#me if writing hurt/comfort was a crime [gets dragged away by the cops]

[tyungelic]

★ my love, mine all mine

Nothing is certain in this world.

This is something you know for sure; the realization hit particularly hard when lay-offs were happening at your job and you were the first to be on the chopping block.

You spent days stuck in bed, miserable and unsure of what to do next, staring blankly ahead with tired eyes. You'd worked your ass off for years just to be reminded that you're easily replaceable. You loved your job, that love clearly wasn't returned.

But Taehyun... Oh, your sweet Taehyun.

No one loves you, takes your hand and leads you out of the darkness, like Taehyun does.

Taehyun sits on the bed, alongside you and your grief. He rubs your back as you sob for what feels like hours. You still get embarrassed when you cry in front of him, even after all these years, but he doesn't mind. He's seen you in moments much worse than this, bent over a toilet vomiting after a bad night out, or when you pushed him away because you thought you weren't good enough... You still don't think you're good enough for him, but what he said to you that night reverberates through your head in times like these.

"That's for me to decide. I want to stay, so let me stay with you, Y/N. Please."

He wants to stay.

There's nothing you want more than for him to stay.

"Taehyun," you call for your boyfriend, voice quiet and pleading.

"Honey?" he responds warmly.

"C-Can you hold me?"

He doesn't give a verbal answer, but the sudden shifting of the bed and his strong, warm arms around you give you all the answer you need. You close your eyes and suddenly, you're crying all over again.

You're so thankful for him, so thankful you have each other.

[harcourtholmesii]

Heaven And Hell

I have finally caught up with the prompt list! Thank you to @connor-sent-by-cyberlife for the lovely list. It is not only a nice experiment but it is helping to motivate me to write, which I appreciate.

Pairings: HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor

Warnings: - Swearing - Graphic Violence and Gore - Implied Rape and Referenced Murder - Slightly NSFW - Implied Sexual Interests - Existential Questions - Hurt and Comfort

Words: 3368

Enjoy!

Connor was still young. Bright-eyed, by the book, and completely innocent despite his research into humans and the Earth’s violent and erratic history.

 Being that it was his first mission to Earth, his superiors had been worried to send such a young angel to the planet below. His job had been, put simply, to walk among humans and learn from his experiences. Adapt to their atmosphere and climate, and whilst present, deal out the necessary punishment to the beasts that walked alongside them. As a new breed, Connor was created to find and destroy.

 And they had not been hard to find.

 Executing them for their evil whilst being subtle, however, was another matter entirely.

 In order to achieve it, he had combed through the vast knowledge he had learnt over centuries of study. A vast mind vault within him, stacked high with books and parchment, informed him that the best path he might take would be to gain a career as a police detective or ‘cop’.

 In such a position, he would be more likely trusted by civilians, allowed to carry weaponry he could modify to destroy demons and fallen angels alike, and he would have the means to track them without strain on his own power. He had to build up to it first, of course.

 The police academy, where he excelled at all of his classes, took only a short amount of time to him; a mere couple of years. His superiors, though proud of his work, told him to slow it down. Take hits and failures every now and again, where necessary, to make it appear he was just as fallible as the average human. Even when he had graduated from the academy, he was top of his class by a mile.

 He had been immediately placed into the Detroit Police Department, and had been near delighted by his success. Well, as delighted as an angel was allowed to be. Too many human emotions were enough to cause an angel to fail and fall. Ones of his kind were able to fall into the throes of passion so easily, due to their physical inexperience, that it was often in a murderous rage or in the heat of sexual intimacy that the worst acts were committed. It doomed an angel to fall.

 Connor was certain such things would not affect him. After all, he was the best of the best; made to be more and above the other angels. Not that he wished to gloat, or be overly prideful, but he was better.

 And then he had entered into the precinct for the first time.

 There was the stink of human sweat and he could practically taste the sugar and coffee in the air, but there was the smell of smoke and the near taste of fire to accompany them that had Connor reeling. He restrained himself from immediately hurling himself forward and into the throes of battle, rolling his shoulders as if to shrug off the weight of sin in the precinct.

 There was a devil among them, and it wasn’t hard to work out which of his new colleagues it was.

 Captain Fowler had introduced him to his experienced partner, lieutenant Hank Anderson, whom he was supposed to follow and learn from. Connor had to grit his teeth so as not to roar at the other. The humans were blinder than Connor had initially thought. They would let a devil into their midst, one that would see them fall to doom and destruction.

 He fought back the scowl, replacing it instead with a kinder smile, offering the devil his hand. When their palms connected, there was a deep burn that seared through his skin.

 ‘It is nice to be working with you, lieutenant.’

 ‘It won’t be, I can assure you.’ The urge to let his wings loose and drive the devil through the wall grew, but he kept his smile up. This was going to be harder than he thought.

  ~X~

  Hank had been created from blood and brimstone. He was born to a world of darkness, the lick of hot flames and the sting of teeth and steel against his flesh. For centuries, he had grown and festered like the plague on humanity he had been made to be.

 His dark wings became a shield from the worst pain, and his teeth helped to defend him and tear out the throats of other devils that tried to hurt him. Survival was learnt from an early age, and when he was finally able to crawl free of the pit, he was greeted with the warmth of sunlight and the feeling of Spring dew.

 He had to learn fast, so that he might survive and not return to Hell itself.

 He studied parchments, scrolls and tablets from the dawn of human time, had followed human history and learnt the best and worst of it all. He had learned quickly how best to disguise himself from most angels, and had nearly died numerous times throughout history.

 Through it all though, Hank had grown and aged. He became harder to find, harder to kill, and he had come to recognise humans as less the worms that he had heard through shouts and tortured whispers. Instead, he came to recognise them as an intelligent species, who often made stupid decisions. Mistakes or choices that sent them to an early grave or simply added up until they were being ripped from the planet and pulled down.

 Down below.

 He had many jobs throughout history, had many backstories and different histories to suit his needs. His most recent character was that of a police lieutenant, where it was he that dished out punishment, not just on horrible human beings, but the occasional devil, demon or fallen angel that caused trouble.

 He had come to realise that long ago, humans were too often dragged to Hell for something that could be forgiven or looked over. The seven deadly sins may have been something ‘damning’, but they could be explored without being taken to the extreme like angels seemed to believe. In fact, in Hank’s mind, it was simply Heaven that was refusing to forgive, as was their (quote, unquote) ‘policy’.

 It had been a surprise to Hank when his newest partner turned out to be an angel. Not only that, but one that could immediately see through his disguise despite the centuries he had to perfect it. He never gave the game away, but the two of them had been forced to work side by side. It would have been comical, if Hank wasn’t constantly feeling the burn of ‘righteous fury’ whenever they were within close proximity.

 He had spoken with Connor, had even apologised for his rather rude introduction, but the angel had refuted his words. It was clear to him that Connor was just one of many angels that would never learn, the naïve little pricks that they were. Heaven did a brilliant job of brainwashing those that left it, and Hank was unsurprised Connor seemed furious, in some cases fearful, to be around Hank for any extended time.

 Though, there was one thing that shook their relationship.

 It was a case, one of a particularly brutal serial killer. As they were the investigators for the case, they allowed themselves more freedom in the crime scene once given space from other officers. When alone, Hank let his human visage drop a bit, to reveal the scarred features he held, two strong horns and a pair of white, bony, bat-like wings. When Connor had noticed his transformation, the other had released his own mirage, revealing dark, feathered wings and a neon blue halo above his head.

 ‘No need to get pissy. We’re alone here.’ Hank huffed, and though the angel didn’t relax, he didn’t attack. Hank allowed him to use his powers to help with the investigation, the little angel practically spitting out the blood when he tasted it. Hank already smelled that it had been a devil’s blood, but he smirked at the adorable face the angel had pulled when he found it disgusting.

 They returned to their human forms before another officer would show up, and through it all, Hank had noticed how Connor’s eyes kept diverting to him. Gazing at him not in anger or disgust, but curiosity, and perhaps an interest that made Hank’s spine perform a delicious tingle.

 He could work with this.

  ~X~

  A few months into their work together, they had started investigating a serial killer. Connor had done well to keep the devil away from him, though it had been easier than he initially thought. The devil seemed to pay little mind in attempting to tempt him into the worst kinds of sin, and to Connor’s surprise, actively assisted in the investigations. He didn’t attempt to get the wrong humans killed or framed for their actions, and helped to track down the murderers or rapists or whatever else as quickly as possible.

 Without revealing themselves, of course.

 When the other had dropped his human guise at the crime scene, Connor had been prepared to rip his head off, but when the other spoke so softly, despite his gruff demeanour, Connor had agreed to keep the peace. But he was confused, and more than a little curious in the other.

 He didn’t know what it was that he was experiencing, as he had little knowledge of what a human or an angel could feel. He had never experienced emotions in this way, but he became curious about his partner. He was curious if those wings were as sensitive as his own, whether his gruff behaviour was from boredom, or if he genuinely didn’t want to fight. He didn’t understand this enigma.

 During their investigation into the serial killer, it was at the third crime scene that Connor had taken note that not only did the place stink of his usual, devilish partner, but that the smell had intensified. As if doubled.

 Connor had been too slow to connect the dots, and had been ambushed by the devil. He was tackled to the floor, feeling the figure thrust their knee deep into his back, pushing against his spine. It hurt. Connor whined, a sound he didn’t know he could make, but the devil had just laughed above him. Lips leaned down and a forked tongue swept over his cheek, tasting him. Connor fought back, but from his position, he couldn’t grab his gun nor his sword. He was trapped.

 There were footsteps, and then Hank was in front of them both. Silver hair which had helped to curtain his eyes, was pulled back, revealing similar silver eyes. They looked down at Connor with some kind of gaze that he didn’t recognise. Then they turned to fury as they rose to meet the eyes of the devil.

 ‘If you want a piece of angel flesh, you’ll have to wait your turn.’ There was a tightening on Connor’s limbs, a burning sensation scarring his wrists. Connor twisted, feeling the grip change to grab a head full of hair and lift his head up at an uncomfortable angle. When that tongue came out to taste him again, the weight was released with one quick movement.

 Connor could breathe, and he had turned to see Hank without his guise. The two devils were in a tangle of violent clawing and limbs, wings sprouted and teeth bared. There was a loud ‘SNAP!’ as something was broken, and the killer shrieked. Connor leapt into action then, pulling out his gun. He raised it, and stopped.

 He trained it on the two of them, and through the burn of his halo, the voices of his superiors and guardians urged him to end it. He had both of them in his sights. He could do it. He could shoot and kill them both.

 There was a gunshot, and Hank peeled back as there was an explosion of red. The head of the devil had a hole clean through the skull, through the back and between the eyes. It left an alcove in the back of its head, brain matter and blood bursting into a bright confetti of colour. And beyond that, Hank was greeted with the sight of Connor kneeling on the floor.

 The gun had not lowered.

 Hank knew it was over. He could practically see Connor’s guise dropping, the wings unfurling and the halo gleaming as he was close to accomplishing his mission. Connor’s eyes flicked back and forth, his hands around the gun trembling. Suddenly, the gun dropped, along with Connor.

 There was a cry from the angel, a terrible, pained sound as he clutched at his head. The halo burned through his hair and deep into his flesh. Hank was to his side in a moment, bringing him into his lap as the halo withered away to nothing. His wings shook, feathers beginning to moult and though his wings seemed to have shifted a shade darker, they remained their beautiful, glossy colour.

 By the time it was over, Connor had been rendered unconscious, his wings shrinking back into his human guise, but he was missing the heated glow that would arc above his head. As Hank’s own body returned to its original form, he held the other close, and even carried him to the ambulance outside, after he called it.

 It was shock, according to the paramedics, with some bruising from the damage dealt by the now deceased criminal. He would be out of the hospital in no time, less so since he would still be healing at an angel’s rate.

 He met Connor outside the hospital, and instead of driving the both of them back to the precinct, Hank had taken the quiet fallen angel to an empty bridge where Hank had found it easiest to think. Few people came there anymore, the playground abandoned and the stink of the river causing people to feel far too uncomfortable to approach. It was the perfect place.

 ‘What are we doing here, lieutenant?’ His voice quaked, and wide, doe-brown eyes looked up at Hank with the most fearful expression Hank had seen the angel wear. It was more afraid than when he had been attacked by the devil in the first place.

 ‘I think, you being downgraded to a fallen angel, has earned you the right to just call me Hank.’ He half joked. It didn’t help the angel’s shaking. ‘Come on. I just want to talk.’

 He stepped out of the car, and over to a park bench that looked out over the river. He waited a few short minutes before he heard the car door slam and Connor’s approach, taking a seat beside him.

 ‘Why did you come out all this way to eat me?’

 Hank turned a confused gaze down at Connor, eyes to the hairline with shock. Now, that he had not been expecting.

 ‘Uh… I don’t want to eat you.’

 ‘The devil said you would have to wait for angel flesh. You have looked at me in a similar way before, so I am pretty certain your intention is to eat me. Especially since I can’t burn you anymore an-’

 There was a guffaw of laughter from Hank, and Connor felt his cheeks flush a great pink. He had never been able to blush before, and he felt more embarrassed and more shame when he realised he was exhibiting such human behaviour.

 ‘Tha… That isn’t what the little creep meant.’ Hank assured him, arm around Connor and bringing him close. Despite Connor’s immediate panic, he didn’t struggle when Hank pulled him into the half hug. He felt Hank’s warmth, and how it didn’t burn like when they first met. Instead it was a soothing sensation that heated his skin and the smell of brimstone had been clouded with the smell of sugar, the slightest taint of alcohol and something stronger.

 ‘T-Then… what are we doing out here?’

 ‘I just wanted to talk.’ It was a slight lie, but despite Hank’s growing interest in the tiny angel, Hank wasn’t like the devil serial killer. He wasn’t one to take that shit by force. Hank may have been a devil, but he had grown to become more than that, in his mind. ‘I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.’ Connor’s gaze was confused and disbelieving. ‘No, I mean it. I’m sorry you lost your grace. And for me of all people.’

 ‘It wasn’t for you.’

 ‘Then why didn’t you shoot?’ Connor’s lips were sealed, and he had turned away from Hank, that shameful flush giving him away.

 ‘Believe it or not, Connor, being so close to humans isn’t so bad.’

 ‘Of course you would say that. Just trying to rub it in that I have been released from Heaven?’

 ‘See, you say that like being released from Heaven is a bad thing.’ Hank hummed, turning his head and pulling Connor closer. He could practically hear the fallen angel’s heart racing and the slightest chatter of teeth in the cool night air. ‘But, think about it; Heaven had such control over you, in the end, your own decisions were considered enough to have you banished?’

 ‘I…’ Connor shouldn’t be listening to this. He shouldn’t! ‘I was placed here on Earth to hunt your kind, to protect the humans from sin.’

 ‘But see, you can’t protect humans from sin.’ Hank said in response. Connor tilted his head, like a little, lost puppy. ‘Humans cannot be saved from sin, in fact, it is in their nature to sin. And the small things should always have the option to be forgiven, and yet, Hell is being piled high with more and more souls each year.’

 ‘You’re just saying that…’

 ‘I’m not. Think about it, Connor. Is it so wrong to indulge? Certain things are out of line, of course, but is violence, when necessary, a bad thing? Is lying? Is sex really as sinful as Heaven taught you?’ Connor turned his head away, gaze pointedly to the pavement.

 ‘I… I don’t know…’

 ‘And that is the thing about human nature; no one really knows what is too far. Sometimes, someone deserves the worst that happens to them, but then there are those that are judged too harshly for something so insignificant. And they are humans, with lifespans shorter than ours by whole millenniums. They should be allowed to live as they choose without us dictating how they behave.’

 Connor didn’t seem sure how to react to such information. He felt Hank’s guise drop and let his own drop as well. When he met Hank’s eyes, he hid his gaze, shameful of his appearance. Instead, he felt Hank raise on of his hands, and thin, soft lips against the crook of his knuckles; a gentle tease of fangs against the skin of his hand. Wide eyes turned up to Hank, and even though there was something lustful there, Hank did not proceed any further.

 ‘You are beautiful, Connor. I don’t know if Heaven made you that way, or if this was your own design, but it was a good choice.’ The pink to Connor’s cheeks burned. He withdrew his hand, and Hank didn’t press further. The devil simply chuckled a gruff sound from deep within his chest.

 ‘Don’t worry, Connor. I may be evil, but I am not going to do anything to you that you wouldn’t want me to. I just wanted to indulge myself a little.’ Connor bit his lip, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth.

 ‘I… I d-don’t mind…’ Hank raised an eyebrow down at him. ‘I just… I’m not sure it is appropriate.’

 ‘In Heaven and Hell’s eyes, it never will be. But here, on Earth, things can be different. Connor…’ There was a quiet sound from Connor, and Hank felt his body burn and his spine quiver. ‘I… If you want, we can be friends.’

 Connor leaned into Hank’s arms, resting his head in the crook of Hank’s throat. Hank’s hands passed over one wing that twitched, and then relaxed beneath his touch. There was a hum from Connor, a sound so content and just a little bit nervous.

 ‘I… I would like that…’

[writesowhatnext]

ninety-nine percent humidity // frank castle

Summary: mute!reader is a vigilante who takes a bit of a hit on a recent… mission – good job Frankie’s there to help out

Request: hi i hope i can make this request. could you write a punisher imagine, frank x reader where the reader is mute ( if thats alright with you) and he saves her one night after the reader gets attacked. he takes the reader to his place to take care of their wounds and asks about what happend but the reader doesnt respond. he comforts her for a bit and then lets her sleep. in the morning during breakfast when he tries to talk to her he finds out she is mute. hope this is alright :)

A/N: this was quite similar to something else I’ve done so I tried to switch it around a little

Reader: unspecified, mute, vigilante

Warnings: swearing, crime scene, dead bodies, gun, injury,

Frank was, for lack of a better word, fucking tired of the weather. Hell’s Kitchen had taken itself too seriously in the recent days: the stink of sweat clung to everything and the beat-up little fan he bought from the second-hand store did nothing but blow hot air around his room. The August heat was borderline unbearable, so much so that he found himself almost grateful that his job required a nocturnal approach. Not today, though. It was still early, thankfully, and the sun was low in the sky and whilst the hum of the city was close and almost claustrophobic, you couldn’t yet fry an egg on the sidewalk. A win, he supposed. His carefully collected intel, a string of nearly incomprehensible words dragged from the mouth of a low-level gang member at the threat of Frank’s fist, suggested that the morning would be the best time to dispose of the unwanted stain on the city.

As he drew closer to the bar, a little one-room joint tucked away behind a laundrette, he stopped, staring at the door. It looked like someone had beat him to it.

The door was wide open and, even from fifty feet away, he could see blood staining the bottom, something heavy preventing it from closing. Frank glanced around, making sure no one could see him, before jogging forward. He stopped at the door, looking down at the face of a man who’d been dead for a few hours now – he could tell by the smell. He grunted, fishing a piece of cloth from his pocket and holding it his nose, using his other hand to grab his gun from his waistband. He aimed it in front of him, stepping past the first dead body and into what looked like a massacre.

His eyebrows furrowed as he took in the scene around him, and with a sharp exhale into the scarf-material, he shoved the man out of the way with his foot and shut the door behind him, his stomach turning slightly. It wasn’t even that hot yet, but the bodies around him were already looking worse for wear. There was a distinct smell of decay lingering in the air and flies were already circling. It’d been a while since Frank had seen a crime scene like this. There must’ve been a dozen men spread out on the floor, riddled with bullets and drenched in their own blood. He recognised most of them as gang members, ones he’d been itching to bang up for a while before he’d been beaten to the punch. Quite literally. He was a man of precision and efficiency, not usually one to dwell in the morbidity of shit like this, but Frank had to admire the clean execution. Whoever had done this was talented and coordinated – he’d never seen anything like it.

Moving further in, he sidestepped past outstretched limbs and broken glass, the soles of his shoes sticking to the thickening blood on the floor. He’d expected twelve members but as he counted, from left to right and then right to left, there were too many. Sat up against the bar itself, was a decidedly less bloody body, though that was a relatively easy task given the state of the room, with a blood-stained shirt and a gun by their hand. He frowned and stalked closer; his gun trained on the unknown victim. He kicked the gun on the floor away with his foot before bending slowly down. He didn’t recognise the face at all – regardless, it definitely didn’t belong in a place like this. Dropping the cloth for a moment, Frank leant over to press his fingers to their wrist when, like a zombie from the dead, the body lurched to life and between shades of red, he could see the whites of someone’s eyes.

You heaved when you woke up, gasping for air. Your rib cage ached dully and your chest felt tight as you sat forward, wildly looking around you. Where were you? The only thing that had fully registered with you when you noticed the rugged man pointing a gun in your face, was how sticky your skin felt, a layer of sweat collecting between it and the humid air. You inhaled through your nose a few times before the pain in your stomach sent a wave of nausea over you. You pressed your hand into your side, head swimming as your palm came back bloody. You felt sick.

“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice serious. His gun was serious, too and he held it like a man who knew how to use it. You frowned, the two hazy images of him in your mind overlapping when you squinted.

“I said-“

Before he could finish, you jerked forward to see the bodies around you, your memory flooding back. The man didn’t flinch, but the grip on his gun tightened. You blinked a few times, breathing heavily as you remembered why you were there. Individually, you scanned over each of the bodies you could see, making sure they were dead. They had to be dead.

“Did you do that?” the man asked, tilting his head toward the pile of bodies you’d left in your wake. You nodded slowly, wincing as a rush of pain shot through your skull.

Frank clenched his jaw, unsure what exactly to make of it all. With a wound like that, you wouldn’t last very long and with weather like this, it wouldn’t be long until the smell of the mass grave you’d created drew some attention.

He relaxed and then clenched his jaw again before shoving his gun back in his waistband and turning to face you.

“I’m gonna take you back to my place and clean you up, okay?”

He moved to touch you and with fervent protest, you flinched away, causing another ebb of pain from your side. Where did you put your gun?

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, drawing your attention from the floor. “If you stay here you die, or you get caught. You come with me, the only problem you have is dying.”

Not his finest reasoning, he’ll admit, but he didn’t have the time to convince you properly and he figured, with it only getting hotter and your blood leaking out, you didn’t really have a choice. He was right.

You frowned, biting your lip as you tried to push yourself up from the floor.

“Let me help,” the man suggested gruffly, watching your struggle. With a hard swallow, you nodded and his large hands slotted under your arms and lifted you to your feet; helpful, yet anything but smooth. Being upright made you feel light-headed and so, with less chagrin than you’d have had fully conscious, you leant into his side, your other hand pressed against your stomach. Each step felt like a game where the room was spinning and you were on roller skates. You didn’t even remember passing out.

Frank cursed his luck when before he’d even left the bar, you’d become dead weight against him. With an eye roll and a grunt, he picked you up and stepped over the actually dead bodies, out into the city. It had gotten even hotter and now with your extra weight to carry, sweat dripped from his forehead. He stalled behind corners and tried to muddy his bloody footprints and essentially sprinted to his apartment, not ready nor willing to answer questions about your bloodied shirt or the gaping bullet wound. Not this early in the morning. He carried you up the stairs and through his door and set your down as gently as he could onto his couch, leaving to fetch some supplies.

Waking up in a strange place never sat well for you, especially when you were bleeding heavily and sweating like a whore in church. You went to sit up, but could only grit your teeth when the pain in your side made you woozy. Black spots clouded the corner of your vision. But then, the man returned. You couldn’t help your suspicion at his kindness, or his presence at the bar. He didn’t look like a cop and he didn’t look like a gangbanger. So, why was he there? You must’ve dropped out of it again because when you woke up, the pain was blunter. Even your brain felt a little numb. And there he was, standing over you, your knight in shining Kevlar.

“Water’s there,” he said softly, pointing to a glass on the table next to your head.

You went to reach over, acutely aware of the pulling sensation in your side. You lifted up your bloodied shirt to see your waist bandaged, no blood leaking through the white material. As you looked over to him, he shifted his weight to the other leg.

“I have the bullet if you want to keep it.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking; you drank the water anyway.

“There’s a cut on your back,” he came closer, something that didn’t thrill you in your current state. “I didn’t want to turn you over until you were awake.”

You nodded slowly. He hadn’t hurt you so far – actually, all he’d done was help you. That had to count for something, right?

You took your time sitting up and turning around to give him permission. He frowned and paused.

“You don’t talk much.”

Frank thought about it as he cleaned up your scratch with some antibacterial bullshit Karen had forced into his cupboard. He wasn’t a chatty person by any means, but he hadn’t heard you say a word. Not a single word. He thought maybe it was a safety thing, but he did find you lying on the floor of a bar, bleeding out. So, safety didn’t seem to be that high on your priority list.

“Name’s Frank,” he grunted, pressing a bandage over your shoulder and leaning back, surveying his handiwork. You didn’t know whether you wanted to give him your name yet.

“You can stay here tonight.”

The night was considerably less hot than the day, but it was sticky and wet and clingy all the same. You’d thrown off the thin comforter Frank had given you almost immediately and as you lay there on his couch, thinking about your mission, you debated leaving. It was obvious that nothing good would come from staying in Frank’s home. You guessed he’d been there to kill that gang and you’d just gotten there first and whilst it may have been hypocritical, you didn’t know how you felt about him, about that. Nothing was stopping him from killing you right there and then, but he didn’t, for some reason. Though you hadn’t meant to, you drifted to sleep thinking about Frank and whether you were making a mistake being there.

The smell of eggs woke you up and, without much of a thought process, you sat up to find the source. The wound on your side pulled horribly and you found yourself groaning a little at the sensation. From the couch, though, you could see the kitchen and you could see Frank. His back was turned to you as he stood at the hob, frying pan in hand. There was a knife on the table between you and you thought, for a brief second, how easy it would be to kill him. You didn’t entertain the thought, though. He heard the padding of your feet against the floor as you walked over and turned to face you standing next to an empty pizza-box he hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet.

“Morning,” he said, snorting slightly as he remembered. “Right.”

You looked around for a moment, spotting a pen shoved into a box on the floor and nearly ripping your dressing again trying to retrieve it. Frank didn’t hear you scribbling on the box, too entranced with the heat and the sound of eggs sizzling. When he didn’t turn around, you frowned and knocked twice on the table, earning his attention and shoving the box toward him.

“Y/N, huh?”

You scribbled again.

“Mute,” he repeated, his brow creasing. He turned toward the hob, flipping the eggs over and humming. “So, you don’t speak.”

You only nodded at that. He found himself feeling protective over you, despite the mess you’d made at the bar.

“What happened yesterday?”

He watched you write in big capital letters, almost missing the eggs burning in the process. ‘I killed them’.

“I know,” he shoved the eggs onto a white plate, thrusting it onto the pizza box along with a fork. “Why?”

Your stomach grumbled at the sight of the eggs, but you started writing again anyway.

‘They killed my family’.

His chest tightened a little at the familiarity of your circumstances when he looked at your face. You weren’t looking at him, too concentrated on eating the eggs he’d given you.

“You did good, kid.”

Whatever you expected him to say, that was not it, and as you stood there, shovelling the eggs into your mouth as if you were possessed, you found yourself feeling particularly grateful he’d been the one to find you.

the punisher tag list:

@xinyourdreamsx​

[you-imagine-i-write]

Love Is Blind

Long time no see, family! Lockdown has finally prompted me to write an imagine, and boy is it a long one. I hope you enjoy and that everyone is staying safe in such difficult times xx

Summary: OUAT Peter Pan x Reader. Due to a curse many years ago, you were left blind, but Peter saw potential in you and brought you to Neverland, where you fell in love with the magical world, the Lost Boys, and most importantly Peter Pan himself. When the camp is attacked and you're injured, long held feelings come to light, and true love may change you forever.

Word Count: 2,416 words

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Birds chirped and the sun shone down on a new day in Neverland as you stepped out of your tent, arms stretched out as you yawned and tried to shake away the last of your tiredness.

“Morning, Y/N,” a chorus of Lost boys called out to you.

“Good morning, Neverland. Good morning, Lost Boys,” you beamed, in an excellent mood and overjoyed to be around family.

As you left your tent in search of Peter, you heard the Lost Boys moving around you, moving various items out of your path as you wandered around the camp whistling a jolly tune. When you heard a Lost Boy, you reached out a gentle hand to brush their arm or face in greeting, always grateful to them for letting you feel so close to them with your soft touch. Everything was black, but you’d spent so long running your fingers around the various trees and tents and such that you had an approximate picture of what Pan’s camp looked like in your head. As for the Lost Boys, you took such joy in running your fingertips across their faces to get to know the intricacies of them, and they were always happy to indulge you, so it was almost as if you could see them too. Peter didn’t often let you do the same, something about it being unprofessional in front of his boys, so you didn’t know his face as well, but you had dreamed about the boy so many times that you’d started to build an approximate picture in your head. Plus, on days where Pan was feeling particularly generous or flirty, he would let you cop a little feel that was always the highlight of your week, considering how beautiful you guessed the boy to be.

You hadn’t been blind forever but, due to a heinous crime committed by your father, you had been cursed by a witch many years ago. So, you were already blind when Peter recruited you into his ranks, bringing you to Neverland. Still, he must have seen something in you, and maybe it was the same thing you felt in him. You’d always been drawn to Peter, for as long as you could remember, and over the years your feelings only grew for the boy who had saved you from a lifetime of darkness. You’d never been able to tell him though, simply trying to enjoy every flirtatious joke and shared moment, knowing that your lack of fighting and survival skills meant you could never be truly loved by someone as amazing as Peter Pan.   

To find him, you simply followed the sound of his pipes, a beautiful sound that you guessed was almost as beautiful as him.

“Today is a good day, you know why?” you called out happily when you were close enough to the noise to know Peter could hear you, and the pipes grew quiet.

“You’re finally going to go skinny dipping with me?” Peter called back cheekily.

“In your dreams,” you laughed, before rubbing your hands together excitedly. “Today is the day I'm going to convince you to teach me how to fight.”

“Y/N-” Peter groaned.

You interrupted him quickly before he could protest, groaning, “Don’t hit me with the speech again; blah blah it’s too dangerous, I don’t want you to get hurt blah. I wish I’d been cursed with deafness instead.”

“Be quiet,” Peter hissed.

“Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet, Peter Pan,” you snapped indignantly.

Then, you heard the first gun fire.

The sounds of running footsteps filled your ears as you heard another Lost Boy approach and it was Felix that called out, “Pan, pirates are attacking!”

“Take Y/N to her tent and make sure she stays there,” Pan ordered sharply, already preparing to throw himself into battle as the noises of chaos begun to grow around them.

“No, I want to help,” you cried as you felt Felix begin to gently drag you away as the sound of Lost Boys fighting around you continued to grow, weapons clanging, screams and grunts of exertion that made your blood run cold.

“Keep her safe, Felix; I’m counting on you,” Peter growled, his voice getting further away, and you reached towards the sound of it desperately.

You felt the temperature change as you returned to the familiar space of your tent and the noises of fighting grew quieter, that was until you heard another set of footsteps approaching.

“Stay right here,” Felix ordered, before you heard him exit the tent, followed by sounds of grunting and weapons clanging.

“Felix? Felix! What’s happening?” you cried out desperately when the noise grew quiet, but your friend hadn’t returned, “Are you okay?”

“Oh look, it’s Pan’s blind little pet,” chuckled a voice that you didn’t recognise, grating and cruel; a pirate.  

Felix wasn’t responding, and unbeknownst to you he was slumped unconscious at the entrance of the tent. As fear began to shake your body, you tried to shove it aside and prove to Peter the strength and determination inside you.  

“I’m not a pet, I’m Pan’s- I'm important to him,” you yelled indignantly, trying to focus your mind to pinpoint the location of the enemy.

“A funny joke.” The pirate laughed cruelly, spitting his harsh words at you, “You’re nothing, you could never fight side by side with him, with any of them. I'm sure they see you as nothing more than a weak nuisance.”

You did your best to ignore the words, but they were ones you knew too well. They echoed in your head on the daily as you worried about your place in Neverland, your curse robbing you of the chance to be independent, to stand side by side with your Lost Boys through Hell and fire.

“That’s not true,” you cried, bringing yourself to your feet to stand against your enemy without fear, even if it was the last thing you did, “I would protect these boys with my life.”

“Protect them? You can’t even protect yourself,” the pirate hissed and then he was moving, too quickly for you to reel back from.

You felt his knife pierce you, eliciting a gasp at the pain as blood began to flow from your wound. The pirate laughed again, filling you with an overwhelming rage. You would not let this man hurt your family, and boy had he made a mistake; now you had a weapon.

You pulled the knife from your stomach in one fluid movement, ignoring the overwhelming pain as you threw yourself towards the place you’d last heard the pirate’s voice without a second of hesitation. A scream of anger ripped its way out of your throat as you brought the knife down with all the strength you had left, again and again until you felt the tear of flesh and heard the man fall to the floor.

The pain was unimaginable, and you allowed yourself to fall to the ground, hoping your sacrifice would be enough. You heard the sound of groans and footsteps, but had no strength left to fight with. You could feel your blood leaving your body, running over your hands before you could stop it, and your only regret was that you could not spend your final moments with Peter. If only you’d have told him how grateful you were for the life he had given you, and the feelings you had for him that kept you strong and happy. But now it may be too late, and in that moment you loved him even more.   

“Get Pan, NOW!” Felix’s voice yelled, full of anguish, and you almost fainted in relief (or maybe from blood loss).

He must have regained consciousness, and you felt the familiar grip of his hands on you as Felix took you into his arms, putting painful yet necessary pressure on your wound.

"What’s going on?” you groaned, desperately reaching out for Felix’s face for reassurance; you didn’t want to be alone in the cold and the dark.

“You killed him, Y/N, but he got you,” Felix crooned, placing one of his hands over your own gently as he cradled you.

The relief and pride over Felix’s words filled you, returning some of your strength and your smile, but it was nothing compared to hearing the next voice that entered the tent.

“Y/N! I’m here.”

Peter had arrived, and you could cry with joy. Despite the pain and Felix’s protests, you tried to drag yourself towards the sound of Peter’s voice. Before you could move very far, you were enveloped in Pan’s arms, surrounded by his familiar smell and feeling safe and warm.

“I killed him, Peter,” you cried with a mixture of joy and exhaustion. “He said I was nothing, but I actually killed him.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t listen to that pirate filth. To me, you’re everything,” Peter replied sharply, flooring you with the openness of his affection as you felt him brush the hair from your face.

His magic began to dance across your stomach, almost tickling you as you felt it begin to knit together your wound. The pain receded and you sighed in relief, still clutching onto Peter for comfort.

“Pan, I’m so sorry,” Felix began to stutter, obviously feeling guilty.

“No need, Felix,” Pan said smugly, sounding much happier than you’d expected as you could practically hear the grin on his face as he continued,  “Our Lost Girl has had the chance for her first blood, and we’re all very proud. And our little problem outside has been taken care of so you can go, Felix; I’ll get Y/N into bed.

You beamed with pride at his words, a small shriek of surprising leaving your mouth as Pan scooped you up into his arms. You heard Felix leave as you were placed gently on your bed and you lay down with a sad sigh that you couldn’t shake as the pirate’s cruel voice continued to repeat in your head.

“He was right, I’m not good enough for you,” you mumbled. “I can’t fight, and I cause you boys so much hassle, hell, I can’t even see you.”

The bed dipped as Peter sat next to you, his voice gentler than you thought he could speak as he said, “Oh, Y/N, surely you don’t need eyes to see how much I love you.”

A gasp left your mouth before you could stop it. Was it the blood loss making you crazy? Or was the boy you’d been in love with for God knows how many years actually confessing his feelings for you. Hell, for a while, you didn’t even know if Pan could love.

“Do you really mean it?” you asked quietly.

“Of course.”

You sat up, following the silky sound of Peter’s voice, desperate to feel close to him as it was finally time to say the words you didn’t think you’d ever have the strength to admit, the words you thought you’d die without getting to say.

You found his face and cupped it in your hand, a wide smile spreading across your face as you said, “Peter, I don’t need to see you to know how much I love you.”

“I guess love really is blind,” Peter chuckled, and you loved the way his smile felt against your fingertips

“Shut up,” you giggled, your brush with death leaving you bold enough to do the thing you’d been dreaming of for so long.

You pulled Peter’s face to you and kissed him, and time seemed to freeze. Your pains and tiredness faded away, and everything was right with the world as you fell into the deep and loving kiss.

“You should always do that when you want me to shut up,” Peter laughed when you came up for air.

“That’ll be often then,” you said with a contented smile.

“That’s the plan. Now, close those beautiful eyes and go to sleep,” Peter instructed softly, and you loved to hear the deep affection for you that the boy held in his voice.

“You think my eyes are beautiful?” you asked shyly, trying to cast your memory back far enough to remember what your face looked like.

Peter laughed again, a joyful sound, as he ran a gentle hand over your cheek. “I think you are beautiful.”

                                                             ***

The camp was woken up the next morning by a piercing scream that sent the Lost Boys into a panic, grabbing their weapons and running in the direction of Y/N’s tent, where the scream originated. Before anyone could rush inside to check on you, you threw the flaps to your tent open with a wide dramatic flourish.

The Lost Boys stopped in their tracks at the beaming smile that filled up your face, the happiest they’d seen you in all your time in Neverland. Without a word, you threw yourself at Felix and he barely caught you in his arms as you began running your hands over his face extatically.

“Felix, it’s you,” Y/N beamed, before throwing herself into the next set of Lost Boy arms she could find and repeating the action with growing excitement, again and again with each boy as she took in all of the beautiful faces around her.

“I demand to know what’s going on,” Pan’s booming voice filled the confused group, and as you turned to face the voice you knew so well, your legs turned to jelly at the sight of his face.

Peter was beautiful, so beautiful. And the concern for you on his face made a bought of laughter burst from your mouth before you could stop it. Pan turned to you with indignation, but before he could reprimand you, you had thrown yourself into his arms.

You ran your fingers over his face longingly, trying to commit every delightful detail to memory. Obviously clocking something was up, Peter didn’t stop your searching fingers for a change, and tears sprung to your eyes as you were overwhelmed by the beauty of Neverland and the faces of the boys who meant so much to you.

“You did it,” you gasped as you stared into Peter’s eyes, and the loving way that he looked at you, and everything made sense, “your true love. I can see, Peter; I can see! Thank you, so much.”

You tried to pour all the gratitude you had for Peter into your words but knew you would never be able to. Thankfully, you had the rest of time to make it up to him.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Bad Guy (1)

Bucky x fem!Reader

CHAPTER 1: THE FAKEOUT

Series: A Bad Guy ruins Bucky’s day. But turns out it’s the bad guy he needs to seek help from after all. New York may not have changed much for him, but there are certain things he is discovering to be quite new!

Chapter warnings: swearing.

A/N: @writing-prompt-s​ once gave a prompt last year that stuck with me…I don’t remember the exact wordings but it had something to do with the reader/writer being the villain having a crush on the hero, always finding excuses (or crimes) to meet them. One day they are getting their ass beat and you decide to jump in and save the day. This one is same but with a liiiiiiiitle twist

Word Count: There are times I wish I was a llama. or a cat. Now is one of those times.

“You can do it. You. Can. Do. It. You’re the man. You’re the freaking man. Yes. Yes. You got it. You absolutely got it.”

“You okay, man?” Bucky had to ask.

“You absolutely don’t got it. I can’t do it, man. I’m outta here.”

Bucky grabbed Scott’s arm before that guy could rush back to the SUV they had come in. As much as he wanted to kick this sweaty ex-thief out of here, he knew the plan wasn’t going to work in Scott’s absence. He needed a guy to make him seem legit. At least that’s what Natasha had told him.

“Calm down,” Bucky reassured the man who was sweating tennis balls by now, “you just need to show the ID. Natasha has taken care of the rest and I would be doing the talking. Okay?”

Scott was half-listening by the time Bucky had finished. “Huh? Yeah! Yeah! Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool!”

Bucky could empathise on some level with Scott. After all, it was weird for an ex-con to visit a prison as a fake lawyer while trying to get a felon out of there under the noses of the authority. 

The plan was pretty simple. Arrange a meeting with that woman whom Bucky had met earlier, gain her trust, get her out of jail under the pretence of getting her to help with an unsolved case and find out the location and identity of the people behind the theft of Tony’s precious painting.

Simple.

Then why was Bucky’s back feeling so wet whenever a humid wind blew at the opening of every rusty door in the maximum-security prison?

The room was covered in cameras in all corners. To Bucky’s satisfaction, Natasha already told him and Scott they did not record any conversations for lawyer-client confidentiality- so any conversation that was about to happen was going to stay between these three. The musty smell of the room was somehow familiar to both of them, bringing mixed feelings to the surface- to which they barely had time to react when a figure in orange jumpsuit walked in, forcing all their attention on it.

“Hey boys!” You greeted the party, already recognising Bucky from the rendezvous you two had a few days ago. “Ay!! You’re that beat cop no one listened to that day!”

Bucky did not know how to react to that. He was not really expecting their interaction to go this way. Scott, on the other hand, was a little relieved to have your attention glued on anyone but him.

“Oh, right! I told you we’d be having the conversation after I get processed,” you added with a tone of realisation, “Wow, I didn’t know you were so into that robbery!”

You dragged the chair out with your leg and sat on it, legs spread wide- keeping comfort over societal mannerisms. Resting your cuffed hands on the table you gave a knowing smirk to Bucky, who was trying to figure out what exactly was going on behind that viciously delicious smile. “Or is it something else that is intriguing you?” You raised a brow. "Did I use that right? Intriguing you? Something that you're intrigued by?"

"That sounds better," Scott blurted out, regretting it the very second because now your suspicion-filled eyes were all for him.

"You…" you narrowed your eyes at Scott, making the man sit straight in his chair.

"He's my lawyer," Bucky was quick to dive in, "I mean, he's the lawyer we-I... he is interested in represen...He’s a lawyer." For the first time in his life, Bucky was glad Scott and Sam had forced him to watch Law and Order.

“...ok...kay.”

"Scott. Scott Lang," he introduced himself, bringing his hand forward for a shake.

“You have the eyes of a thief,” you stated while Scott’s hand was still in the air, making the poor man slowly take it back while his pale face looked at Bucky with an ‘I told you so’ expression. “No wonder you’re a lawyer.”

Next moment, you slumped into the chair, looking a little offended at something Bucky did. Or so he thought. “Did I hurt you?”

Bucky blinked at you before his brain smacked his accelerating heart to give something instead of just sitting there. “I’m sorry?”

“Did I hurt you the last time we met? I get that I have some kinda...powers but I don’t just throw them around. We could have had a conversation over some prison coffee. You didn’t have to bring your friend here.”

It took three seconds at minimum for Bucky’s brows to shoot up and his lips to crack wide in a smile. “W-what? No! He’s not here for me. He’s here for you. We’re getting you out of here.”

It was hard to put a word into the expression you just gave. Your eyes shifted between the two men while your open lips were shut and your face tilted a little towards the door.

“Uhhhhh-” was the only thing coming out of your mouth till your body got up from the chair and your cuffed hands pressed together towards your company- “listen, cop guy...man. I really meant it in a casual way when I said we’ll ‘talk later’. I don’t really know how much you’ve read into this. I mean, I would say ‘at least buy me dinner first’ but I am kinda scared as to where that might lead us. Good, God! Now I’m wondering what would you have done if I’d said something more like ‘hey, let’s f-”

“NO!” Bucky nearly jumped off his seat, his hands over the table trying to stop your words from coming out from a safe distance. “I’m not getting you out of here because I like you-” he stopped right when he heard himself, watching your curious eyes witness his mouth play him like a ten-cent flute- “no, I mean I like you but not in that kind of...what I mean to say is I know why you tried to steal that painting. I found out from my sources that these paintings are being used by this new mafia around the world supplying narcotics and codes on the trafficked girls and boys to their buyers for bids. And I was hoping you could help us catch the people behind the...painting.”

Bucky was cursing himself right and left, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks at nearly messing it up. Why did she have to be this accurate? His inner voice mocked him before smacking him in the head and calling him a jock.

“I don’t know if you remember but I was caught by you guys while threatening the New Yorkers.”

“While you were trying to help Ste-Rogers. Captain Rogers. And no one caught you. You surrendered yourself.”

“I hate cops. I can’t work with them.”

“You won’t be working with them. You’ll be working with us. Me and a couple of my friends.”

“I don’t work for free. And before you put a price tag on my work, remember that I am inside this prison because I want to stay here. For now.”

“How about a date with Steve Rogers?”

“Dude, you can’t put a price on my-wait what?”

“I’ll ask him to go out with you if you catch those sons of bitches.”

Maybe it was the serenade playing from somewhere inside the prison. Or maybe it was the sun strolling in from the windows. Or maybe it was the mention of his best friend that made your pupils go wider, your fingers work over the skin on your arm, doodling some invisible hearts with a bitchface before you straightened from the table and the sound from your cuffs nearly made Scott fall off his chair.

“I don’t work with supes. They disgust me. Especially Tony Snark and his redhead sister and that C-grade Legolas. I’m out.”

“We won’t be working with them. But I can pull a few strings to get you that date. I promise. And I’m sure Steve...Rogers would be more than willing to go out with you if there is one less bad guy walking out on the streets.”

“...you better not be joking about this-”

“James Barnes.”

“James. Because if you are, I will drive a monster truck into your house, take away your pet and fuck your mother till she forgets her own name.”

“My mother’s dead,” he was quick to add while Scott gasped at the audacity of this bitch- you; you were the bitch.

“Your girlfriend, then,” you simply shrugged. Bucky’s brain straight away flashed to a two-second fantasy of you and Natasha in her room, on her bed.

“Bold of you to assume he has a girlfriend,” Scott chortled till he could see Bucky’s Winter Soldier parts staring at him with all the coldness.

.

It wasn’t in his nature to give a place to bad things inside his Bucky heart. It definitely wasn’t in the now peaceful Winter Soldier’s nature to peek from inside Bucky and stare with stars in his eyes at the woman coming out in her shirt and jeans topped by a leather jacket. She’s bad, his mind kept ringing the gong, real bad. And when that wasn’t enough, she put on those aviators to shield her eyes from the harsh noon sun, walking towards him with the strut that said she was woman enough to grab someone by the balls if need be. You’ll get yourself killed by a woman, Barnes, his mind went off again.

“No, I won't,” he muttered out loud.

“What?” Scott asked.

“What?”

Bucky tried to ignore him, his eyes stuck on you as you came and stood by them.

“Keys,” you ordered, watching Bucky fish his pockets without breaking eye contact and handing the keys of the Land Rover to you. “Let’s go.”

Scott grabbed Bucky by the arm to pull him closer. “Dude! She has the keys!”

“...okay? Why are we whispering?”

“Wh-What are we gonna do if she tries to do something...evil!”

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t know, throw us off a cliff! Or drive us into a wall. Or worse, go over the speed limit in the city!!”

“Relax! I’m here,” Bucky reassured before opening the door to the back seat of the car for him. “I got you.”

Hopping in and sitting next to you, he noticed for the first time how you smelled like a pleasant mixture of spring and citrus.

“What cologne is that?” you called out from nowhere while turning on the engine, turning to look at Bucky.

“Uhhh….it’s an aftershave. For men.” He nodded, cursing himself instantly for adding that last bit. Of course, it’s for men, you twat!

“Smells nice,” you complimented before turning out of the parking spot.

“I’m glad you’re on board with this,” Bucky stated, trying to undo the mess he made a few seconds ago, “I wasn’t trying to overstep when I-we decided to get you to help us out.”

You chuckled, shifting gear.

“Oh, sweetheart! One, I loved this isn’t an automatic. Those are for weak testicled-babies. And two, you clearly misinterpreted me in there. When I said I was not expecting you to bail me outta jail for a date, I wasn’t grossed out by it, darling. I liked it.” You leaned a little closer to Bucky- having a glorious view of his pupils go wide like oceans with endless pits- to end him with one last whisper and wink. “In a very kinky way.”

And just as the car swerved out to the wide road, Scott could feel the air leave his lungs. “What have we done,” he whispered to himself, questioning all that was about to come.

[yandere-flower]

This is an idea for a prompt or request. I like the idea of Villain Reader captured by a hero, maybe Aizawa. She at first doesn’t know what to make of his kindness toward her. Oddly enough she finds herself developing feelings for him much to her disgust. Finally she escapes. Sometime later there’s a LOV attack and she’s making an escape until she sees a hurt Aizawa and she is conflicted. She ends up saving him. He recaptures her again but she doesn’t mind at all.

Thanks for the prompt, I had a lot of fun with this one! No NSFW in this one but I liked writing the feelings of the reader so I’m pretty happy with this one!

Aizawa x Reader; Multiple instances of kidnapping y’all

The first time you came across the Quirk Erasering hero you had just started working with the League. You had mostly stayed back, minding your own tasks while trying to get a grasp for the dynamic of the League. There were suppose to be any heroes, at least not yet. When the police and a few pro heroes started to collide with the gang of low life heroes you had hired, you figured you best make your escape. No point in you being in the spot light, and you weren’t about to start advertising yourself as in link with the League just yet.

Thankfully the city in the dead of night provided the perfect coverage for someone with a camouflage quirk, allowing you to swiftly make your escape from the scene. What you hadn’t expected was someone following you.You weren’t certain at first, the sounds of late night drunks and cars filled the air and you stopped to asses your surroundings. You knew you should’ve just keep running, that the chances someone saw you was unlikely. Still, your couldn’t risk leading anyone back to headquarters, and certainly not your own place of residence. You waited, back against the wall and quirk activated in preparation for getting the drop on whoever was making you feel uneasy.

But when you went to case the back alley you were traveling through, you had suddenly found yourself face down on the ground. The loose gravel scrapped against your cheek, yet you were more focused on the fabric that was tightly wrapped around you ankle. Before you could question what was going on, you found yourself being dragged across the rough patches of street. Whoever was pulling you must’ve been strong, as despite your best efforts to claw at the ground and pull yourself up, your attacker was one step ahead of you. You body came to a halt, and for a second you thought you have a chance. Quickly you went to rise, but a heavy boot met your back, smashing you body back into the ground. You turned your head to get a glimpse of your attacker and you were met with the red, steely gaze of what you could only assume was a Pro-Hero.You remember what he first said to you.

“Did you really think you could just sneak away from the havoc you created?” he spat out, his voice heavy with resentment. “Maybe it was my fault for assuming you’d at least try and stay to protect your “employees”, but I suppose it was foolish for me to assume you’d waste yourself on low life’s like them”.

His voice calmed as he went to restrain you further, and you remember feeling unease by the tone of his voice. At the time you thought it was just about getting caught, thinking the League would have to save your ass. But you knew better now.

How you got from point A to point B was a blur, but where you ended up certainly wasn’t with the walls of a prison. At least not in the traditional sense. The man had blindfolded you, and once you regained your vision you found yourself in a small, dull room with nothing more than a bed and a bathroom to the side. Your wounds were carefully bandaged and cared for, who would do that simple scraps and bruises was beyond you. Your confusion overwhelmed you, yet you still hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation until later. You recall thinking that perhaps this was some new prison system, that maybe you made the big leagues in term of villainy and now you got to be one of those special prison villains. Your warden certainly thought you were special, but you weren’t being held here for your crimes. Not fully anyway.

Dinner time was the moment your entire world view had changed. Your ankle was cuffed to the bed, and you couldn’t do anything but sit there and stew in your mistakes. The door creaked open, and the man walked in with a bowl of something that was admittedly good. You remember because it was your favorite, potato curry over rice with lots of carrots. You always got it from the little restaurant across the street from your apartment. You couldn’t be comforted by the notion however, the specificity of the meal only set you more at ease. He watched you eat, silent and unnerving. He was a handsome man, but the face he worse was tired looking, worn by many restless nights. You hated silence.

“Am I suppose to know who the fuck you are or something” you scoffed, hoping to hurt the man’s pride. But this man didn’t feel things like pride or shame, things that would prevent him from his goal. The way he chuckled irked you, like he was mocking your attempt. Mocking you lack of context for why you were here. You were livid. “Is this some kind of new rehab for villains or some shit? Are you suppose to be the good cop? Where’s the hard ass hiding?” your anger boiled to the top as you lashed out at the hero.

“In a sense, sure. You have to pay for your crimes. But you’re not beyond saving” he replied, the calmness in his demeanor serving only to piss you off more.

Saving? You wanted to tell him he was full of shit.

And you did.“You’re full of shit”. Your voice was heavy with disgust, and you couldn’t stand to stare at the man any longer. You fell back onto the bed, surprised by the softness of the mattress and the undoubtedly high thread count linens.

You heard him breathe out, keeping his composure. Light foot steps reached the door, the clanking of the locks loud in the air. Before he closed the door behind him you heard him say,

“You could be so much more”.

That alone made you pissed for the next few days, besides the whole prison/warden complex the to of you had going on. You didn’t under what games he was playing, but you weren’t about to be a part of it. However, as time moved on it became harder and harder to stay mad at him. Every breakfast was homemade, every dinner your favorites. One days you didn’t lash out, you were gifted with pastries and desserts. You never asked how he knew you had such a sweet tooth, but you didn’t ask him about a lot of things he seemed to know.

Days began to blur, and the only knowledge of the outside world you got was what he provided for you. If you were polite, talkative, the two of you would have a conversation. At first it was mostly you asking questions. When would you be released? Weren’t you entitled to a lawyer? Why was he the only one you got to see?. You didn’t get an answer normally, at least one that wasn’t laced with bullshit. But you wanted to the company. You had to confess to yourself, it’s been lonely for a long time. Most social people with great relationships didn’t become villains, and you weren’t some exception. You began to crave these conversations, moving on from yourself and instead wanting to known about him.

His name is Aizawa, and he was teacher at UA. When he told you, you internally cringed at not knowing who he was. But if he was hurt by your lack of recognition he never revealed it. In fact, Aizawa was never harsh or rude to you. His approach to you was always neutral, if not a little bit kind. Even on the days you cursed and ripped into him verbally, he would only respond with respect. He was perhaps the most consistently kind person to you. If you had someone like him in your life before, maybe you wouldn’t have ended up his prisoner in the first place. But you were. Both a villain and a prisoner and this man couldn’t change that you decided.

He was good. He always knew exactly what to say to prevent himself from divulging to much information, to reel you in. He kept a long enough distance from you that you couldn’t get an advantage over him. Your cutlery was always dull and plastic. As much as he began to trust you, to confide in you, you both knew the dynamic. But you wouldn’t have become a villain if you didn’t think good could mess up.

One day, he forgot to fully close the clasp on your chain. You were shocked, both in that he would mess up so badly and at the thought of escaping. You used your quirk and hid against the wall, waiting for him to unlock the door. You were surprised at how much it hurt you, his face when he realized he couldn’t see you. It was a rapid moment, but it was all you need to knock him out before he could use his quirk to keep you down. You ran. You ran through the door and up the stairs into what looked like a house. Fuck, he lived here. At the time you couldn’t stop to think about that implication, busting your way out of the building. He must have been frazzled, distraught at losing you because he never caught up to you that day. Your own thoughts sickened you, disappointed that he didn’t get close to catching you again. Maybe he didn’t believe in you anymore. That thought sickened you more.

You went back to the League, the only group of people you knew that would potentially feel something about your return. You were always on edge about seeing Aizawa again. It took you a while to realize you wanted to see him again. You wanted to see him drop his ambivalent facade and light up when he say you. You wanted him to try and pin you down, only with his body this time. You hated yourself for thinking this, telling yourself that you’d feel this way about anyone who provided your favorite foods. You never wanted to fuck the lady who took your order at your favorite restaurant however.

You began to get angry again. Why wasn’t he trying to ruin your stunts? What happened to your “rehabilitation”. Was his determination just a joke, did he really give up that easily. You found yourself growing to resent him, resent his failings as a hero. So when the League announced they were going to launch an attack on a group of Pro-Heroes directly, you were the first to volunteer. The moment you saw his picture on the board a feeling ignited within you. You were so ready to prove him wrong. To ruin his plan just an extra step for good measure. He was going to have to live with his failure.———————————————————————————————————–

Things didn’t go exactly as planned.

It was carnage to say the least. The Pro-Heroes the League had ambushed weren’t prepared at all. Every move was calculated perfectly, and the heroes were no match for you. The intention was never to kill any of them, to let them live with the public humiliation, yet others had different ideas.

You had spent the whole battle half heatedly fighting and desperately searching for your man. When you found him he looked  dreadful. Blood covering his body and his face littered with lacerations. The villain hovering over him wouldn’t stand a chance in most circumstances. He took advantage of REAL villains, of REAL power. He was pathetic and you weren’t about to let him take away from your victory. He didn’t see you coming. Well, most people didn’t see you coming. You were never one for murder, but you suppose you’ve changed a lot.

You dropped your quirk and quickly ran to Aizawa. His face twisted in what you would assume was confusion, and most defiantly out of pain from you hands moving to apply pressure to his wounds. His breathing got heavier, and while you know it was because of what bad shape he was in, you secretly wished it was because your hands were touching his body. You wrapped him up as quickly and best you could with what little you had.

You knew you should’ve ran away then, make your escape before he regained enough strength to cuff you. He would surely send you to a real prison this time. But you just lingered there. Waiting. The two of you just stared into one each others eyes, waiting for the other to make a move. Nothing. You’re not going to wait and be humiliated, so you retreat with the rest of the League as to not raise suspicions. You wanted to stay with him, despairing at the thought of him injured.———————————————————————————————————–

Another few weeks went by and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about Aizawa. You saved his life and he still didn’t believe you were worth rehabilitating. Sure, you murdered someone right in front of him but you also saved him. He said it himself, they were low life’s. You missed his cooking, his faint smiles, the way he would drift asleep on the other side of the room so he wouldn’t have to stop talking to you.

You decided to try and feel the hole in your heart by going to your favorite take out spot again. You seldom went anymore, not wanting to be reminded of the man. You waited patiently for your order, listening to the static surrounding whatever radio host was on this late at night. You gathered utensils and grabbed your food you headed out to another lonely night at home. Your walk for the most part was the same as always, except you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. You didn’t indulge the little bit of hope growing inside you.

You watched the way your feet moved as you walked, thinking that it would provide a good opening. Nothing. You were to out in the open. You took a detour and ducked into the alley beside your place. The walls of the building were so high that the moonlight barely reached into the dimly lit alley. Your body grew hotter, every little noise setting you off. You were about to give up before you were swiftly tied up from chest to ankles. Instead of being dragged across the ground, Aizawa quickly pulled you tight into his embrace. His scent enveloped you, taking over all your senses. You could’ve sworn you could taste him at this point. He lifted your chin to look into your eyes and that moment you know it was all over for you. Gently he wrapped a soft cloth around your eyes and you shivered at the thought of returning home.

Excitement flowed throughout your body, the trip home feeling much longer than you had remembered. You couldn’t help but smile as you both descended down the stair case, his hand gently laying on your hip to help guide you. You legs shaked as you heard him unbolting the locks. You could’ve sworn there were way more this time, but you couldn’t complain since you were so close. He guided you to stand in front of him in the room, and slowly he removed your blindfold.

You were blown away by the difference in the room since you were last here. The walls painted a blush color from your old apartment, the furniture a bright white color that made the room seem lighter. The linens were plush, piled on with an abundant amount of pillows. Instead of a dainty twin bed, the room was mostly filled with a massive king sized bed, with only enough room for an end table and a lavish loveseat in the corner of the room. His arms wrapped around your waist as he hummed into your ear.

“I wanted it the be perfect, to incentives you”. He was so quiet before that you had already missed his voice.

All this time he was perfecting it for you. Matching it to everything you loved so you would never leave him again. You didn’t want him doubting your commitment, not again. You slide out of his arms, mourning the loss of his closeness. He watched you as you crawl onto the bed, sliding your wrists in the soft padding of the restraints, inviting him to come lock you in and show you your place.

[peraltasames]

if the stars don’t align, if it doesn’t stop time

Pairing: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago

Desc: Amy doesn't realize what was missing in her relationship with Teddy...until Jake.

Notes: here's some fluff bc my last post was so angsty. from tumblr request: "Can i request a fic with parallels between Amy's relationship with Teddy and with Jake and how much happier Jake makes her? Thank you, love your writing!" title from not like the movies - katy perry but it's also heavily inspired by begin again - taylor swift which happened to come on while i was writing this and the chorus is so them it hurts

Read on AO3

Two months into Jake’s time undercover, Amy arrests a perp named Joe Uterus.

The first time she hears Rosa say his name, before they’ve caught him killing a stray dog - he’s a complete psychopath - she looks up to meet the eyes of the person that should be sitting across the desk from her, laughing and making immature jokes. But he’s not there, and the room is silent.

That evening, she goes to dinner with Teddy. The restaurant is nice, the food is good, the company is…well, it’s Teddy. He’s her boyfriend. Her responsible, mature, intelligent boyfriend who she really, truly likes most of the time.

Surely it doesn’t make her that bad of a person that she’s planning in her head a way to get out of going back to his place after dinner so she can go home and watch Law and Order. Nobody wants to be with their significant other all the time (even if she’s only slept over there once this month and she left at six the next morning).

“Amy? Did you hear what I was saying?”

Amy snaps out of her thoughts, nodding her head with a fake smile. “Yeah, pilsners,” she guesses, hoping it’s correct. She’s like, ninety-nine percent sure it is.

Teddy nods, taking a sip of the boring drink that her brothers joked was the personification of Teddy himself if he were a type of alcohol (Tony confidently declared that he would be tequila) after he came to her parents’ place for dinner one time because he saw the text on her phone from her mother inviting him and there was no way she could get out of it.

“So, um, I arrested a perp named Joe Uterus today,” Amy says with a sip of her wine, a small grin on her face at the ridiculous name.

“What did you get him for?” Teddy asks, expression still blank.

Amy shakes her head, laughing. “His name was Joe Uterus. It doesn’t matter what he did, that name is hilarious.”

Teddy shrugs. “Nothing funny about crime. Anyways, as I was saying, that pilsner convention in Jersey next month might be a fun weekend getaway, we can…”

Amy slips back into her own thoughts as Teddy rambles on for what will likely be the rest of their meal. She thinks about what she needs to buy at the grocery store and what she should wear to work tomorrow and, in the back of her mind, of messy brown hair and leather jackets and I kinda wish something could happen between us…romantic-styles, potentially the last words he will ever say to her.

She really hopes they’re not.

-

Two months into Jake and Amy’s relationship, they go to a restaurant that Amy faintly recognizes but can’t quite remember why or when she came here.

Jake pulls out the chair for her to sit down, his hand barely skimming the side of her tight black dress as she sits down, making her body tingle with the best kind of nervous anticipation. She still, without fail, always feels like a sixteen year-old girl before every time she gets to see him. She’s grateful for the comfortable chair supporting her; she’s been weak in the knees since he helped her out of the car and placed a hand on her lower back.

“Sorry I’ve been talking about myself all night,” Amy apologizes, realizing he spent the entire car ride here listening to her rant about this annoying beat cop that always gives his unsanctioned advice on how she should solve her cases.

“It’s okay,” Jake says, sliding into the chair across from her. “I like listening to you rant, it’s cute when your face gets all red.”

She can’t help the blush creeping onto her cheeks, tucking her hair behind both of her ears absent-mindedly. Jake always smiles when she does that, and she can’t figure out why for the life of her.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you something! You’re gonna love this,” she says excitedly. “One of my brothers picked Die Hard at our family movie night last week and they’re all, like, obsessed with it now. We’re gonna be watching Bruce Willis movies every time until it’s my turn again, I swear.”

Jake laughs, throwing his head back. “That’s so awesome. If I ever meet them, remind me to give them my recommendations. Santiago movie night will never be the same.”

“When Anthony comes to Brooklyn next week, I definitely will,” Amy says, noting that his smile grows a little bit at her casual shift from if to when. “Seriously though, I know you love them, but does every Bruce Willis movie have to be an action movie? There’s only so much I can take.”

“Hey! It’s what he does, he’s basically the king of action movies.”

“Well,” Amy says with a small smirk, a joke forming in her brain. “I guess it goes to show what they say about old habits…”

As her joke lands on him, Jake’s eyes light up and he looks at her like she hung the moon. She’s a little shocked when he leans across the table and takes her lips in his. The kiss is chaste, but still manages to make her feel dizzy the second he pulls away from her.

“Babe, you just - a Die Hard reference and a pun, you’re…” he gives a small shake of his head, his face softening as he meets her gaze. “You’re amazing.”

She grabs his hand over the table, the contact enough to sustain her while they continue to talk and laugh and eat and drink things other than pilsners. Eventually, it’s not enough and she’s dragging him into a cab headed for his apartment. Jake tips the driver generously for not making any comments about them making out for the entire ten-minute drive.

She doesn’t wish even once that night that she were back at home watching Law and Order. She doesn’t leave early the next morning before he wakes up - she wakes after he does, with her head still on his chest as he presses kisses to her hair.

There’s no point in compromising when it comes to love, Amy realizes. With Jake Peralta, she never has to.

[24stiles920]

Wolf Moon

Teen Wolf Rewrite

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Warnings: Ages 16+, swearing,

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or Harry Potter. I am just borrowing the spells and potions from the wonderful Harry Potter Universe, not stealing them.

Words: 7512

A/N: So here is my new rewrite! As you can see things are a little different, but some things are the same. I really hope you like it, and stick with me through this adventure.

Series Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

“Lumos.” I whispered clearly, holding my wand over the book that I wanted to read. The tip of my wand lit up, allowing me to read the words of Harry Potter, a book that was near and dear to me.

JK Rowling was a witch like me, and she decided to make a cover for our species by writing the Harry Potter series. Most of the book’s elements were fictional, like the candy, the schools, the government, and the age restrictions, but the spells and potions were real.

There were very few witches and wizards left in America, my dad and I being two of them, as they were hunted down by families of supernatural hunters. Families like the Argents, who didn’t care if they were splitting families apart just because someone was a little bit different than them.

Creak!

I perked up anxiously at the loud noise outside my bedroom, just past the French doors that led to my balcony.

I slowly stood from my massive bed, hid my wand, (mahogany, 9 ½ inches, unicorn hair), and approached the doors, opening them cautiously.

“Stiles!” I exclaimed as I witnessed the boy climbing over the railing of the balcony.

“I’m here, too.” A voice to my left made me jump about fifty feet in the air.

“Scott!” I whispered harshly. “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Stiles complained, standing up and towering over my five-foot frame.

“And you decided to come here, why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this.” Stiles started, holding up his hands. “I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even State Police.”

“For what?” I asked, a little interested.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.” Stiles answered.

“A dead body.” Scott added.

I gave Scott a deadpan look, to which he looked away sheepishly.

“Like murdered?” I guessed, looking back to Stiles.

“Nobody knows yet.” Stiles shrugged, putting his hands on his hips. “Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.”

“Hold on, if they found the body, then what are they looking for?” I asked curiously.

“That’s the best part.” Stiles said excitedly. “They only found half.”

“How in the hell is that the best part?” I pursed my lips at him.

“I don’t know, but we’re going.”

-

“Are we seriously doing this?” I questioned as the three of us got out of Stiles’ jeep.

“You’re the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” Stiles joked, patting me on the shoulder as he passed me, turning on the flashlight.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Scott gave me an assuring glance. “He got me up, too.”

“You were awake!” Stiles protested.

“I was trying to get a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow.” Scott replied scathingly.  

“Right, cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.” Stiles scoffed.

“No, because I’m playing this year.” Scott informed us. “In fact, I’m making first line.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit.” Stiles exclaimed sarcastically. “Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.”

“Stiles, be nice.” I scolded, elbowing him in the ribs. “At least Scott’s out there trying to follow his dreams.”

“Yeah, Stiles.” Scott mocked from behind me. I rolled my eyes. Boys.

“I’m following my dreams, thank you very much.” Stiles insisted. “My dream is to find this body, so shut up and keep looking.”

I huffed and kept my eyes peeled, looking down at the ground for the body. We walked in silence until Scott spoke up, clearly not caring about Stiles’ rule.

“Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?” Scott asked.

“Huh!” Stiles laughed nervously. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“Are you kidding me, Stiles?” I asked harshly, sending him a glare. I was about to take my wand out of my rain boot and full-body-bind him when Scott spoke again.

“And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?”

“Also something I didn’t think about.” Stiles acknowledged as he started up a small, but steep hill.

“It’s comforting to know you’ve planned this out with your usual attention to detail.” I spat, out of breath as I climbed after him, glancing at his ass out of the corner of my eye.

“I know.” Stiles called out.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?” Scott wheezed from behind us, causing me to turn around to find him collapsed against a tree, using his inhaler.

Stiles ignored him though, grabbing my hand and dragging me down to the muddy ground to look at the group of lights up ahead. Scott dropped down next to us, effectively squishing me in the middle.

“Wait, come on!” Stiles exclaimed, grabbing me again and pulling me to my feet. He started running, and, not wanting to be left behind with a killer on the loose, I followed him, ignoring Scott’s calls.

“Stiles, Y/N!” Scott yelped. “Wait up! Stiles! Y/N!”

Stiles and I turned around to look for Scott, but fell to the ground, surprised, when a dog barked at us.

“Woah!” I shrieked, flailing my arms as Stiles rolled on the ground.

Stiles eventually got a hold of himself and stood before offering me a hand up like a true gentleman.

“Hold it right there!” Someone yelled harshly at us. I squinted in the sudden bright light to see that it was a cop screaming at us.

“Hang on, hang on.” I heard the tell-tale drawl of Noah Stilinski, other wise known as the sheriff of Beacon Hills and Stiles’ father. We were in deep shit. “These little delinquents belong to me.”

Stiles grabbed my hand and pulled my arm, heaving me to my feet with surprising strength. I wiped the mud off my jeans and glanced at Noah sheepishly. This man was my Godfather, and I hated letting him down.

“Dad, how are you doing?” Stiles greeted his father casually.

Noah pursed his lips, looking at Stiles unimpressed. “So, do you listen in to all of my phone calls?”

“No, heh.” Stiles laughed awkwardly. “Not the boring ones.”

The rain had started to really pour down now, soaking my canvas jacket and freezing me to the bone.

“Now, where your other partner in crime?” Noah asked.

“Who, Scott?”

“Who’s Scott?” I babbled, my nerves taking control of my mouth. Stiles put his hand over my mouth, his calloused fingers connecting with my lips.

“Sc-Scott’s at home.” Stiles told his father. “He said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow. It’s just Y/N and me. In the woods. Alone.”

Noah got a weird glint in his eye as he looked at Stiles and I, before he turned towards the tree line, shining his flashlight to look for Scott.

“Scott, you out there?” Noah called out. “Scott?”

When there was no response, Noah sighed and nodded his head in disappointment. He walked over to Stiles and grabbed the back of his neck.

“Well, young man, I’m gonna walk you both back to your car and you’re going to take Y/N home. And when I get home, you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called invasion of privacy.”

We started walking back to Stiles’ jeep, the awkward silence deafening.

“So, you guys were alone?” Noah asked. “Like, alone-alone?”

“No!” Stiles quickly exclaimed before I even understood what Noah was talking about. “Y/N and I aren’t like that.”

Now realizing what Noah meant, my cheeks flushed, and I was a little hurt. I’d had a crush on Stiles for years. Literal years. I loved his goofy sense of humor, the way he researches everything, his sense of style, his sarcastic personality, and his looks were nothing to complain about, either.

“Oh.” Noah said, looking somewhat disappointed.

We came up to the entrance of the preserve now, spotting the blue of Stiles’ jeep easily.

“Okay, Stiles, get Y/N home and come straight to the house, got it?” Noah asked, looking at his son sternly.

“Yes, sir.” Stiles mumbled, starting the jeep.

“Uh, Noah?” I asked, leaning forward so I could see him. “You’re not going to tell my parents, are you?”

“Of course, I am, Y/N.” Noah said, shaking his head. “But it can wait until morning.”

-

“Good morning, Beacon Hills! It’s a great day for the kiddos to go back to school after a long winter break—”

I shut of the alarm on my iHome by slamming my fist on the button forcefully, tired of hearing the chipper voice of the radio DJ. I groaned as I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and blinking rapidly to clear my blurred vision.

“Tired?”

I jumped at my mom’s voice, nearing falling out of bed. I looked to see my mom and dad, standing there with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

“Mom! Dad!” I whined, throwing my arms in the air.

“I just got a call from Noah.” Dad said in a fake casual voice. “Want to explain?”

I sighed and told them the story about how Stiles came to the house, but I twisted it a little, trying to make it seem like I went so Stiles wouldn’t get himself in trouble. It was a selfish move, but my parents were brutal with groundings.

“Fine.” Mom exhaled. “I can see that you were trying to keep Stiles out of trouble, but next time, you’re grounded, clear?”

“Crystal.” I said solemnly.

“Good.” Mom nodded, her curly bob bouncing. “We’ve got to get to work, so get dressed for school.”

My parents shuffled out of my room and shut the door firmly, leaving me alone to get ready for school. I took a quick shower, washing off the rest of the grime from last night, before drying and curling my hair.

I entered my closet and picked out a taupe colored t-shirt, a plaid skater skirt, and some black mary-jane wedges, before topping it off with a black peacoat. I grabbed my wand and shoved it in my Michael Kors tote bag with the rest of my school stuff and ran downstairs, hopeful that my parents didn’t leave without me.

After being dropped off at school, I stood waiting for Stiles to arrive. While I was waiting my phone chirped with a text message from Scott.

Was attacked by something last night. Tell you more later.

I sighed as I read the text, my nerves bubbling inside my stomach. What the hell could’ve attacked Scott but left him alive? It just didn’t make sense.

“Hey, Y/N.” Stiles greeted as he approached me.

“Where’s Scott?” I asked, not even acknowledging his greeting. “Is he okay? Oh, my God, we shouldn’t have left him. This is not okay!”

“Y/N!” Stiles yelled, grabbing my upper arms tightly and pulling me closer to him. “Scott was obviously well enough to text us, okay? You need to calm down and use your brain sometimes.”

“Hey, I’m smarter than you.” I pointed out, extremely offended. Sure, I didn’t have the most common sense, but I had a 5.0 GPA, which was second in the class. “Anyway, did Scott give you any more information?”

“Well, he was bit by something.” Stiles sighed, “But that’s all he told me.”

“Oh, my God, Stiles, this is all our fault.” I groaned. “I—”

“Hey, guys!” Scott greeted us, sounding very chipper. I turned to face him with a bewildered face.

Before I could say anything, Stiles spoke up.

“Okay, let’s see this thing.” Stiles said excitedly to Scott. Scott lifted up his dark gray t-shirt to reveal a large path of blood speckled gauze taped haphazardly to his tan skin.

“Ooh!” Stiles cooed, reaching forward to touch the covered wound. Before he could make contact, I grabbed his hand and pulled it away from Scott’s body, so he couldn’t poke at it.

“So, what it the hell attacked you?” I asked, clearing my throat.

Scott shrugged on his backpack. “It was too dark to see much, but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”

I looked at him in quiet confusion. There were no wolves in California. Stiles and I had to do a report together one time about animal migration and we concluded that there hadn’t been wolves in California in sixty years.

“A wolf bit you?” Stiles asked, his tone doubtful.

Scott nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“No, not a chance.” Stiles denied, shaking his head.

“I heard a wolf howling.” Scott declared as we started walking towards the entrance of the school.

“No, you didn’t.” Stiles insisted.

Scott gave Stiles a glare, annoyed by the taller boy’s defiance.

“What do you mean, no, I didn’t? How do you know what I heard?”

Stiles walked ahead a little then abruptly turned around, stopping Scott and I in our tracks.

“Because California doesn’t have wolves, okay? Not in, like, sixty years.” Stiles informed Scott.

Scott tilted his head at the new information, soaking it in. “Really?”

“He’s right, Scott.” I said gently. “There are no wolves in California.”

Scott sighed, but then perked up. “All right, well, if you don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not gonna believe me about when I tell you I found the body.”

Stiles flailed his arms excitedly, almost hitting me in the boob. “You—are you fucking with us?”

Scott grinned. “No, man, I wish. I’m gonna have nightmares for a month.”

“I can give you some tea to help you with that, Scott.” I spoke up, thinking about the Dreamless Sleep potion my dad often made.

“Oh, god, that is fucking’ awesome!” Stiles said loudly, ignoring my offer to Scott. “I mean, this is seriously gonna be the best thing that’s happened to this town since—”

He looked past Scott and I with a dreamy look in his eyes. I turned around to see Lydia Martin, the queen bitch of the school.

Stiles has been in love with her since the third grade. It was seriously depressing, and I hated the feeling I always had when he talked about her.

I scowled at the ground as Stiles continued, “Since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey, Lydia—” He called out. “You look—like you’re gonna ignore me.”

Lydia did indeed ignore him. She walked past us and chatted with her air-headed friend. Stiles stared wistfully after her before turning back to Scott and I.

“You two are the cause of this, you know.” He accused us.

Scott and I shared a look. Scott’s was amused, mine was annoyed.

“Uh-huh.” We said in unison.

“Dragging me down to your nerd depths.” Stiles continued. “I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been scarlet-nerded by you guys.”

The bell rang, and I started walking off to class, not bothering to wait for the boys.

“Y/N, where are you going?” Stiles called out.

I turned back to him and said bluntly, “To prove how nerdy I am by going to class.”

Scott laughed, and Stiles shook his head grinning as they both ran to catch up with me.

"As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night." Mr. Curtis announced in front of the class in English. Scott and I looked back at Stiles where he shot us a wink, followed by a snicker.

"And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened." Mr. Curtis continued. "But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody, which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining this semester."

Mr. Curtis held up a thick, white packet of paper and the entire class groaned in annoyance.

I was on page nine of the syllabus (seriously, how many pages were there?) when the door to the classroom opened and Mr. Donovan, the vice-principal that no one ever sees, walked in with a tall, stylish girl with dark curls that fell down to her waist.

"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent." Mr. Donovan declared. "Please do your best to make her feel welcome."

I sneered at her last name, but ultimately decided to get to know the girl and decide for myself whether or not she was a threat.

Allison ducked her head as she walked to the only empty seat, which happened to be right behind Scott. I watched curiously as Scott reached for the extra pen on his desk and turned around, handing the pen to her.

Allison, who looked confused, grabbed it delicately. "Thanks."

Mr. Curtis cleared his throat then. "We'll begin with Kafka's Metamorphosis, on page one hundred and thirty-three."

•

At the end of the day, when I was opening my locker, I noticed that Allison was right next to me, struggling to open hers.

"You have to jiggle it a little bit." I advised her. "Otherwise it gets stuck."

Allison smiled over at me before giving the lock a jiggle. The locker popped open.

"Thanks." She sighed, putting her books in the metal case.

"No problem." I said. "I'm Y/N Stark. We have English and Econ together."

"Oh yeah," Allison breathed. "Nice to meet you. I'm Allison Argent."

"Well, Allison Argent, you are my new bestie." I declared. "Forget Stiles and Scott. You're cooler and more fashionable."

"Oh, thank you." Allison said dramatically. "I was beginning to think I would never make friends!”

We laughed together but a voice interrupted us, "That jacket is absolutely killer. Where'd you get it?"

Lydia Martin stood before us, her hand held up in a preppy way.

"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco." Allison told her.

Lydia nodded and turned to me. "And you," she glanced down at my outfit and slowly smiled. "Your outfit is adorable. Are you new too?"

"Lydia, we've been in the same classes since third grade." I deadpanned.

Lydia nodded slowly. "Right. Well," She clapped. "You two are my new best friends."

Fucking great.

Jackson Whittemore, the captain of the lacrosse team and the most popular guy in school, walked up to Lydia and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Hey, Jackson." Lydia greeted before slamming her lips back to his. Finally, after they were done disgusting Allison and I, Lydia turned back to us.

"So, this weekend, there's a party."

"A party?" Allison repeated.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah. Friday night. You both should come."

Allison grimaced. "Uh, I can't. It's family night this Friday. Thanks for asking."

Jackson looked at her in disbelief. "You sure? Everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"You mean like football?" Allison asked hopefully.

Jackson scoffed, causing the brunette to shrink away from him. "Football's a joke in Beacon. The sport here is lacrosse. We've won the state championship for the past three years."

Lydia beamed and cupped Jackson's cheek. "Because of a certain team captain."

Jackson preened under her attention before turning back to Allison and I. "Well, we have practice in a few minutes. That is, if you don't have anywhere else—"

"Well, I was going to—"

"Perfect—" Lydia interrupted Allison. "You're coming."

Lydia grabbed both mine and Allison's hands and dragged us down the hall to her locker. She opened it up quickly and pulled out a dressy coat and a hat.

"I'm Lydia Martin, by the way." She hummed, fixing her hair in the mirror. "What are your names?"

"Allison Argent." Allison responded.

"Y/N Stark." I said dully.

Lydia blew a kiss at herself in the mirror and turned back to us. "Wonderful. Come on, practice is going to start soon."

We made our way to the lacrosse pitch and climbed the small set of bleachers. Stiles and Scott stood by the bench and I waved at them.

Stiles looked at me in astonishment and subtly pointed at Lydia. I rolled my eyes and shrugged in return.

"Who's that?" Allison asked, nudging me with her super sharp elbow.

"Oh, that's Stiles, my best friend." I answered her.

Allison nodded, a secretive smile of her face. She nodded to the player in goal. "What about him?"

I squinted at the player and saw a number eleven etched on the back of his practice jersey. Holy shit, Scott was in the goal! He never plays!

"Him? I'm not sure who he is." Lydia answered, butting into our conversation. "Why?"

Allison shook her head. "He's in my English class."

"That is Scott McCall. He's like my brother, and is, indeed, in our English class." I whispered to her.

Allison grinned widely.

The assistant coach blew his whistle prompting the practice to begin. I watched as Scott clutched his helmet, squirming around.

Was he in pain? What's wrong with him?

The first player in line booked forward and shot the ball straight towards the goal. The ball hit Scott right on the helmet, making him fall to the ground.

"Hey, way to catch with your face, McCall!" Jackson yelled to Scott as everyone else laughed.

Scott stood back up slowly, ready to prove everyone wrong.

"C'mon, Scott." I whispered, clenching my hands into fists.

The next player in line ran forward and shot the ball. It landed right in Scott's net.

"Yeah!" I heard Stiles call out, while I clapped enthusiastically.

The line of players dwindled down. They each threw the ball and Scott caught it every single time.

I was so proud of my son.

"He seems like he's pretty good." Allison observed.

"Oh, very good." Lydia purred.

Jackson angrily strutted up to the front of the line and put his stick out in front of the next player, effectively cutting the line. He started running towards the goal in an almost dramatic way. He twisted his stick and jumped into the air, whipping the ball towards the net.

I held my breath, but I didn't need to, because Scott caught that damn ball in one swift maneuver.

Stiles jumped up and screamed out in joy, throwing his arms up in the air. I bounced in place, clapping madly as I grinned at Scott. Even Lydia got up and cheered loudly, which surprised me.

"That is my friend!" Stiles yelled loudly, causing me to laugh loudly.

-

“I don’t—I don’t know what it was.” Scott said in an amazed tone as he splashed through a creek in the preserve. We were trying to find Scott’s inhaler, which he lost last night, and the subject of lacrosse practice came up.

“It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball.” He continued. “And that’s not the only weird thing. I-I can—hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear. Smell things.”

“Smell things?” Stiles asked in an amused voice. “Like what?”

“Like the coconut scented lotion Y/N uses and the mint-mojito gum in your pocket.” Scott proclaimed, pointing at Stiles’ jacket.

Stiles paused and dug his hand into his jacket pocket. “I don’t even have any mint-mojito—”

Stiles pulled out a piece of green gum and looked at it in amazement. Scott gave him an ‘I-told-you-so’ look.

“So all this started with a bite.” Stiles stated, running to catch up with Scott and I, who had continued to walk while he had paused.

“What if it’s like an infection,” Scott worried. “Like, my body’s flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?”

“You know what? I actually thing I’ve heard of this—It’s a specific kind of infection.” Stiles told Scott.

“Are you serious?” Scott asked Stiles with a horrified expression.

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, putting his hands on his hips. “Yeah, I think it’s called—lycanthropy.”

I pursed my lips and gave Stiles a glare. Lycanthropy was not something to joke about, and if Scott was actually a werewolf, then he was screwed. Especially if the Argents were in town.

Scott, my dear Scott, didn’t know what lycanthropy was, though.

“What’s that?” He asked. “Is that bad?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s the worst.” Stiles confirmed Scott’s worst fear. “But only once a month.”

“Once a month?” Scott asked before looking at me for confirmation. “Like a per—”

“No, Scott, you won’t have a period.” I toned, rolling my eyes while Stiles snickered.

“It’s on the night of the full moon, Scott.” Stiles declared before howling loudly.

Scott scowled at Stiles and shoved his shoulder while Stiles chuckled.

“Hey, you’re the one who heard a wolf howling.” Stiles laughed, raising his arms in defeat.

“Hey, there could something seriously wrong with him, Stiles.” I spoke up, annoyed.

“I know! He’s a werewolf!” Stiles exclaimed before fake growling. Scott and I both gave him an unamused look. “Okay, obviously I’m kidding. But if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, it’s because Friday’s a full moon.”

Scott stopped walking suddenly, looking around as though he recognized where we were at.

“No, I-I could have sworn this was it.” Scott said as he crouched down, sifting through some dead leaves. “I saw the body; the deer came running. I dropped my inhaler.”

“Maybe the killer moved the body.” I suggested solemnly.

“If he did, I hope he left my inhaler.” Scott said, looking up at me. “Those things are like eighty bucks.”

Stiles and I snickered, but all of a sudden, Stiles pulled me behind him, protecting me from whatever he saw behind me.

“Stiles, what?”

“Shh.” He whispered.

I leaned around him to see a young man, probably a couple years older than us, approach. He looked eerily familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“What are you doing here?” The guy asked harshly. “Huh? This is private property.”

Private property? The only house near here was the old, burnt down Hale house. How could he know about that? Then it clicked. This was Derek Hale, one of the only survivors of the Hale House fire.

“Uh, sorry, man, we didn’t know.” Stiles apologized, rubbing his head nervously.

“Yeah, we were just looking for something, but—” Scott said, pausing when Derek gave him an expectant look. “Uh, forget it.”

Derek whipped something at Scott, who caught the thing easily, and turned to leave, but not before giving me a curious glance. I turned to Scott to see him holding his lost inhaler, staring at it curiously. When I looked back up, Derek was gone.

“Uhm. All right, come on, I gotta get to work.” Scott said, starting to walk away when Stiles stopped him.

“Dude, that was Derek Hale.” Stile told him. “You remember, right? He’s only like a few years older than us.”

“Remember what?” Scott asked.

“His family.” Stiles explained. “They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago.”

“It was six.” I murmured, remembering the event quite clearly. I had woken up in the middle of the night screaming my head off, telling my mom about a house caught on fire. The next morning the story about the Hale’s was in the paper.

“What?”

“The fire was six years ago.” I spoke louder. “I wonder what he’s doing back?”

Stiles scoffed, shaking his head. “Who knows. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

-

I sighed as I relished in the soft, but toned physique of Stiles’ chest, resting my head on his right pec. One of his arms was wrapped around my body, his hand resting on my lower back, while his other arm tapped a rhythm on his toned stomach.

We cuddled often, which was weird to say since we’re just friends. It mostly came up when one of us was feeling vulnerable, or even just tired, and we needed someone to hold on to.

The sound of my phone ringing brought me out of my sleepy daze and Stiles groaned, burying his face in my hair. I slowly untangled myself from his form and grabbed my phone, taking a seat at my desk.

“Hey, Allison.” I chirped. My tone was perky, but I was really feeling the opposite.

“Oh, my God, Y/N, I have so much to tell you.” Allison gushed as a greeting. “I hit a dog—"

“You hit a dog?” I asked in shock. “You hit a pour doggo?”

“Yeah, but—” Allison started to say, but was interrupt by Stiles’ loud groan.

“Y/N, come on.” Stiles groaned.

“Who was that?”

“I’m talking to Allison right now, you’ll have to wait.” I told Stiles.

“Y/N, who’s that?” Allison repeated.

“It’s Stiles.” I answered her reluctantly, scared of what questions she was going to ask.

“What were you doing? Did I interrupt something?”

“No, we were just cuddling.” I assured her. “He can wait.”

“You guys cuddle? Are you together?” She asked.

“Yes, to your first question, no to your second.” I sighed. “Now tell me what happened.”

“So, I hit a dog, right? Well, I figured I should take it to the animal clinic, and it turns out that Scott was there. He totally repaired her leg and put a cast on it. Then—”

“Spit it out!”

“Okay, okay, jeez. Anyway, Scott asked me to go to Lydia’s party with him!”

“No!” I gasped. Scott ask a girl out? Never in a million years did I think this would happen.

“Yes!” She squealed.

“What’d you say? What about your family night?”

“Family night was a total lie and I told him yes!”

“Yes!” I hissed in celebration. I turned to Stiles, who looked at me expectantly. “Scott asked Allison on a date and she said yes!”

“Whoopee!” Stiles said sarcastically causing me to scowl at him.

“Anyway, I have to go Y/N.” Allison said. “See you later.”

“Bye!” I sang into the receiver before hanging up. I twirled around in my chair to face Stiles, who opened up his arms.

“C’mere.”

I sighed and stood up, walking over to my bed and crawling over to him. We situated ourselves so that he could be the little spoon. He sighed in content as he laid his head on my breasts.

“You have nice boobs.”

“Thanks, I think.” I snickered.

“It was a compliment.”

-

The rest of the week went by quickly with more weird behavior from Scott. He was doing really well in lacrosse, even though he sucked horribly before, he didn't use his inhaler at all, and he even told Stiles and I that he slept walked into the woods one night.

"Y/N, you'll never guess what I overheard on the phone." Stiles panted as he ran up to me before the last elimination round practice.

"What?"

"The fiber analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods." He informed me.

"What animal?" I furrowed my eyebrows.

"It was a wolf." He said solemnly.

"But I thought that there are no wolves in California?"

He nodded. "But what if— Y/N, what if my joke the other day was true?"

"What, the werewolf joke?" I asked astonished. I hoped it wasn’t true, but all the signs pointed to it. From what my dad told me about werewolves, Scott could very well be one.

"Look, I know how dumb it seems," Stiles started. "But the new reflexes, the sensitive hearing and sense of smell? He doesn't even need his fucking inhaler anymore—"

Stiles was still rambling cutely but stopped once I interrupted him.

"I believe you."

"You do?" He asked in disbelief. "I mean, great!"

"What do we do?"

Stiles paused for a minute, clearly thinking of a plan.

"Alright, you go to the library, get as many books on lycanthropy as you can find, them meet me at my house at seven." He ordered.

"Yes sir." I nodded, causing Stiles to look at me with a strange expression. "What?"

Stiles shook his head. "N-nothing."

It was me who was giving him a look now. I shook my head before running to my bike.

•

 I arrived at Stiles' house with a bag full of books and let myself in my own key. I made my way up to his room and swung the door open, causing the boy of my affections to jump in his seat.

Stiles turned to me and saw I was struggling with the sack of heavy books I was carrying. He walked over to me and surprisingly kissed my cheek and took the bag from me.

My face burned from where he kissed it, so I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see me blushing.

"You look nice." Stiles smiled gently at me.

"Oh." I squeaked in surprise. "Thank you. Uh, the party's at ten, so I figured we could head over there after we tell Scott."

He sat down in his chair heavily, a gloomy look on his face. "I wasn't invited to the party."

“Well, Lydia said to invite anyone we wanted, so now you’re invited.” I said with a smile.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Stiles grinned.

I smiled back at him genuinely and took a seat on his bed, taking a book out to start reading.

Two hours later, Stiles' floor was covered with print outs of information about werewolves. I had almost fallen asleep twice already, but Stiles shouted my name each time to wake me up.

There was a knock on the door causing both Stiles and I to jump in our seats. Stiles closed his MacBook and wandered over to his door. He opened it, revealing a smiling Scott.

“Get in.” Stiles sighed. “You gotta see this thing.”

He ushered Scott in and Scott set his backpack down next to me.

“Y/N and I've been up all night reading—websites, books. All this information.” Stiles rambled.

Scott looked on amused. “How much Adderall have you had today?”

“A lot.” I told Scott. I had seen Stiles take at least three pills since I’ve been here.

“Doesn't matter.” Stiles shook his head. “Okay, just listen.”

Scott sat down on the bed. “Oh, is this about the body? Did they find out who did it?”

“No, they're still questioning people, even Derek Hale.” Stiles informed him.

“Oh, the guy in the woods that we saw the other day.”

“Yeah!” Stiles exclaimed. “Yes. But that's not it, okay?”

“What, then?” Scott asked.

Stiles sighed. “Remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore.”

Scott looked confused, so I jumped in to help him remember. “The wolf, Scott—the bite in the woods.”

“We started doing all this reading.” Stiles said before standing up. “Do you even know why a wolf howls?”

“Should I?”

“It’s a signal.” I said, remembering the passage from the lycanthropy book I read. “When a wolf’s alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack.”

“So, if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby.” Stiles took over. “Maybe even a whole pack of ‘em.”

Scott perked up, his eyes wide. “A whole pack of wolves?”

“No—” Stiles grimaced. “Werewolves.”

Scott stared at Stiles with a blank face before heaving himself to his feet. “Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I’m picking up Allison in an hour.”

Scott grabbed his backpack and started to leave, but Stiles put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I saw you on the field today, Scott. Okay, what you did wasn’t just amazing, all right? It was impossible.”

“Yeah, so I made a good shot.” Scott mumbled, going to leave.

Stiles stopped him again and grabbed his backpack, slamming it down on the bed.

“No, you made an incredible shot, I mean—the way you moved, your speed, your reflexes. Y’know, people can’t just suddenly do that overnight. And there’s the vision and the senses, and don’t even think we don’t notice that you don’t need your inhaler anymore.

“Okay!” Scott exclaimed. “Guys, I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” I shrieked. “What? No! The full moon’s tonight. Don’t you get it?”

“What are you guys trying to do?” Scott spat, his eyes narrowed. “I just made first line. I got a date with a girl who I can’t believe wants to go out with me, and everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”

Stiles sighed as he sat down in his desk chair. “We’re trying to help. You’re cursed, Scott. You know, and it’s not just the moon will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

Scott stared down at Stiles blankly. “Bloodlust?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, your urge to kill.”

Scott breathed in deeply. “I’m already starting to feel an urge to kill, Stiles.”

I picked up the book I had discarded and held it up to my face. “You gotta hear this: “The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse.”” I read out loud. “All right? I haven’t seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does.”

Stiles stood up and crossed the room to the bed. “You gotta cancel this date.” Stiles rummaged through Scott’s backpack. “I’m gonna call her right now.”

“What are you doing?” Scott groaned.

Stiles grabbed Scott’s cellphone from the front pocket of his backpack and walked back to his desk. “I’m canceling the date.”

“No, give it to me!” Scott shouted, grabbing Stiles firmly by the biceps and pushing him into the wall. He held up a fist to Stiles’ face as if to punch him, but he paused at my yelp.

“Scott!”

Scott roared in anger and swiped at the desk chair, knocking it over. His heavy breathing evened out in puffs as he looked back at a disgruntled Stiles.

“I’m sorry.” Scott said, pulling away from Stiles. “I—I gotta go get ready for that party.”

He walked to me and I picked up his backpack, silently handing it to him.

“I’m sorry.” Scott repeated as he opened the door, giving Stiles one last look before shutting the door.

I rushed over to Stiles and reached up to cup his face in my palms. “Are you okay?”

Stiles eyes gazed into my own and I felt my heart melting at the emotion in them.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” I whispered. “That’s good.”

I slowly pulled away from him and turned, picking up the desk chair. I gasped as I set the chair back on it’s wheels, my gaze on the three claw marks ripped into the fake leather.

“What?” Stiles asked, looking over at me.

I wordlessly pointed to the scratches.

“Fuck.”

My phone dinged then and I went to pick it up out of my clutch. It was a text from Lydia.

Don’t forget about my party!

I huffed loudly and turned to Stiles. “Get dressed. We have a party to get to.”

-

The music was so loud at the party I thought my ear drums were going to burse. Allison and Scott arrived ten minutes after me and Stiles, and since then we’ve been watching them dance.

When I say ‘we’, I mean me, because Stiles was too busy laughing with some of his lacrosse buddies.

I was taking a sip from the water bottle in my hand when a hand grasped my shoulder. I gasped and turned around, only to find myself standing face to neck with Stiles.

“Do you want to dance?” Stiles shouted through the music.

I nodded hesitantly and together we walked out onto the dance floor. Stiles put his large, veiny hands on my waist and pulled me close.

We were about to start moving when someone ran into us, knocking me further into Stiles. I looked to see a tan guy that looked suspiciously like Scott plow into us, looking dazed. The full moon must’ve been affecting him.

“Yo, Scott, you good?” Stiles asked, letting go of me.

Scott didn’t answer, moving forward by me.

“Are you okay?” I questioned loudly. Scott shook his head and stumbled away. Two seconds later Allison came through and marched after him.

I looked at Stiles. “We should probably go help him.”

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, taking my hand and pulling me through the crowd once again. We left the house just as Allison was getting into a black Camaro with Derek Hale.

What was he doing at a high school party?  

I didn’t have time to ponder this as Stiles yanked me towards his jeep. I got into the passenger seat and Stiles pressed on the gas, speeding to Scott’s house.

Once we got to the McCall residence we ran up to Scott’s room and pounded our fists on his locked door.

“Go away.” I heard Scott say weakly.

“Scott, it’s us.” Stiles called. “Let us in, Scott. We can help.”

There was a thump against the door and the door opened a little, locked together by a chain.

“No! Listen, you gotta find Allison.” Scott insisted.

“She’s fine, all right?” I told Scott. “We saw her get a ride from the party. She’s—she’s totally fine, all right?”

“No, I think I know who it is.”

“You just let us in. We can try—”

“It’s Derek.” Scott interrupted. “Derek Hale is the werewolf. He’s the one that bit me. He’s the one that killed the girl in the woods.”

Stiles and I looked at each other with horrified glances.

“Scott—Derek’s the one who drove Allison from the party.” Stiles broke the news.

The door slammed shut.

“Scott!” I yelled, but it was no use. He was gone.

I turned to Stiles. “We have to check on Allison.”

“No, we have to go find Scott!” He argued.

I sighed in frustration. “Neither of will can do anything against Scott when he’s like this.”

Stiles nodded. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” I quipped.

He simply rolled his eyes at me in response.

-

We pulled up to the Argent’s house and Stiles jumped out, leaving his door open and running to the front door. He pressed on the doorbell three times, then pounded his fist on the door.

The door opened and from my position I could see a tall lady with short, red hair answered the door. She looked at Stiles in confusion.

“Hi, Mrs. Argent. Um—you have no idea who I am.” Stiles greeted her so loudly that I could hear him clearly.

“I’m a friend of your daughter’s.” He continued as I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Uh—look, this is gonna sound kind of crazy, um—really crazy, actually. You know what? Crazy doesn’t even describe—”

He was interrupted my Allison’s mom. “Allison! It’s for you.”

Minutes later, after talking to Allison, Stiles jogged back to the jeep and got in. He buckled his seatbelt and stomped on the gas pedal.

“Now we find Scott?” I asked him.

He nodded, looking at the road determinedly, his tongue sticking slightly out of his lips.

“Now, we find Scott.”

The sun was rising when we finally found our furry friend. He was walking slowly on the side of the road. He was shirtless and clutching his right arm in his left hand.

Stiles slowed down and pulled up beside him so he could get in. As I climbed to the back seat, Scott climbed into the passenger seat. It was silent as Stiles started to drive again.

“Are you okay, Scott?” I asked him softly. Scott smiled weakly at me as an answer.

“You know what actually worries me the most?” Scott mumbled miserably.

Stiles glanced at him, a hard look in his eye. “If you say Allison, I’m gonna punch you in the head.”

“She probably hates me now.” Scott moaned.

“I doubt that Scott.” I comforted him. “But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology.”

“Or,” Stiles started, a grin on his handsome face. “You know, you could just—tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you’re a fuckin’ werewolf.”

Both Scott and I gave him dirty looks, causing him to sigh.

“Okay, bad idea. Hey, we’ll get through this.” Stiles patted Scott on the arm. “Come on, if we have to, Y/N and I will chain you up ourselves on full moon nights and feed you live mice. I had a boa once. I could do it.”

Scott didn’t look assured by this statement, so I tried to assure him myself.

“We’re here for you Scott.” I said gently. “You won’t go through this alone.”

Tag List:

@julzdec @karamelcoveredolicity @thegirlalmighty01 @avadakedabitch @supernaturallover2002 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Wanted

Request: I like the hostage situations fics. Can you do one for me? Its detective!dean x reader. Where detective!dean is an asshole and reader is wrongly convicted for some crime and is held in custody by Dean? And reader is afraid of her because he is angry and scary af. No fluff or comforting ending please!! Thanks

Pairing: Detective!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,100ish

Warnings: language, bad cop Dean

A/N: Not a fluffy ending but you didn’t say I couldn’t do this...

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you said, getting no response from the man driving the car. “I said-”

“Do I look like I care?” he said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. You sighed and leaned back in your seat, hands restrained behind you more uncomfortable than you could have ever imagined. 

“You’ve already wrongly arrested me. Maybe-”

“I didn’t wrongly do jack shit, princess,” he said, slamming on the brakes, your body tugging against your seatbelt. “We’ll be at the motel in an hour. Hold it.”

“Motel? What-”

“I’m sorry. They don’t hand out travel iteneraries to convicts,” he said, speeding off as you lurched back in your seat.

“I already told you, I’m not-”

“Shut it or else,” he spat back. You slumped into your seat, done with pissing off the already pissed off detective that was taking you to who knew where. It was hard to argue that yes, the woman on the security camera looked exactly like you but you didn’t kill anyone. There was some mistake and your dopple ganger was out there getting off easy.

When you pulled into a motel lot nearly an hour and half later, you let him pull you inside and cut you loose, rushing to the bathroom and breathing a sigh of relief when you came out and he was sat on one of the beds.

“Hands,” he said, waving a finger around.

“You want me to sleep-”

“Last I checked, serial killers don’t get the first class treatment,” he said, grabbing your wrists and zipping them together. “Turn around.”

You barely spun back on your feet before you were being gudided back in the bathroom. He tossed a pillow and blanket inside and slammed the door shut, something moving in front of it. 

“I hate my life.”

You woke up to Detective Dean Winchester staring down at you, his mouth in a snarl. You didn’t say anything before his hands were on your arms and pulling you up, pushing you back against the wall. 

“F-fuck. You can’t hurt me,” you said, his hands on your arms very much feeling painful.

“How. How the fuck did you get out and back in here last night? Why the fuck would you come back? You going to fuck with me now too?” he asked, growling in your face. You winced and he pulled back, dragging you into the motel room.

“Stop, what are-”

“There was a fucking murder with your name written all over it twenty miles out. I repeat, how did you get out?” he spat, shoving you on the ground. You’d be pissed about the way he was treating you later but for now you just hoped he didn’t do something reckless.

“It wasn’t me. I spent the whole night here, I swear,” you said, holding up your hands. He dug his hand into the back of his pants, letting a gun drop to his side as his finger played with the safety. “No. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“They have cameras and DNA and a whole assload of evidence the media doesn’t even know about it. It’s you princess and I’m starting to think I should save the taxpayers a whole lot of money and stop this right now,” he said, clicking the safety off.

“Fucking hell! I didn’t do it! I swear I didn’t do it!” you said, looking up with the most pleading eyes of your life. “I swear! I’ll do whatever you want just don’t kill me. Please.”

“Confess,” he said.

“I didn’t-”

“I said confess,” he said.

“I didn’t do it!” you shouted, Dean taking a step closer. You looked away and he took another and another until he was standing right in front of you. 

“Look at me,” he said. You were shaking so hard you barely heard him over trying not to have a meltdown in front of him. “Look. At. Me.”

You forced your head to tilt up, trying to remain calm when you knew you were terrified.

“It’ll go a whole lot easier if you just tell me the truth. Isn’t that what you sickos get off on? Telling everyone how you did it?” he said, leering down.

“I’m not...I’m not going to confess to something I didn’t do, no matter what you threaten me with,” you said, trying to make your face hard, your voice waivering betraying you.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, pulling you to your feet. He shoved you against a wall and cut you free, spinning you around and pinning your hands behind you again before you were shoved in the back of his car again. You kicked the back of the seat in front of you when he was dropping off the key, squeezing your eyes shut, cursing to yourself.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you heard him say again, your head dropping as you felt him undo your seatbelt.

“No, please don’t...” you said, lifting your head to find him no longer in a suit but a pair of jeans and sturdy jacket.

“No time to explain,” he said, pulling you along with him and over to a car, putting you in the passenger seat and cutting you free before he pulled out and drove the direction you’d come from.

“Are you his twin?” you asked, the man driving identical to the cop you’d seen before.

“Um, no. It’s...kind of hard to explain. I’m not exactly from around here and I was tracking someone who looks just like you so that’s probably where our friend back there got mixed up,” said the man. “I’m Dean by the way.”

“You have the same name as him!” you shouted, Dean holding up a hand.

“I’m not from here...this universe. I was tracking a shifter, shapeshifter. It looks like they’ve been having fun parading around with your face,” he said.

“Strangely that makes sense,” you said, rubbing your temples. “I think that cop was...I don’t think he was taking me to a station.”

“Considering you drove past one on your way to the motel, no, I don’t think so. You’re safe with me. I’ll take care of the shifter and then you can be on your way,” he said with a smile.

“You mean be a fugitive on the run the rest of my life?” you asked.

“I didn’t really think of that part,” said Dean, cocking his head as he drove. 

“Well come up with an answer fast for me would you. Detective Winchester has it out for me and I don’t want to know what happens when he catches up with us.”

@baconlover001 @emilymorgan1994 @jensenackesl @captainemwinchester @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @xfanqirlinq @anokhi07 @akshi8278 @fandom--shipper @xxwinchester-22xx

@zeusmyster @atc74 @aingealcethlenn @pillow223 @alilianamendez @dancingalone21 @smoothdogsgirl @docharleythegeekqueen @blushingdean @jaelami @roxyspearing @kickasscas67 @gallifreyansass @untitled39887 @charliebradbury1104 @quiddy-writes @arryn-nyxx @poukothenerd @feelmyroarrrr @mrsbatesmotel53 @idalinette @evyiione @jayankles @samisimportant @maddieburcham1 @demonic-meatball @hey-um-misha @flufy07 @its-not-a-tulpa @whit85-blog @mrswhozeewhatsis @extreme-supernatural-lover @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @spn-ficfanatic

[the-art-pile]

Jack the Mum

Ships: Freewood & Geoff/Fem!Jack

Word Count: 3,052

Prompt: How Jack mothers the crew (at least her form of mothering)

Disclaimer: I used to write a lot on Wattpad, but kinda fell out of that. I decided to start back up again, so bear with me, this is most likely awful. The characters are very oc, but I tried my best. 

AO3

<3

Jack didn’t mean to become the crew’s mom. She really didn’t. For years she’d been a lone wolf. Robbing small stores and becoming dust in the wind before the cops even arrived at the scene. It was her signature. They speculated that she had a partner that drove her, but it was all her. It was her life. Rob a store or two during the week and on the weekends attend the races and occasionally attend her piloting class. That was her dream job. To be able to fly a helicopter to safety. And she achieved it, just not by herself.

Geoff waltzed into her life and never left. The one time she decided to challenge herself and rob something bigger than a convenience store, and of course, it went to shit. With a bullet in her side, she limps down an alley and curls up next to a dumpster. She checks her clip and sighs. One bullet left, better make it count.

“You okay?”

Immediately the gun goes up, right into the face of the man that had somehow crouched over her without her noticing. He didn’t flinch at the fact a Beretta was a millimeter away from his face. Just glanced at it then down to her wound that was still sluggishly bleeding. The man’s eyes then drift to the entrance of the alley and harden at whatever he sees.

“Keep quiet, I’ll help you move. My car is just at the other end.”

Jack’s mind wasn’t processing stuff clearly anymore, the blood loss finally catching up with her. She does remember thinking to fuck it all and nod yes. Geoff would later claim it was love at first sight, Jack always calls bullshit but with the happiest smile on her face.

The first instance of Jack’s motherly instinct cropping up was two years into her and Geoff’s criminal partnership (and four months into their romantic relationship as Geoff likes to point out). They weren’t robbing, mugging, killing, or even training. They were out shopping. Legitimately shopping. They had just moved into a bigger and better apartment than their previous one and needed to get furniture and food. Geoff had walked a bit away from her to go admire a car that had recently parked near the market.

When Jack turned back to him to call him over, she spotted someone sneaking towards him. She starts approaching to hopefully intervene should Geoff need backup, but instead watches in fascination as what she can now see is a teen sneak up to Geoff and nick his wallet. Geoff makes no move to retrieve it, meaning that he hadn’t noticed. The kid turns to try to get away and that’s when she moves in. Her hand clamps down on the teen’s shoulder and he immediately freezes, breath turning rapid and panicked instantly.

“Shh, sweetie. I won’t hurt you.”

The kid’s muscles slightly relax, but not enough to make Jack satisfied. She turns him around to Geoff and taps on him to get his attention. He whips around and stares at them.

“Trouble?”

“Nope, just need to have a talk with him.”

The boy’s breathing picks up again and Jack swears he whimpers.

“Cars’ around the corner. Let’s go kid.”

“First, hand it back please sweetie.”

With a shaking hand, the boy holds up Geoff’s wallet. He accepts it with nothing more than wide eyes and a raised eyebrow. They start walking then, the kid not fighting at all. The minute they make it to the side alley they had stored the car in, Geoff slams the kid against the wall. His cry of fear makes Jack’s heartache.

“Listen here you little shit.”

“Geoff…”

Geoff turns to her and sees her face, and loosens his hold on the boy. She steps up and pulls the now-crying boy into her arms, rubbing his back.

“Geoff, honey. Could we?”

His hands drag down his face in exasperation before sighing and kissing her cheek.

“You get to house train him… What’s your name?”

“G-gavin.”

Once Gavin had gotten comfortable around them, they couldn’t get him to shut up. They knew everything about his past. His friends, bullies, how he made it to Los Santos, everything. His talents lied in that of hacking, thievery, and fucking talking. Which was good. He filled spots that Geoff and her needed, so they started growing their operation. Geoff loosened up and they became a little family. Jack and Geoff more often than not referring to Gavin as their son, and they were content with that.

~

Jack’s second encounter came as an unexpected event. Geoff and her had been having a lazy day, cuddling and watching movies. The door to the apartment slams open, but neither of them moves, as Gavin never failed to slam it when he got home.

What made them move though was the chilling fact that Gavin happened in front of them, covered in blood. Jack is immediately on her feet and checking him over for any injuries.

“Gav? What’s wrong, sweetie? Where are you hurt?”

“Not me. Um… I made a friend a few months ago?… He needs help.”

“YOU GO TO THE HOSPITAL THEN GAV!”

“We, um, can’t?”

“What did you do?”

“Not now Geoff. Gavin, sweetie, let’s go get your friend. I can patch him up.”

Gavin leads us to the parking garage and a car riddled with bullet holes draws their attention. The groaning coming from within is not subtle at all.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

“Geoff. Not. Now.”

Gavin opens the door, and a curly haired lad practically falls out the door. With a lot of effort as the guy is practically unconscious, they pull him back up to the apartment and lay him on the couch.

“Gavin, grab the first aid kit, then go wash up. Geoff, can you grab some towels?”

The two split to complete the given tasks, and Jack starts playing with the hair of the boy as she checks his injuries. The lad groans, lifts his head, and blearily looks around.

“Fucking shit. Where the hell am I?! Fuck!”

“Gavin brought you to our apartment.”

He relaxes back into Jack’s touch, groaning in pain the whole time.

“Fucking great, Gav. Bring me to your fucking parent’s house. Good fucking job, idiot.”

“If you’re worried about us turning you in, it’s not happening as it would get ourselves arrested as well.”

“I fucking know who you are. I told the idiot I’d be fucking fine.”

“Bleeding out on our sofa is not something I’d say is fine.”

Gavin appears then with the aforementioned first aid kit.

“Mico, my boi!”

“Fucking told you I was fine Gav! This is just fucking embarrassing now.”

“They’ll help. They’ll only be mad about how it happened, but then get over it.”

“We’ll see about that Gavin,” Geoff grumbles as he walks back in with a pile of towels, “Now can I ask what the hell happened?”

“We may have…”

“Speak up!”

“WE SET OFF A GRENADE AND IT BLEW UP NEXT TO US!”

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET A GRENADE!?”

“It’s what I fucking do. GOD DAMN IT THAT HURTS! I get about anything that goes boom.”

“WHAT THE FUCK GAVIN?!”

“WHAT?! You said I needed to make some friends and I did!”

“Fuckin’-”

“Geoff, we’ll deal with this later, help me pull out this shrapnel. How have you not passed out?”

“Got a fucking high pain tolerance. Been shocked by a taser before.”

“Fucking Gavin, where’d you find this kid.”

“I’m older than Gavin actually.”

“Shut up. Gavin. Talk now.”

“Met at the range and got talking. Joined him a few times to test out the explosives he gets.”

“How do you get them?”

“GEOFF! SHRAPNEL!”

Twenty minutes later, Gavin’s friend, high on pain medication, is mumbling incoherently on the couch. Geoff pulls Jack onto his lap and buries his face in her shoulder blades.

“From the top Gavin. Name first”

“Michael. As I said, met at the shooting range, and started hanging out. Then he showed me his collection of stuff, and I thought he’d be cool to have on jobs. Kinda forgot about it though, cause we were having fun.”

“Gavin…”

“What?! I thought it would be good! He gets a steady stream of sticky bombs and grenades. He can even get a rocket launcher!”

Geoff sighs heavily into Jack’s back and nestles closer.

“Fucking hell. When he wakes up we’ll talk to him.”

~

Jeremy surprised them all. He just showed up at the penthouse one day asking for a job. Once they pulled Michael’s gun out of his face, they sat him down and talked. It turned out that he had been following the crew as long as possible. He had pieced together a pattern and had even found some of the crimes they had committed when they were all solo, even Gavin’s petty pickpockets.

They quickly learned that Jeremy had no sense of self-preservation. Ask him to run across a shootout? He’ll do it in a heartbeat. Ramp off some stairs. Not even a second thought about it. At first, it was harmless little things, but Jeremy couldn’t distinguish between jokes and actual requests.

After multiple broken bones, concussions, and internal bleeding incidents, Jack finally set the purple and orange-clad man down for a chat.

“Jeremy you can’t keep doing this.”

“But, but they asked me too.”

“Oh, sweetheart. They don’t mean half of those. They’re just jokes.”

The cowboy hat hits the table as Jeremy lays his head down.

“I just want them to like me.”

“Dear, They already like you. You don’t have to nearly kill yourself to get their affection.”

Jack pulls Jeremy to her and threads her fingers through the purple portion of his hair. The sit in silence for a bit as Jack lets Jeremy soak up that information.

“You all do such cool things, and I’m just there. I… I just want to be known, I guess.”

“Jeremy. You dress in purple and orange. The media calls you Rimmy Tim since you scream it all the time. Most of us don’t have that. I’m known as Ramsey’s second. That’s all. The only people that give us nicknames are the other gangs, and they are mostly just to mess with us. You have a brand. Hell, we don’t tell you about all the offers you receive from companies that want to merchandise you because that’s how you get caught, we aren’t like Saint’s Row, and there’s too fucking many. You’re almost as well known as the fucking Vagabond. You are Rimmy fucking Tim and we all love you.”

“Mum’s often right Lil J.”

Gavin, Michael, and Geoff walk in from waiting in the doorway. A cuddle puddle quickly forms and everyone snuggles in.

“We were just joking around J, we didn’t want you to actually do those things. Gav likes to ask hypothetical questions.”

“Yeah J, we didn’t want you to actually get hurt.”

“I guess I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to stress you guys out.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Jeremy. We should have intervened sooner.”

Someone shifts and suddenly the once sitting cuddle puddle is laying on the ground, all on top of Gavin. The other four break apart in laughter while Gavin flails and screeches.

~

The fourth time, Jack saw coming from a mile away. They knew it would happen eventually, but that still didn’t prepare them. With the crew working full time and becoming more infamous throughout the city, they knew they needed to call in more muscle. They had all the specialist they needed, but they significantly lacked in anyone that could bring the intimidation factor.

Geoff put out some feelers into the community, but so far they haven’t received a solid offer from anyone yet. As the number of days grew, the more anxious the crew became. Finally, Gavin presents the solution.

“I may know someone that could fill the position.”

Gavin had pulled Jack and Geoff into one of the conference rooms. He paces around the room as he talks, hands occasionally pulling at his hair. Jack intercepts him and sets him in a chair.

“Who, sweetheart?”

“You can’t hate me.”

“We have never hated you, Gav. Been annoyed or disappointed, but we still love you.”

Gavin takes a deep breath before seeming to steel himself against whatever he thinks their reaction will be.

“I can get us the Vagabond.”

Geoff’s reaction is immediate. More worried than angry pacing as the name registers with them.

“What do you mean Gavin? The Vagabond is a fucking nightmare. He only takes contracts, we need a full-time person, and there’s no way he’ll ever accept our offer. Plus, I heard he’s actually insane. That it’s just not an act,” Geoff turns and points a finger accusingly at Gavin, “How do you know him? What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything! Ryan is slightly insane, but aren’t we all!?! I said I can get him to join and I will! Have a little faith, Geoff!”

Geoff and Gavin start bickering back and forth, while Jack keeps Gavin seated in the chair by playing with his hair. She ponders over everything before something strikes her as odd.

“Gavin?” Both men quit down to listen as Jack speaks, “Is Ryan the Vagabond’s name?”

Gavin’s face instantly pales and he looks like he wants to throw up. Geoff starts on a whole new tirade of how he’s taking away Gavin’s computer because A: he should know better than to spy on the Vagabond and B: they’re all going to die because Gavin knows who the Vagabond is.

“HE’S MY BOYFRIEND, OKAY?!? THE VAGABOND AND I ARE FUCKING!”

The room quiets and you can hear a quiet “holy shit” from outside the door, followed by not so quiet shushing. Geoff plops heavily into his chair and is practically hyperventilating. Jack raises an eyebrow at his partner’s odd behavior.

“You’re terrified of the Vagabond, aren’t you? Big ol’ King Pin Ramsey is scared of a mercenary.”

Geoff tries to glare but just returns to his silent panic. Jack chuckles at his behavior.

“Gavin, sweetie, invite him over for dinner tonight.”

Geoff nearly has a heart attack.

-Time Skip-

The silence over the table is entirely awkward. Geoff has retreated somewhere in his mind, his parenting skills utterly shutting down, leaving it all to Jack. Figures.

“How long have you been together?”

“I met Ry about two years ago on that job out in Liberty City. He witnessed that deal go sour and helped me get out. We’ve kept in touch after that, then he said he was moving to Los Santos, so I, uh, offered my apartment to him, and yeah…”

Gavin’s nervous rambling slows when Ryan settles his hand over Gavin’s. The comforting gesture of a swiping thumb obvious to everyone at the table. Jack nudges Geoff, attempting to get him to do the whole, hurt him and I’ll hurt you speech, but he’s adamantly refusing. With a sigh, Jack pulls her gun out from under the table and points it at Ryan.

Surprisingly, he makes no move to react, even as Gavin squawks and complains beside him. Interested, Jack pulls out her second pistol, aiming them both at the mercenary. Again, no reaction.

“So this is your typical I’ll kill you thing. If Gavin ever comes home crying because of something you did, trust me when I say this. I will hunt you down, and I will kill you. It won’t be quick or painless.”

“Understood, Ma'am. I wouldn’t dream of hurting Gavin, and I respect your actions. You are wonderful parents.”

“Aw, Rye-bread. Don’t butter my parents up.”

“If I want a future with you, I have to show them I’m serious.”

Geoff promptly passes out.

~

They’re a unit. A family. It’s the characteristic that sets their crew apart from all the others. In-crew fighting is mainly about who’s turn it is to pick a movie or who’s been hogging one of the cars. It works for them and it makes them a cohesive force.

It’s also one of their weaknesses. All the other gangs of Los Santos knows that if you take one of the main boys, a she-devil in a chopper will appear and obliterate you. Kidnap the boy of gold and face Death himself. Steal any of them and you will regret the day you were born.

The crew spends nearly half of their resources on rescue missions as the other gangs just can’t get it through their heads that you don’t mess with the Fake AH Crew.

When Jack gets taken, the crew admittedly panics. Jack’s been taken before, but they can’t find her now. They’ve gone through all the gangs, swept every camera, drove everywhere, and they still can’t find her. Gavin can’t stop crying, Geoff’s gone silent and the rest are shells of the former personalities they were.

They keep searching and finally, a clue comes from a branch of their organization. A transport had been spotted going into a building near the airfield and the gang running it was unknown. The crew jumped into action, vengeance coursing through their bloodstreams.

Meanwhile, Jack is trying to talk some sense into the idiotic leader of this new gang. They’re new in town and thought they could easily take over by hitting the biggest crew. The punches don’t stop her from talking.

“I’m warning you now. Once they get here, you are going to regret it. Kiss everything you have goodbye.”

The enforcer looming over her simply laughs and aims a punch right fo her jaw. She hears the crack before she feels it, and spits out blood as best she can. Her ears are ringing now and stars are clouding her vision. The man pulls his hand back to get another strike in when an explosion rocks the building. The bewildered man stumbles back from Jack as she lets out a maniacal peal of laughter.

“I told you. I told you and you didn’t listen.”

The door breaks down and Jack watches as Ryan swoops and breaks the guy’s neck with no hesitation. Gavin divebombs Jack.

“MUM!”

The rest of them slowly trickle into the room and eventually, everyone is pulled into the group hug.

“Let’s go home, please.”

[stunudo]

...when you're attracted to someone, it just means that your subconscious is attracted to their subconscious, subconsciously. So what we think of as fate is just two neuroses knowing that they are a perfect match.

Dennis Reed from “Sleepless in Seattle”

Going Down With The Ship

One of the Six: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Bethany Devereaux x Gideon

A/N: Okay, here is the Trope List challenge for @reiding-and-writing. I chose #9 Sleepless in Seattle Moment. This fits into my OC Series “One of the Six.” The trope scene takes place during the original investigation of Season 3 Episode 19 “Tabula Rasa”.  So it seems like 99.7% of the fandom does NOT like Gideon. Therefore the title fits the expected disinterest/ loathing of this, plus- well Bets was in the Navy people. Also you may have a reason to hate him more... xoxo Stu

I cannot tell you the moment it happened. I wasn’t paying attention. I am unable to pinpoint even the day it happened. It was a slow realization, but a quick shame. Hotch knew. He never said so, but Hotch knew. Damn it I wonder who else knew? Oh well, can’t do anything about it now. I was never a romantic person. If someone gave me the warm fuzzies, I would probably make out with them though.

This wasn’t the puppy love I had with T.J. Stevens my sophomore year at the academy. It wasn’t even what the few months I dated Janet Hyde before she left me for a rookie cop she met at the gym were. This was something else entirely and that is why I never saw it coming. After four years working together I woke up to the unfathomable revelation that I was in love with Jason. What the hell was this?

185 Days Remain

We were still working through the case files when Haley popped in with some take out. I don’t know what Aaron did to win this woman over, but it was not enough. She tried to swing by when we weren’t busy, feeding the wayward profilers or just checking in on us. She was extremely good at her job, but I knew she was only a little blue line away from dropping it all. The way Lover Boy and her looked at each other it was a surprise they didn’t have a litter already.

“Hey H-2, how are you?!” I called, tossing the folder back on to my inspection worthy desk. Her big grin greeted me, I rushed over to help with the bags of Chinese. The Crab Rangoon was calling to me, it had only been 9 hours since breakfast after all.

“Bets, thank you. I thought I was going to lose a quart of Kung Pao Chicken to the carpet!” We wound around the matrix of desks and dropped everything on the break room table. Finally Hotch realized his wife had arrived so I left them alone and headed back with my stash of fried goodness. As Jason walked past me the sparkle in his eye caused a rush to my cheeks. I was confused so I just shoved a piece of food in my mouth and grinned like a goofball.

“We should really bring her along on cases, she always finds the best egg rolls.” Jason explained, rubbing his hands as he headed to the waiting meal. It had been a few weeks of odd nerves and slight blushes up until that point. I now only associate Crab (or what passes for it) with my embarrassment, needless to say I no longer eat it.

I was working late, not that that was odd. What was off about it was that I didn’t need to be. Morgan had left, the SAs had left, even the Bird had left. I headed up to the offices because I wanted to say goodnight. Jason was at his desk with a projector watching film strips. It brought back memories of the awful stuffy afternoons in the science classroom when we were forced to watch an un-medicated birth or terrible animations of sperm swimming.

But there he was laughing. It was a silent film but it was clearly the grandfather to modern physical comedies. I pictured a young Jim Carey attempting the same bits. It was so raw and silly. I got lost in the story. I didn’t see when he came over to lean on the door jam with me. We stood there for the rest of the reel, enjoying the gags. It was a comfortable quiet.

When the tell tale clicking of the end of the film had reached an awkward rhythm I finally looked at him. He was smiling warmly at me, nothing new. “Have a good night, Bethany.” I smiled shyly. “You too, sir.”

I was frozen for a moment in his dark eyes, but then the moment passed and I went home.

“You don’t have the capacity to love these women!” Jason spat at the unsub as he held the victim by the hair, a machete in the other hand. “Put down the knife, Reynolds. Tell me your story, but let her go.”

The unsub was a certifiable idiot. He threw the victim at me, I caught her in my free arm, keeping my gun locked on his head. I tried to reassure her, but I just held on until Hotch had sent Morgan in with the cuffs. After I holstered my weapon, I really hugged her. I shushed her as she fell apart. She had been held for four days, she smelled and could barely stand.

Watching her be loaded on to the back of the ambulance was like watching Vaughn’s isolated cot in the infirmary. I had been a witness to the end of the pain, but couldn’t fathom what these women had endured. We had to do better. Jason had stood next to me while the boxy vehicle pulled away.

“These are the days that I take out that projector. To remember to laugh. Someday soon, she’ll remember how to laugh. You did good today, Bethany.”

I nodded, watching the night descend on the crime scene. It was then I knew that I didn’t want to keep doing this alone.

“Where are you heading this time?” Hotch asked Jason as he locked his office for a week off.

“Cape Hatteras National Seashore.”

“You like the Outerbanks?” I asked.

“Piping Plovers, I’m going birding.” Jason kept it short, he was in a hurry to enjoy his vacation.

“Enjoy the lighthouse if you get the chance!” I called to him as he waved to us behind his back. It actually hurt to see him walk away so brusquely.

“The Bodie Island Lighthouse was erected in 1872.” The baby bird squawked.

“I know, I’ve been there.” I shrugged off the annoyance at the new kid. “I kind of have a thing for lighthouses.” I don’t know why I was admitting that, but it just came out. I shoved a hard candy into my mouth to stop myself from being too chatty.

“Does he take vacations a lot?” His meager voice was trying to be casual.

“Not really.” I thought about it. “But more often than Hotch.”

The next morning we got a case and they were letting the string bean into the field for it. It wasn’t far, just over to Roanoke. They had dubbed him the “Blue Ridge Strangler.” I said a silent prayer of gratitude that Jason was out of town for this one, he hated when they gave the unsubs catchy names.

I woke up a little out of sorts. I don’t know why I was being emotional, but it was frustrating. Going over the crime scene photos with Morgan was nauseating. They looked like me. Dark hair and eyes. Sure they were prettier, but I couldn’t help but feel even more “off”.

I let Hotch and the boys head to the active body retrieval. I stayed behind to start piecing together a profile. When I dug in my purse I found a new key chain in the shape of a lighthouse. There was no note. I jumped at the chance to escape. To run. I picked up my cell.

“Hotch, I am using that IOU from Haley’s last birthday. I will meet up with you back in Quantico.”

“Is everything alright?” He was concerned.

“Everything is fine, besides you have the genius on hand now. It will only be a couple days.”

“Okay, but Bets, call me, when you get there?”

“Deal. Square?”

“Square.”

I hung up and called for a rental car. I wasn’t stopping back home. The drive to North Carolina was a blur.

I knew that Jason hadn’t left me that key chain, but I wanted it to be from him so badly that I tricked myself into hoping. There is nothing more cruel than hope. I don’t even know what I was expecting to find when I arrived at the National Seashore. I walked the beach and trails for hours. After not finding him among the protected coves, I made my way to the lighthouse.

The salt in the air and the sting on my skin brought my Navy brain back to me. I wasn’t this pathetic love-struck girl who chases her crush by crossing state lines. But I was. Visitor hours were drawing to a close at the summit and yet I stared off as the sun set behind me.

“If I had been a younger man, I might have assumed you were here for me. But not after this, this view is the real heart-breaker, eh?” Jason’s voice brought the delusion crashing down around me.

“Some people don’t see age as a barrier, but as experience to cherish.” I called over the wind, defending my recklessness. He walked over to me, his face that of a concerned teacher. I had made an ass of myself. “But you don’t have to say it, I get it.”

“I’m sorry, Bethany. I am not someone you should be wasting your youth on.” He stood there, his hands moving constantly. “Honestly I am flattered and a little frustrated.” He smiled.

I laughed through my tears. He was being charming and it added to the bitter-sweetness. “What is frustrating you?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I had profiled you as a lesbian.” Admitting he had been half-wrong about me was probably the humblest thing he could have said in the moment. This esteemed mind acknowledging he didn’t know something, was as genuine an offering as I could have hoped for.

I shook my head, laughing again. “If only it was that easy.”

I dragged myself off the lighthouse and into the rental car. I found a run down motel and crashed for two days. I slept off the embarrassment and the disappointment. When I got back to headquarters I was recognizable again.

“Row? Where did you skip off to?” Morgan teased, ruffling my hair.

“Nun-ya. Nice work messing up your ankle though.”

“Right, right. But you left me with the kid. I mean he talked to the victim’s parents and everything!”

“Wow! Looks like he can ditch those water wings after all.” I teased.

“I can hear you.” Baby bird chirped.

“We know.” Morgan and I said in unison. I high fived him and he low fived me. Turns out, I was okay after all. I had my team. Who needed love anyway?

Next Chapter: The Last Case

@criminalwriting @dontshootmespence @cherry-loves-fanfic @imagicana @hotchnerfuckmeup @teatimewithtiya @dontcallmedad