the man huddled under the blankets.  “He’s gonna get arrested for flashing the neighbors.  And probably, like, skin cancer on his dick.”

Both options seemed likely.

“When are they releasing him?” Steve asked, cocking his head thoughtfully, and Max winced, blowing through her cheeks.  

“We don’t know.  He keeps talking about how he could stay longer if he fell down the stairs,” she said, smiling grimly.  

“...what the fuck,” Steve said, staring at her, and his vague thoughts of Billy coming to visit began to take shape.

 “What?!  No!” Robin said, when he mentioned the idea of inviting the man who’d given him a concussion to live in his house.  

“He’s changed,” Steve said lamely.  “And he’s got no strength in his arms,” he pointed out, with more certainty.  “He’s not gonna be hitting anybody.”

“We can always fling him off your balcony,” she said, considering.

 He broached it to Billy the next day, as he ran his fingertips down the warm, goose pimply skin of Billy’s thighs.  “You should come to my apartment,” he said, and Billy’s foot twitched.

“...the hell would I wanna go visiting anywhere,” he asked.  “Don’t get distracted—”

“I’m not, look, I’m stopping here, I’ll restart in the right spot,” Steve said, resting his whole hand on Billy’s thigh just below his ass.  He shivered.  “I’m saying come stay with me, okay.”

After a long pause, Billy lifted his head from the pillow.  “...what,” he croaked.

“Come stay with me.”

“...are you fucking serious,” Billy shot back, glaring over his shoulder.  “Don’t fuck with me, Harrington—”

“I’m not,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes.  “My apartment faces south, man, sunny all day.”  Billy’s breath caught.  “Think about it,” Steve told him, bending to carefully check Billy’s legs for the black veins of the Mindflayer.  

 That night, Steve’s phone rang.  “Were you serious?” Billy said, with no preamble.  “I can come stay with you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, winding the cord around his finger, his cheeks irrationally flushed.  It was just Billy, he told himself, glancing around the apartment and wishing it was nicer.  The carpet looked older than Steve was, he thought in dismay.

“For how long,” Billy said softly, like there had to be a catch, and Steve shrugged.  

“Doesn’t matter, Hargrove, jesus.  I can’t let you go home.”

“...the hell did Max tell you,” Billy hissed, and Steve blinked.  

“She said your room had no sun.”

Billy started laughing—Steve hoped the noise was laughing, anyway, at least mostly—and then hung up.

 The day Billy was released, Steve took him straight to a tanning salon, and he emerged half-asleep from the tanning bed, so sleepy and quiet he didn’t even resist Steve carrying him back out to the car.  

He did have a lot to say about getting piggy-backed up the stairs to Steve’s apartment, like “Giddyup”, “Yee-haw”, “You just want me wrapped aorund you,” and “What the shit, Harrington, three stories, I’m gonna be trapped up here like fucking Rapunzel.”

“Didn’t a king put her in a tower to weave gold,” Steve asked, panting, and Billy laughed against his shoulder.  

“That was Rumpelstitzkin.  Wrong story.  Rapunzel, a witch did it.  They traded her for salad.”

“They fucking what,” Steve said, staggering to a stop on the stairs, and Billy burst out laughing.  

“Keep walking, your majesty.  Don’t drop me.”

 Steve reached and flicked the lights on, and then carried Billy inside.  His mom had gotten rid of his kid’s bed, so he’d just hauled his queen size out to the front room, in front of the windows, and he lowered Billy next to it, turning to grab him as he stumbled, looking around.  

“...there’re cactuses growing on your windowsill,” Billy pointed out, and Steve nodded.  

“It’s so sunny in here cactuses grow,” Steve informed him proudly.  “I thought that one looked like you—”

“Sturdy?” Billy suggested, smirking.  “Prickly?”

“Pain in my ass,” Steve told him.  “Here, sit down before you fall down.  Okay, these lamps?” he pointed, walking over,  “—sun lamps, okay.  They’ll keep it sunny year-round—”

“...why do you care if it’s sunny year-round,” Billy asked flatly, and Steve blinked over at him.  “I already don’t know how I’m gonna pay you back for this,” Billy gritted out.  “The fuck do you mean year-round.”  

Steve bit his lips together, thinking how weird and pathetic it was that he’d been so excited to have Billy come he’d lost sleep, bought grow lamps and cacti, and scrubbed his whole fridge out that morning at three, after it occurred to him, lying awake, that he hadn’t since he moved in.  He walked into the kitchen, and started getting out the chicken soup fixings he’d been assured Billy could eat.  “...I put a plastic lawn chair in the shower for when you can take showers,” he said, and heard his bed creak.  He looked over to see Billy standing, gripping the headboard, but then he sat again, swearing.  

“Harrington,” he hissed.

Steve told him about the hours he kept, and the plan with Max to bring Billy’s things, and Billy muttered darkly, and eventually complimented Steve’s soup like he was mad to admit it was good.

 That night, he squirmed next to Steve, slowly, because he couldn’t move fast, his breathing catching, then evening out, then gasping again.  

“...you need anything?” Steve asked finally, and Billy was silent for a long time, like he was holding his breath.  

“Maybe I should shave my head,” he said, casually, out of the blue, and Steve couldn’t help it, he snorted a laugh, dissolving into snickers.

“What?!” he hissed, still giggling.

“Can’t check under my hair,” Billy said, nearly inaudibly, and Steve groaned, then scooted closer, and reached up to find Billy’s shoulder in the dark.  

He slid his hand up and through Billy’s curls.  “S’warm, right?”

“...yeah,” Billy breathed.

“Doesn’t like warm,” Steve whispered back, sliding his fingers through every inch of Billy’s hair, slowly, so heat could build.  “If this feels bad, we’ll know, right?”

“......yeah,” Billy said, after an even longer pause.  

“...so does it?” Steve asked, after a while, and Billy didn’t answer.  Steve suspected he’d fallen asleep, but he made sure to finish.

 While Steve got ready for work, Billy was arranging himself in the bed, centered in the windows with his naked ass hanging out.  He sighed contentedly, and Steve groaned.

“Tell me you put sunscreen on,” he said, and Billy glared over.  

“I can’t put a shirt on, Harrington.  It’s fine—”

“You’re gonna be pissed if you get sunburned,” Steve told him, grabbing the sunscreen he’d bought for the time he took the Party camping, before they were too old for fun.  Billy stared at him, but Steve had had girlfriends, and he was a good babysitter, so he was an expert at warming sunscreen just enough, and not letting his fingers linger anywhere they weren’t supposed to be.  

Billy lay stiff as taxidermy as Steve rubbed sunscreen into his shoulders and arms, and then down his back—and then paused, because usually there was swimsuit there, and Billy cracked up the hardest Steve had ever heard him laugh.  He ever kicked his foot a little, snickering at Steve’s bad life choices.

Steve slapped a lotion-gooey hand on Billy’s ass, defiantly, and Billy yelped, laughing harder, and curling a little on his side, so Steve had to shove him on his face again to get him around the side of his butt.

“What are you doing,” Billy groaned into his pillow, cackling as Steve got his thighs and down the backs of his knees.  

“I just don’t wanna find you burned to ashes, like a vampire,” Steve said, blushing harder than ever, and then patted the calf of Billy’s leg.  “Flip over.”

“...I’ll get the front,” Billy said, still sniggering.  “I promise.  I swear, Harrington—”

“...you better,” Steve said, a little relieved, and a lot disappointed.  He shook his head hard, and left the sunscreen where Billy could get it.  

When he glanced back, Billy’s whole body was much redder than Steve’s squeamish lotioning could explain.  

 That night when he got home from work, he brought a pizza.  Billy eyed it doubtfully, but accepted the offered plate.  He stayed on the bed, watching Steve watch TV, until Steve waved him over, making a face.  

“D’you need help getting off the bed, or something?” he asked, and Billy shook his head, narrowing his eyes.

“Not gonna risk it,” he said.  “You felt me up too good this morning.  Might get ideas.”

Steve threw an olive at him, and Billy popped it in his mouth.  Steve watched him lick the drooping tip of the pizza into his mouth, and the grease shining on his lips.  Steve cleared his throat, and fixed his eyes on the TV screen.  

“So if I’m the spiky one,” Billy said, pausing halfway through the pizza slice to lay back on the bed, “—who’s the other one?  You got two cactuses in your life?”

“Max,” Steve told him absently.  “I was asking the lady at the store how to keep it sunny enough for a cactus in here, and so she thought I’d buy some, y’know.”

“...I guess when you start bringing a girl around, you’ll get something pretty,” Billy said, not any particular way, and Steve realized he’d been listening closely for tone.  

“Cactuses have flowers,” Steve told him, and Billy pushed himself up again, watching Steve’s face.  

Steve didn’t know what to do with that, except stick his tongue out, or something, so he stuffed the whole rest of the pizza slice in his mouth, and chewed.

 Billy could mostly take care of himself, except for being a little crazy.  Steve asked Dustin what it was called if something couldn’t live without sunlight, and Dustin said photosynthesis, so that was what Steve told his neighbors Billy had.  He jerked awake nearly every night no matter how long he baked himself the night before, breathing shakily.  Sometimes, it worked for Steve to slide a hand over and touch his shoulder, and then smooth his hand over Billy’s skin, reminding him the Mindflayer didn’t like it warm.

“You could just look, and we could go back to sleep,” Billy mumbled, but he scooted closer as Steve smoothed a hand along his ribs, and down his hip.

“Too sleepy, no lights,” Steve groaned, flopping half on top of him, and Billy laughed until they were both awake.

 Once, he tried to escape Steve, who scrambled the other way, thudded to the floor with a loud crash at 3am, and woke the neighbors, who yelled up through the floor asking if they were okay.  

Billy and Steve snickered in horror over that one, and Steve tried to sleep on the couch, that night, despite Billy’s continual whispers of “You know you’d rather get some, Harrington.  Get back over here.  I’m lonely, Harrington.  Put your hands on me, Harrington.”  He started singing it, softly, then louder, like their neighbors weren’t tortured enough, and finally Steve groaned, laughing, and tromped back over to crawl into bed.

“You want my hands on you, huh,” Steve whispered, daring to scoot close and slide a hand around Billy’s waist, pulling their whole bodies against each other.  “...warm enough?” he asked, and Billy nodded, frozen stiff like a board against his chest.

“...what were you dreaming?” Steve whispered, against Billy’s ear, because usually Billy curled into his warmth, edging towards him even asleep, until they were a mess of arms and legs and their skin stuck together a little with sweat.

Billy took a slow breath, then let it out.  Steve waited, but he just kept...breathing, until Steve finally grunted unhappily against his neck, and snuggled closer.  They didn’t get much sleep, that night, since Billy kept twitching awake, and finally Steve got up and turned on the sun lamps, and yanked off the blanket to run his hand up and down Billy’s lower back.

“...d’you wanna kiss me,” Billy finally said, flatly, like he was mad, and Steve froze.  

He thought about the way Billy knew exactly how to make Max mad—but teased her about something else, instead, after listening to her scream as he went down at the mall.  The shine of the pizza grease on Billy’s lips, and how pink they’d been, after he licked them.  How he sat up a little every time Steve walked in the room, like Steve Harrington was someone to get excited about.  

“...you don’t, do you,” Billy said, even more firmly, his hands clenched on Steve’s, around his waist.  “Fuck.  Forget it.”

“What the hell, no, I’m not forgetting it,” Steve hissed, and Billy laughed, less happily, this time.  

“Yeah,” he whispered.  “That’s what I was dreaming about.”

“What if—what if I do.  Want to,” Steve mumbled, feeling like a moron, and Billy went all stiff and uncomfortable in his arms again.  

“Make up your mind, Harrington,” he growled, and Steve sat up, so Billy fell on his back with a sputtered “Fuck!”

 Steve licked his lips, staring down at Billy’s glowering face and set jaw, going golden in the first, early rays of the sun.  He leaned in for a kiss.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Day 28: Tanning

Six years after he left Hawkins in his rearview mirror, Billy Hargrove tripped over Steve Harrington on a beach in Cancun. In Billy’s defense, it was two in the morning, and the secluded beach he was on was difficult enough to find that it was usually only frequented by employees of the resort. Billy knew for a fact that most of his coworkers were already at their monthly poker night, so he should have had the beach to himself. 

Instead, Steve Harrington was blinking up at him, eyes big and dark and honestly warmer than Billy had any right to expect. Billy stared down at him. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Billy asked while he was still trying to figure out if this was actually happening, or was a particularly vivid dream. Steve snorted.  

“Tanning, obviously,” Steve replied. “Now fuck off,” he added, but there was no edge to his tone at all. Besides, Billy had never in his life fucked off just because Steve Harrington had asked him to, and he wasn’t about to start now. He sat down next to where Steve was lying on a beach towel on the sand in the dark. Steve snorted, like he’d been expecting that all along. 

“Seriously, what are you doing here? And why don’t you look surprised to see me?” Billy asked, because Steve was taking this suspiciously well. He hadn’t looked like a deer in the headlights even once, which was kind of a shame, actually. Steve was cute when he was confused. Steve sighed.

“Robin speaks six languages and can get by in a few more. She was best friends with half of the staff less than a day after we arrived. As far as I know, she’s terrorizing the employee poker game as we speak.” Steve smirked at him. “And apparently the hot new scuba instructor is all anyone wants to talk about.” Billy rolled his eyes. 

“Great,” he muttered. “So you and Buckley are here on vacation?” Steve winced a little. 

“Not exactly,” he said, and Billy had only been back from his own vacation for a day and a half, but he had heard the story. Several times. His eyes widened. 

“Oh no,” he breathed. “You’re the guy whose fiancee left him a month before the wedding.” Steve raised a water bottle that was clearly not full of water and took a long swig. 

“I am indeed,” he said, making a face at the burn of alcohol. 

“That fucking sucks,” Billy said, although he could admit to himself that he was not personally all that disappointed by it. He hesitated, but he was too curious not to ask. “Did she actually—“

“Yes, she actually called me from her bachelorette party to tell me she was leaving me for the stripper. In fact,” Steve said, looking at his watch for some reason, “Diana and her exotic dancer have probably been married for about four days now.” Billy did the math and his eyes widened.

“You let your fiancee use the wedding the two of you planned…to marry someone else?”

“Yes,” Steve said, “but I drew the line at letting them go on the honeymoon. I planned it, so I get to enjoy it.”

“With Robin.”

“Yep,” Steve said with a grin. Then he held up one half of a little gold heart, from where it was hanging on a chain around his neck. “We’re best bitches,” he said.

“I’m sure you are,” Billy said with a laugh. Then he shook his head. “You’re still way too fucking nice. It’s good to know that some things haven’t changed since high school.” Steve shrugged. 

“It was mostly just practical,” he said, flopping back and staring up at the sky. “It was definitely too late to get our deposits back, so when she asked if she could still use the venue and the caterer, it felt dumb to say no.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, nodding sarcastically, “why inconvenience someone who completely fucked you over?” Steve just hummed in response, and Billy watched him watch the sky for a long moment. Eventually, Billy flopped down on his back next to Steve and stared up at the stars. Steve held out the water bottle, and Billy took a long swig. He was a little surprised to taste dark rum. 

“How long have you been in Cancun?” Steve asked. Billy shrugged. 

“A few months.”

“Where were you before that?”

“Grand Cayman,” Billy said, and Steve looked over, eyebrows high. “I go where there are scuba instructor jobs,” he explained. And then he left again, right around the time whoever he was fucking started dropping hints about taking their relationship to the next level. But Steve didn’t need to know that part. Next to him, Steve sighed. 

“That sounds so cool,” he said a little wistfully. And it was. Although it had been a little cooler a couple of years ago, before freedom started to feel just the tiniest bit like loneliness. 

“What about you?” Billy asked. “What have you been up to? Aside from…you know.”

“Getting dumped?” Steve asked. “Well, I also lost my job.”

“Holy shit,” Billy breathed, and Steve actually grinned over at him. 

“Two weeks ago, I showed up to our annual fundraising gala with a dude I picked up at a bar the night before, and we may have done some light pre-partying. My father was not amused, and he told me not to bother coming in anymore.” Billy stared, but Steve’s amusement seemed real. 

“Well, you’re not sobbing into a cocktail that comes in half a coconut on one of the shitty tourist beaches, so you seem to be handling it fairly well,” he said. Steve huffed a laugh. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s stupid, because my whole damn life imploded in the last month, and I definitely should have been devastated, but you know what I felt instead?” Billy shook his head. “Relief,” Steve said. “I was relieved when Diana broke it off, and I was maybe even more relieved when my dad told me not to come back to work anymore.” He looked back up at the sky. “Now I just have to figure out what comes next.”

It was stupid—Billy knew it was. He hadn’t seen Steve Harrington in six years, and it wasn’t like they had even really had a chance to become friends before Billy bailed on Hawkins the second the doctors told him he could. But one of Billy’s biggest regrets, one of the missed opportunities he had thought he was going to look back on with disappointment until the day he died, was lying next to him on a beach in Mexico, and he just wasn’t the kind of person who missed an opportunity twice. 

“You could stay here,” he blurted out before he thought too hard about it. Steve choked on a big sip of rum. 

“What?” he asked, once he was sitting up and had the coughing back under control. Billy shrugged. 

“You could stay here,” he said again. 

“Just stay in Mexico,” Steve said skeptically. “And do what?” Billy couldn’t resist. He shot Steve a suggestive smile. 

“The hot new scuba instructor, obviously,” he said. He sat up and leaned in slowly enough to give Steve plenty of time to pull back, or put a hand up to stop him. Steve didn’t do either of those things, and he was just as good a kisser as Billy had always assumed he’d be, based on the stories about him. 

“Well,” said Steve when they broke the kiss to breathe, “it’s good to know that some things have changed since high school.”

“Less than you’d think,” Billy murmured. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“Maybe,” Steve said with a grin. “I feel like I should save that decision for when I’ve had a little less rum. Besides, I’m here for another two and a half weeks. I’ve got time to think it over.” Billy grinned and leaned back in for a second kiss. He had never expected to get another shot at Steve Harrington, but now that he had it, he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste it. And with two and a half weeks to work with? Well. He was going to make damn sure that Steve’s best bitch got on that return flight all by herself.  

[suituuup]

for the christmas prompts, can you do “you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas". Thank you :)

I don’t want a lot for Christmas

rating: T

word count: 1,4k

ao3 link

*

Like a morning out of two, Beca wakes up to the steady beeping of her son’s heartbeat. She slowly sits up, wincing as she braces a hand over the painful twitch in her lower back from sleeping on that uncomfortable cot.

Her eyes fall on her sleeping son, so small and vulnerable in that large hospital bed. She pushes to her feet and leans over the railing, brushing her fingers through his auburn hair as she bends down to press a kiss to Dylan’s forehead.

The last year and a half has been an emotional whirlwind.

Dylan was diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma right after his sixth birthday, and their whole world shifted on its axis. Chloe stopped teaching so she could take him to chemo and numerous doctor check-ups and Beca asked to only work part-time at the studio so she could spend more time with her family. Six months after the diagnosis, Dylan was in remission. Their happiness and relief were short-lived however, when signs of the illness showed up four months ago. The cancer was back. From LA, they moved to Philadelphia, where a doctor specialized in Hodgkin Lymphoma and Proton therapy.

Dylan’s body hasn’t been responding well to that type of treatment, and his body continued to shut down. He was admitted three weeks ago. The nurses and doctors on the peds ward are kind enough to let one parent stay over every night, so she and Chloe have been alternating night shifts at the hospital.

“Morning.” Beca’s pulled away from her thoughts by her wife’s voice. Chloe is standing in the doorway, two to-go cups balanced on one hand and a paper bag dangling from the other. The one who sleeps at home usually brings coffee and breakfast on the way in, as the hospital coffee tastes terrible. “How’s he doing?”

“Still asleep. Didn’t wake up through the night,” Beca says as Chloe steps further in, setting the items on the tray by Dylan’s bed before kissing Beca hello. Beca leans against her, releasing a sigh as she wraps an arm around her waist. Her eyes fall on the tote bag full of Christmas stuff set by the door. “What’s that?”

“I thought we should decorate, give this room a little holiday feeling.”

Beca smiles. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Once Dylan wakes up and the morning rounds are done, Beca and Chloe work around the room to hang the tinsels and Christmas lights, Christmas music playing through their portable speaker.

“What do you think, dude?” Beca asks when they’re done, lowering herself next to him and wrapping an arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulders as she takes in the newly-decorated room. “Did we do a good job?”

Dylan nods, a toothy grin spreading across his features. “Looks awesome.”

“I think so, too.” Beca presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I have to head to work, but I’ll be back for dinner, okay?”

“K.”

“Don’t destroy Mama at Mario Kart, alright?” She whispers, though she knows Chloe can hear her as she hangs the wreath on the door. “Let her win a couple times, at least.”

Dylan giggles while Chloe casts her a playful glare. Beca chuckles and pushes to her feet, brushing a quick kiss to Chloe’s lips on her way out. “See you later.”

It’s hard for her to truly focus at work when she knows her phone could go off any second if Dylan’s state suddenly worsens. She does her best to be present, but is immensely grateful when her boss assures her they’ll be fine if she leaves an hour early.

Like every night, they watch a movie or cartoon of Dylan’s choice while eating take-out, and read him a bedtime story before one of them has to leave.

“I love you,” Beca murmurs as she tucks the covers tighter around Dylan’s body. Leaving him at night is always the hardest, but they can’t both stay here.

“I love you too, Mommy.”

Chloe follows her out into the hall, where they have their only private moment of the day.

“I hate this,” Chloe whispers into their embrace. “I hate that one of us has to leave.”

“I know. Me too,” Beca mutters, her palm rubbing soothing circles over Chloe’s back as she soaks in her wife’s warmth. “I’ll be back early tomorrow morning.”

“You should get some more sleep,” Chloe says as she pulls away, cradling Beca’s cheek gently. “You’re exhausted, baby.”

Beca inhales sharply, cursing under her breath when a few tears escape the corners of her eyes. She can’t contradict Chloe; balancing work with their situation is exhausting, but they can’t afford to both be on leave. Bills still need to be paid, even when their son is extremely sick. “I’m terrified to miss your call if something happens.”

“You won’t,” Chloe murmurs. She catches the tear drops with the pad of her thumb and presses a lingering kiss to Beca’s forehead. They’re each other’s rocks. One is always there to anchor the other on tough days. “And he seems okay tonight.”

Beca nods. “I know. I just-- I can’t stop thinking of how unfair it all is. He doesn’t deserve any of this, Chlo.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything, probably because there’s nothing to be said. She hugs Beca a bit tighter, and they remain that way for long minutes, wordlessly giving each other as much comfort as they can despite the circumstances.

“I love you so much,” Beca whispers when she eventually lets go of her wife, taking Chloe’s hand and brushing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you, too. Send me a text when you’re home?”

“I will.”

The amazing team of nurses at Philly’s Children Hospital turn the pediatric ward into a Christmas Wonderland over the next few days. Service dogs come hang out with the young patients and Santa even visits to give out presents on Christmas Eve day.

It gets even better when Dylan’s favorite nurse swings by towards the end of the day to tell them that, since it’s Christmas Eve, they’re both allowed to spend the night at the hospital. Dylan gets to stay up an hour longer, facetiming with Chloe’s parents who are back on the west coast. Once he’s asleep, Beca sneaks in his presents and lies them in front of the tiny plastic Christmas tree they managed to tuck in the corner of the room.

She slides under the covers next to her wife a few minutes later, puffing out a content sigh. It’s the first time in a month that they get to sleep in the same bed, and Beca’s missed it more than she realized.

“He had a good time tonight,” Chloe whispers as Beca absentmindedly strokes her forearm while they cuddle on the twin sized cot.

“Yeah, I think so. Tomorrow is going to be even better. I’ll go get donuts and hot chocolates across the street before he wakes up.”

“Good idea.” Chloe smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “I wish we could get him a puppy.”

It was the plan up until Dylan was admitted. But the pet wouldn’t be able to stay in the hospital, and it would spend most of the days on its own in their empty house.

“Next year,” Beca says softly. Her heart physically hurts, because she knows another year is not guaranteed, but she can’t afford to let go of her hopes, or else she'll crumble. “We’ll get him one next year.”

Chloe nods, blinking back tears. “Okay.”

They wake Dylan up with a kisses and tickle attack in the morning, his giggles warming Beca's mind and soul.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Chloe murmurs, letting up on the tickling as she kisses Dylan’s cheek. “Looks like Santa came by last night.”

Dylan gasps as he follows his Mama’s gaze to the tree surrounded by presents.

Beca pushes to her feet to get a couple, setting them on Dylan’s lap. They maybe went a little overboard with gifts, and some parents would probably call him spoiled, but after all he’s been through, Beca doesn’t give a flying fuck.

They play with his new toys for the rest of the day, and if Beca closes her eyes and shuts out the hospital sounds for a minute, focusing on her son's laughter, it almost seems like he's not sick.

It almost seems like things might be okay.

For a minute.